FIRST TASTE OF SIN
524 Words
Elara’s fingers hovered over Tristan’s wrist, her breath shallow and unsteady. The scent of his blood filled her lungs, igniting a fire inside her that she didn’t understand—one that terrified her.
She clenched her jaw, fighting against the craving.
"I can’t," she whispered.
Tristan’s expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his dark eyes—something ancient and knowing. "You already have," he said.
Elara’s pulse stuttered. "What are you talking about?"
Tristan stepped closer, his voice a low murmur. "You think this thirst came from nowhere? The transformation has already begun. The moment you woke up craving blood, you were past the point of return."
A tremor ran through her.
"You need to drink," he continued, his tone softer now, almost coaxing. "You need to stop pretending you’re human."
Elara’s hands balled into fists. "I am human."
Tristan arched a brow. "Then why does your body scream for something else?"
She hated him.
She hated how calm he was. How easily he saw through her. How right he sounded.
Her throat burned like she had swallowed fire.
A droplet of his blood slid down his wrist, trailing toward his fingertips.
Elara’s body moved before her mind could catch up.
She grabbed his arm.
Tristan didn’t flinch. He just watched her with quiet intensity.
Her lips parted.
Her breath hitched.
Then, slowly—hesitantly—she leaned in.
The moment her tongue touched his skin, everything else faded.
Heat surged through her veins like wildfire, stronger than anything she had ever felt before. It was intoxicating, overwhelming. A rush of power, of hunger, of something deeper than instinct.
She gasped against his skin, shuddering as the warmth spread through her.
More.
She needed more.
Her fingers tightened around his wrist as she drank, her body pressing closer.
Tristan let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly as if assessing her reaction.
"Good," he murmured. "Let it in."
The words barely registered.
All she could focus on was the sensation—how his blood filled her with something she hadn’t even known she was missing.
But then—
A sharp pang shot through her chest.
Elara gasped, wrenching herself away. She stumbled back, her hands flying to her mouth.
What had she done?
Her breath came in ragged bursts. She could still taste him on her tongue. The hunger still clawed at her insides. But beneath it, fear twisted in her stomach.
She looked up at Tristan, heart hammering.
His lips curved into something between approval and amusement.
"Now," he said smoothly, "do you understand?"
Elara swallowed hard.
Yes.
And that terrified her more than anything.
The ground beneath them trembled.
A shadow slithered across the floor not Tristan’s, not hers.
Tristan’s smirk faltered. He turned sharply, his body suddenly tense.
Elara staggered backward, pressing a hand to her chest as an unbearable heat built inside her. It felt like something was clawing its way out of her.
Her breath hitched.
Then a voice soft, cold, eerily familiar whispered from the darkness.
"You drank from him. Now, you're mine."
The shadows twisted, forming a shape—no, a figure.
A woman
- Writer
