blood bond 🩸

UNRAVELING

The moment Isolde vanished, the weight in the air lessened, but the tension inside Elara only grew.

She could still feel the ghost of Isolde’s touch on her skin, the cold whisper of her breath against her lips. The way her words slithered through her mind like a sickness.

Tristan was pacing. His movements were sharp, restless. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched.

Elara forced herself to sit up. "Who is she?"

Tristan stopped, his back to her. "A mistake."

Elara’s pulse quickened. "That’s not an answer."

He turned, and his eyes locked onto hers. There was something dark there, something haunted. "She is the reason I became this."

The words settled over them like a cold fog.

Elara swallowed hard. "You mean… she turned you?"

Tristan’s gaze flickered to the fire. "She did more than that."

The silence stretched.

Elara wrapped her arms around herself. "She said I’m changing."

His attention snapped back to her, his expression unreadable.

"She’s right, isn’t she?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Tristan didn’t respond.

That was answer enough.

Elara’s stomach twisted. "What’s happening to me?"

Tristan exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. For the first time since she met him, he looked… uncertain.

"You are not human anymore," he finally said.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She knew it. Deep down, she had felt it. But hearing it—hearing it out loud—was different.

"Then what am I?" she whispered.

Tristan hesitated. "Something… else."

Elara clenched her fists. "That’s not good enough."

His jaw tightened. "I don’t have all the answers, Elara. But I do know this—" He stepped forward, his presence towering over her. "Isolde will not stop until she gets what she wants."

"And what does she want?"

A muscle in Tristan’s jaw twitched. "You."

Elara’s breath hitched.

Tristan’s expression darkened. "She doesn’t just turn people—she creates them. Designs them. And you… you are something she has been waiting for."

The room felt colder.

Elara shook her head. "No. I’m not—"

"Look at yourself," Tristan interrupted, his voice low, urgent. "Your reflection. Your hunger. The way you felt her presence before she even appeared. You are not normal, Elara. You never were."

Elara’s mind spun. "That’s not true—"

Tristan moved faster than she could react.

In a blur, he was in front of her, grabbing her wrist and pressing it against his chest. Against his heartbeat.

Except—

There was nothing.

No pulse.

No warmth.

Her eyes widened, and she tried to pull away, but Tristan held firm.

"You feel it, don’t you?" His voice was softer now, almost… sad. "The difference. The emptiness."

Elara’s breath came in shallow gasps.

Because, deep down, she did.

It wasn’t just him. It was her.

Something inside her was shifting. Changing. She could feel it in her bones, in the way the night no longer felt terrifying—but familiar. In the way her body no longer rejected the thought of blood, but ached for it.

The transformation had already begun.

And there was no turning back.