blood bond 🩸

DE CRAVING

Elara sat in the dimly lit room, her body still trembling from the vision. The feeling of Selene’s presence clung to her like a second skin, thick and suffocating.

"She’s inside me," she whispered, pressing her palm to her chest as if she could claw her way back to herself.

Tristan stood by the window, his expression grim. "That’s how she works. She doesn’t just take—she becomes a part of you."

Elara shook her head violently. "No. I won’t let that happen."

Tristan’s jaw clenched. "You don’t have a choice anymore."

She shot to her feet. "I always have a choice."

But the second she stood, a wave of dizziness crashed over her. Her knees buckled, and Tristan was there before she hit the floor, gripping her arms, steadying her.

Elara’s breath came in sharp bursts. Her throat burned with an unbearable thirst. Her skin felt too tight, her senses too sharp. Every sound in the room—Tristan’s breathing, the rustle of fabric, the distant hum of the night outside—was deafening.

And worst of all—

She could hear it.

The steady, rhythmic pulse of blood rushing beneath Tristan’s skin.

She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping his arms tighter. "No."

Tristan’s voice was gentle but firm. "You need to drink."

Elara’s head snapped up, her eyes wild. "Don’t say that."

"It’s not a choice anymore, Elara."

She shoved away from him, stumbling back. "I already made my choice. I won’t become one of you!"

A sharp, stabbing hunger twisted inside her, curling through her veins like fire. She dug her nails into her palms, desperate to ground herself.

But then—

A breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of something warm. Something alive.

Elara turned sharply toward the door.

Tristan followed her gaze. "Elara—"

But she was already moving.

The door burst open as she staggered into the hallway, her senses latching onto the scent of blood. It called to her, deep and primal, drowning out logic.

Downstairs. Someone was downstairs.

Her vision swam, darkening at the edges as she gripped the railing and descended, each step a battle against the hunger clawing at her.

Then she saw him.

A man—tall, broad-shouldered, standing by the entrance, speaking to someone outside. His voice was distant, muffled.

Elara’s heartbeat slowed.

Her gaze locked onto the pulse at his throat.

So close.

She took a step forward.

Then another.

Her fingers twitched.

One more step—

"Elara!"

Tristan’s voice slammed into her like a wave, snapping the world back into focus.

Elara froze.

Her breath hitched.

What was she doing?

Her hands were already half-raised, reaching for the man—like a predator closing in on prey.

Horror crashed over her like ice water.

She stumbled backward, clutching her head. "No."

The hunger still roared inside her, but the fear was louder.

Tristan appeared beside her in an instant, gripping her shoulders. "You need to control it."

Elara squeezed her eyes shut, her body shaking. "I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," Tristan said firmly. "You have to."

Her breath came in ragged bursts. The hunger was unbearable. But she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—lose herself to it.

Not yet.

Not ever.

She looked up at Tristan, desperation in her gaze. "Tell me how to stop this."

Tristan hesitated. Then, finally—

"There’s only one way."

Elara swallowed hard. "Tell me."

His voice was quiet. "You have to drink—but not from a human."

She stilled. "What?"

He stepped back, rolling up his sleeve.

Her breath caught as he extended his wrist toward her.

"Drink from me."

Elara stared at him, her pulse hammering.

This was it.

Her last chance to hold onto what little humanity she had left.

If she drank from him…

There would be no turning back.