WHISPERS IN THE BLOOD
562 Words
Elara sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress as if holding onto something solid would keep her from unraveling.
Her body still hummed from Tristan’s blood, but it wasn’t just hunger anymore. It was something deeper. Something wrong.
"You need to tell me everything," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Who is Selene? What did she mean by 'bound'?"
Tristan leaned against the wall, his expression shadowed. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "She’s not just any vampire. She’s the first. The oldest. The one who made all of us."
Elara’s stomach dropped. "The first?"
Tristan nodded. "No one knows how old she really is. Some say centuries. Others say longer." His gaze darkened. "She’s more than just a vampire. She’s something… other."
Elara swallowed hard. "And she wants me?"
Tristan’s jaw tightened. "Drinking my blood should have only tied you to me. But Selene—she has a way of twisting the natural order." His voice was laced with something bitter. "She must have felt it when you drank. And now, she sees you as hers."
A shiver ran down Elara’s spine. The way Selene had looked at her—it wasn’t just a claim. It was possession.
"But I don’t belong to her," she said, her voice firmer this time.
Tristan pushed off the wall, walking toward her with measured steps. "You need to understand something." He crouched down in front of her, his eyes locking onto hers. "Selene doesn’t ask. She takes."
Elara clenched her fists. "Then we stop her."
Tristan’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite amusement. "You don’t stop Selene."
A sudden, sharp pang shot through Elara’s chest.
She gasped, doubling over.
"Elara!" Tristan grabbed her shoulders as her body convulsed. Her vision blurred, the room tilting.
Not again—
Pain exploded through her, sinking deep into her bones. But it wasn’t just pain. It was voices.
A thousand whispers, slithering through her mind like venom.
"You’re changing."
"Let go."
"She’s waiting."
Elara squeezed her eyes shut, her nails digging into Tristan’s arms. "Make it stop," she choked out.
Tristan’s grip tightened. "Fight it!"
But the whispers didn’t stop. They grew louder.
The room around her faded into darkness, and suddenly—
She wasn’t in Tristan’s room anymore.
She stood in a grand hall, its walls draped in deep crimson. The air smelled of candle wax and something metallic—something familiar.
At the far end of the hall, a throne sat in the shadows.
And in it—
Selene.
She lounged like a queen, her long black gown pooling around her, her eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"You’re resisting," she murmured. "That’s cute."
Elara’s breath came in sharp bursts. "Get out of my head!"
Selene smirked. "Oh, Elara. I don’t need to be in your head."
She lifted a hand, and the shadows around her writhed.
"You’re already in mine."
Then the world snapped back into place.
Elara collapsed against Tristan, gasping for breath. Her skin was slick with sweat, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Tristan held her up, his expression unreadable.
But Elara knew.
She had seen the truth in Selene’s eyes.
This wasn’t just about blood.
Selene had already marked her.
And no matter how hard she fought—
A part of her was slipping away.
- Writer
