Chapter 2: Snake’s Secret

Sam sat on the floor of his bedroom, against the door, chewing on his nails until the skin around them ached. The wind outside howled and rattled the window as if it were hungry to get in. He picked up his phone from the carpet, swiping it on—nothing, just that flashing bar teasing him. He tapped it against his knee, hard, then tossed it onto his bed. The cigarette Jake had lit in his head smoldered—"omega," "pact," "mine." It was a lousy comic book title, but Jake's voice had been deadpan. Sam pulled his hoodie strings together under his chin and stood up. He wasn't going to sit around all night, not with those guys hanging outside and Jake acting like some kind of werewolf king.

He cracked the door open, peering down the hall. The stairs creaked under his socks as he descended, then halted midway. The living room was empty now—Jake's truck raced away outside. Sam hurried into the kitchen, taking a flashlight from the drawer. He switched it on, the light casting off walls, and proceeded toward the basement door. He slowly turned the knob, wincing at the creak, and crept down. The air hit him cold and damp, with a taste of mildew and cardboard. He swung the light around—boxes stacked up on high shelves, a broken lamp in one corner, cobwebs streaked across the ceiling. A spider scurried up the wall, legs shaking rapidly. Sam shivered, covering his hand with his sleeve.

He crouched next to a box in the back, tearing the flaps open. Dust burst up, making him cough. Inside, documents had spilled out—yellowed, wrinkled, some bearing writing he couldn't make out. He picked up a handful and spilled them on the floor. One caught his eye—thicker, broken red wax seal in two pieces. He directed the flashlight close, reading it. Sentences jumped out at him: "blood oath," "alpha binds omega," "eternal pact." His gut turned. He flipped it over—dates, names, something to do with "power for loyalty." He picked up another letter, this one typed, newer. "The line holds," it said, "but the cost is steep." Sam gnawed his nail again, tasting blood. What cost? And why him?

Heavy, fast footsteps came thundering up the stairs. Sam went rigid, clicking off the flashlight. He pushed the papers into the box but kept the one that was already sealed, thrusting it into his hoodie pocket. The creak of the basement door came, light falling down the stairs. Sam remained hidden behind the crates, breathing quietly. Jake's boots descended, slow and heavy. Sam saw a flash—Jake froze halfway down, rolling up his sleeve. A tattoo shone on his forearm—two-headed snake, green and pulsing like it lived. Sam's lips went dry. He gripped the crate edge, wood digging into his palm.

"What are you doing down here?" Jake's voice sounded out, shrill. He snapped his knuckles, the sound echoing off concrete walls.

Sam froze, heart pounding. Anna appeared in front of Jake, wrapping her scarf around her neck with one hand, the other clutched tight on a long, thin knife. She nodded her head, sharpening the blade on her sleeve. "He's nosing," she said softly, as if she'd caught a rat in a trap. "Told you he'd nose around."

Jake turned, gaze scanning the blackness. "Sam, get out here. Now." He lit a cigar, blowing smoke that drifted down, searing Sam's eyes.

Sam crept out, brushing his jeans. He moved into the light, his hand cradling the letter in his pocket. "What's with the tattoo?" He nodded toward it, attempting to keep his voice level—barely. "It's on those papers too."

Jake’s eyes narrowed. He yanked his sleeve down, covering the snake. “None of your business.” He tapped the cigar ash onto the floor, grinding it under his boot. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

Anna smirked, twirling her knife between her fingers. “Stop digging, kid. You’ll bury yourself.” She tucked the blade into her belt, crossing her arms.

Sam squared his shoulders, moving a step closer. "Tell me. You can't just—" He pulled back the letter, holding it out. "This is blood oath. What did you get me into?"

Jake tore the letter from Sam's hand, faster than a snake unsheathing its fangs. He opened it and read the words, then clenched it in his fist. "You're too damn inquisitive." He tossed it into the box and kicked the lid shut. "Upstairs. Now."

Sam did not move. "Not until you explain." He picked up the flashlight from the ground, activating it again, holding it toward Jake's face. "What is the snake? Another covenant?"

Anna chuckled, the sound sharp as ice. "He has cojones, I'll grant him that." She rearranged her scarf yet again, coming forward to stand over Sam. "Get away from me or I'll hurt you.

Jake waved her off, cracking his knuckles again. "Enough." He yanked the flashlight from Sam's hand and extinguished it. "It's family business—things you don't need to know. Yet." He stuffed the flashlight into his pocket and moved towards the stairs. "Get up there. Let's get this over with."

Sam crossed his arms, planting his feet. "No. You don't get to make that choice." He tightened his strings on his hoodie, knotting them. "You adopted me, not owned me."

Jake spun back, eyes flashing—yellow, just for a second. Sam stumbled, hitting the crate behind him. “You’re in over your head,” Jake growled, voice dropping low. “That tattoo? It’s a marker. Means I’m tied to more than just you.” He lit another cigar, the flame flaring bright, then snapped the lighter shut. “Now move.”

Sam’s chest heaved. More than him? He grabbed the stair railing, pulling himself up one step. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice cracked, but he kept going, climbing slow.

Anna followed, her boots tapping behind. “Means you’re a piece on the board, kid. Not the player.” She polished her knife again, the blade catching the dim light.

Sam reached the top, closing the door to the basement behind him. He ran to the kitchen, grabbing his phone from the counter—still nothing. He slapped it against the palm of his hand, pacing back and forth. The glistening tattoo was stuck in his mind—two heads, two deals? He tore open a drawer, grabbing a butter knife—not much, but something. He shoved it into his pocket, along with the crumpled letter he'd stashed.

Outside, the wind picked up, banging a loose shutter against the house. Sam peered out through the blinds—streetlights buzzed, casting long shadows. Jake's truck was home again, parked at an angle, exhaust billowing into the night. Anna's voice drifted up from the basement, clipped and sharp. Sam leaned his ear against the floor, hearing Jake's reply—"He's not ready." Ready for what?

He burst into his room, locking the door with a quick turn. He pulled the letter out of his pocket, flattening it against his desk. The wax seal glinted in his light—half serpent, half wolf. He bitten his nail, rereading the words. "Power for loyalty." For whom? For Jake? For someone else? He grabbed a pen, marking in the margin "snake =?".

His gut twisted up—Jake was keeping something back from him, and that tat was trouble waiting to happen.

A thud shook the house—front door slamming open. Sam jumped, letting go of the pen. It rolled under the desk with a clinking on the floor. He shoved the letter under his pillow, grabbing his phone again—10:32 p.m., one bar that kept flickering. He texted out an "SOS" to Lisa, but it wouldn't go through. He cursed, putting it on the bed.

Jake's boots thudded downstairs, loud and fast. "Sam!" he barked, voice carrying upstairs. "Get down here!" Sam stopped, removing a stray hair from his hood. He slid the butter knife into his sleeve, close against his arm. No way he was going up against Jake with nothing on hand—not after that tattoo, those words. He unlocked the door, stepping out into the hallway. A phone rang—screaming, cutting through the quiet. Not his. He stopped, leaning over the railing. Jake pulled out a burner from his jacket, flipping it open. Yes," he growled, voice low. "He's here.

Found something.".

Sam's blood ran cold. He backed up, bumping into the wall. Found something—him? The letters? He grabbed hold of the banister, ready to run back to his room. Jake's head snapped up, eyes meeting his—yellow again, burning low. "You'll regret you saw that," he said, slamming the phone down. The ringing stopped, but another started—tires crunching gravel outside, slow and close. Sam's heart racing. Who was on the other end?