This is a new fiction that has a long way to go. It's pretty Cullen-centered, but this chapter needed to be done with Sam. Stick around, there's more to come.
Disclaimer: Twilight is not mine. It is the property of Stephenie Meyer.
Pretense
Prologue
"I have one more condition for you," the man said, his voice deep and mistrusting. He was cloaked in a heavy, black coat and a mask. He stood rigidly his hand held steady over his gun holster. The area was full of men just like him, crawling around the forest floor like roaches.
"No. That wasn't part of the deal," Sam ground out. His face was hard as his eyes darted around. He didn't trust these people.
"I could always take your friend back to base with me. He would make for an interesting test subject," the man mocked, chuckling darkly. His hand moved closer to the gun holster. "Of course, there would be no witnesses of what transpired here."
"No!" Sam shouted. "What do you want?"
The moon was high in the sky. The clear night laughed at Sam, watching him as he panicked and stuttered in front of these men.
"In exchange for the safety of the boy," he motioned to the strange coffin-like box that was laid haphazardly in the back of the truck the men had arrived in. "And the rest of your pack, we need a donation."
"A donation of what?" Sam was running out of patience. He'd let one of his brothers slip through his fingers and he was prepared to take a bullet to get him back.
"Your blood."
Sam's jaw dropped. "W-what?"
"It's simple, Mr. Uley. We need your blood," the man growled. "We promise the safety of your whole pack. No harm shall come your way. Do you accept our terms?"
Sam was quick to reply. He couldn't risk the pack, any of them. There was only one real option. "Yes."
"Splendid," the man laughed. His hand moved away from the gun and toward the box in the truck. "Release the boy."
Two black-clad men pried the lid off the container, roughly lifting the form out. They shoved the limp body from the truck and disappeared. The only evidence that they had been there at all was the faint rumbling of the vehicle as it rolled away.
Sam wasted no time. He rushed forward, throwing himself on top of the unconscious form. Blood caked his dark hair and bruises laced the tanned skin. The body was clothed in only a pair of shorts that clung to his hips in rags. His face was pale and sickly and his left arm twisted out at an unnatural angle.
Tears slid down Sam's face, wiping the grime from the face of the boy. Sam had failed him. "Seth," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."
Lifting Seth gently, careful not to disturb his wounds, Sam cradled him against his broad chest. "Who were they?"
That's when he spotted something, carved with permanent ink into the wrist of the unconscious boy. It was small and hardly noticeable, but scrawled carefully into the Seth's skin was a tattoo that read: 'Property of the United States Government.'