The weight of stone had always sat heavily on Sam's chest.
Born beneath open canopy and raised where the horizon stretched unobstructed to the mountains, he felt the castle's ancient walls less like architecture and more like a gentle, relentless trap. He had been here once and had very unpleasant memories of it. Every vaulted arch appeared to lean inward; every winding, narrow passageway whispered of sudden corners and dead ends.
And then there were the vampires—their pale, quiet presence, the serene coldness in their eyes, and the measured, razor-sharp grace of their movements that kept his pulse perpetually elevated. He dreaded contact with the ventrue king and luckily for Arne was almost always out. An average vampire can take on two full grown werewolves, so he dreaded them too.
Yet, he remained. He had given Matt his word, and to Sam, a promise was not merely spoken; it was anchored deep within him, an unbreakable pact.
