blood bond 🩸

HUNGER THAT NEVER ENDS

Elara didn’t sleep.

She sat by the fire, staring at her hands—at the veins that seemed darker, at the slight tremble in her fingers. Tristan had left the room hours ago, but his words remained, circling her like a noose.

"You are not human anymore."

She didn’t want to believe it.

But the proof was there.

The hunger in her chest. The way water felt like acid on her tongue. The way the night air smelled different now—richer, intoxicating.

Like blood.

A shudder ran through her.

She dug her nails into her palms, forcing herself to focus. She wasn’t going to break. She wasn’t going to give in.

But how long could she fight it?

Footsteps echoed down the hall, slow and deliberate.

Tristan.

Elara tensed as he stepped into the firelight, his sharp features cast in a golden glow. He had changed into a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing faint scars along his forearms. Scars that shouldn’t be there.

She swallowed. "I thought vampires healed."

Tristan followed her gaze, then flexed his fingers. "We do. But some wounds don’t disappear."

A chill ran down her spine. "Isolde?"

His expression darkened. "She enjoys leaving her mark."

Elara forced herself to look away. She hated the way her chest ached for him, the way she wanted to reach out and touch those scars, to understand the pain he had endured.

She clenched her fists. "Why did you bring me here, Tristan?"

His jaw tightened. "To keep you safe."

"Safe from what?"

Tristan’s eyes flickered. "From yourself."

Elara stiffened.

Before she could respond, Tristan moved—too fast.

One second, he was across the room. The next, he was in front of her, towering over her, his presence overwhelming.

"Do you feel it?" His voice was low, dangerous. "The hunger. The pull."

Elara’s breath hitched.

Because she did.

She could hear his pulse—or the lack of it. Could smell something faint beneath his skin, something that called to her in a way that made her stomach twist with both revulsion and need.

Tristan studied her reaction, his gaze unreadable. "It will get worse."

Elara swallowed. "And then?"

His fingers brushed against her wrist, just barely, but it was enough to send a jolt through her.

"You will crave only one thing."

Her throat went dry.

Tristan’s gaze dropped to her lips, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. "And if you resist for too long… it will destroy you."

Elara felt like she was drowning.

The room was too small, the air too thick.

She needed to breathe. To think.

But then Tristan did something unexpected.

He stepped back.

The tension between them snapped like a broken thread.

"Get some rest," he said, his voice unreadable. "Tomorrow, we begin."

Elara frowned. "Begin what?"

Tristan’s gaze held hers, something dark lingering in his expression.

"Your training."

Then, without another word, he disappeared into the shadows.

Leaving Elara alone with a hunger that refused to be ignored.