BLOODBORN

Chapter 4:

Belles POV

He said his name was Nick.

That night, two months ago. I’d run away from another house party, glitter smeared down my thigh, mascara threatening to spill. I’d had enough of fake boys with loud mouths and cheap drinks. I wandered into that alley behind Oxford Road like I was chasing a ghost, or maybe trying to become one.

And then he stepped out of the shadows.

Dark, tall, devastating. With a voice like a prayer whispered over fire.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t flirt. He just looked at me like he’d seen girls like me before—lost, reckless, dying for something deeper than popularity or pills or prom.

“You should go home,” he said.

But I didn’t.

I never did.

Since then, he’s come to me in the dark.

No last names. No daylight.

Sometimes in my bedroom. Sometimes at the edge of the park. Sometimes I don’t remember where we were, just the feel of his teeth sunken deep into my neck, the slow draw of blood, the ache that followed. He compels me not to scream. Not to tell. Not to remember too much. But sometimes… I do remember. Bits of it. Flashes.

And I want more.

I skip school now. My mom thinks I’m spiraling again.

I’m barely present in school, barely speak to carol, my bestfriend, I know she’s worried but I just can’t help myself and I can’t tell her about it , he compelled me not to ave honestly I would never have told her regardless

She wouldn’t get it.

She doesn’t know what it’s like to be chosen by something ancient and hungry and beautiful. Nick feeds on me like I’m wine he can’t name, but I know I’m not enough. Not yet. Not like him.

I’ve seen the way he looks at me.

Even when he’s in my bed, I know his mind is elsewhere.

Last night, he came again.

I let him in through the window, silk slip clinging to me like mist. My hands trembled as I reached for him, but he caught my wrists.

“You’ve been calling me too often,” he said.

“I need you,” I whispered. “I ache without you.”

His eyes darkened, not with desire, but something colder.

“This isn’t love, Belle. It’s blood.”

I kissed him anyway. Hard, messy, desperate. I climbed onto his lap, felt the sharpness of his fangs press against my skin as I straddled him.

He groaned once, low in his throat. Then he bit.

God, the pain was perfect.

His hand slid under my nightdress. He touched me like he owned me, but only in that moment. Only in the dark. My head fell back. I whispered his name again and again until I could barely breathe.

But when it was over, he pulled away.

“You’re not like me,” he said, buttoning his shirt, blood still glistening on his lips. “You don’t want this life.”

“I do,” I said, voice hoarse. “Make me like you.”

He stared at me for a long time. Then laughed…low, broken, cruel.

“You’re not strong enough.”

Then he was gone.

But he’s wrong.

I am strong enough. I’d give up everything; my beauty, my breath, my soul, just to stay in his world.

Carol doesn’t understand.

None of them do.

But one day, he’ll see it.

I don’t want to be the girl in the shadows anymore.

I want to be the monster. The one he yearns for…

I told myself I wouldn’t go back to him.

That tonight, I’d sleep. Eat something. Call Carol back. Maybe even show up to school tomorrow and pretend I’m not unraveling.

But then I saw his shadow near the corner store, just a flicker of his coat in the wind and it was over.

Just like that.

I got on the next bus, eyes hollow, heart hammering in a way that felt less like panic and more like need.

By the time I stood outside his house, the rain had soaked through my clothes. My lips were shaking.

I didn’t knock. I didn’t have to. He always knew when I was near.

The door creaked open before I touched it.

He was standing at the top of the stairs, shirtless, wet hair curling like shadows around his face. He looked… dangerous. Cold. Beautiful.

“Belle,” he said flatly. “Go home.”

“I can’t.”

My voice cracked. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

I followed him inside anyway.

There was something in my chest I couldn’t name anymore, not love, not lust…just this wild, broken gravity that pulled me to him no matter how hard I tried to crawl away.

“You want blood?” I whispered. “Take it.”

I shrugged off my coat. Let my dress fall.

He turned slowly, eyes dark. Something flickered across his face; hunger, restraint, something in between.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” I breathed. “I want you to drain me. I want to feel what you feel. I want…”

He crossed the room in seconds. Pinned me to the wall. Not like a lover. Like a storm.

His breath was hot against my neck. “You don’t want to die, Belle.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I do.”

And he bit me.

Not gently. Not like before.

This was different. Violent. Consuming. Like he was trying to drink the obsession out of me.

Everything blurred, the room spun, my legs gave out, but I didn’t beg him to stop. I welcomed the darkness curling at the edges of my vision like an old friend.

I thought: This is it. This is what it means to be chosen.

And then…everything stopped.

His mouth tore away. He cursed under his breath. “f**k no, no…”

My body hit the floor. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t…

Then Elijah’s voice thundered from the entryway.

“Still painting the town red, brother?” Was the last I said before I passed out

Then I felt it.

Warmth on my tongue. Metallic. Sharp.

His blood.

He cut his wrist and pressed it to my lips.

“Drink,” he said roughly.

I couldn’t. I didn’t understand.

“Drink, Belle. Now.”

Something ancient pushed into me, the taste of eternity, the burn of something immortal. It forced my lungs open, my heart to beat again. My body arched off the floor as if electricity coursed through my veins.

And when I gasped, eyes flying open, he was staring down at me, jaw clenched, eyes unreadable.

“You almost died,” he said. “Is that what you wanted?”

I reached for him with shaking hands. “No. I wanted you.”

But he stood. Stepped back.

“This was a mistake,” he murmured. I was broken I wanted more …