blood bond 🩸

BLOOD AND BETRAYAL

Elara stared into Tristan’s dark eyes, her breath coming in shallow gasps. His words hung between them, heavy and inescapable.

"Mine."

She should have been furious. She should have rejected the possessiveness in his voice, should have stepped back, put distance between them.

But she didn’t.

Because deep down, something inside her whispered the same truth.

She was his. And he was hers.

Even if she didn’t understand why.

Even if it terrified her.

Tristan reached out, brushing a gloved finger along her jawline. His touch was cold, almost ghostly, yet it sent fire through her veins.

"You’re changing," he murmured. "Faster than I expected."

Elara swallowed, forcing herself to steady her breathing. "And what if I don’t want to change?"

Tristan’s expression was unreadable, but there was something almost...pained in his gaze. "You don’t have a choice."

A sharp gust of wind whipped past them, carrying the metallic scent of blood.

Elara stiffened.

Tristan’s eyes snapped toward the alleyway across the street. In a blink, he was in front of her, shielding her body with his.

"Stay behind me," he ordered.

Elara didn’t argue.

From the shadows, a figure emerged.

A woman.

Her dress was torn, soaked in blood that wasn’t her own. Her silver hair was tangled, her pale skin smeared with crimson. But her face...

Her face was hauntingly beautiful.

Elara felt an icy fear creep through her chest.

Because she recognized that face.

It was the same one she had seen in her dreams.

"Elara," the woman whispered, her voice eerily familiar. "You must leave him."

Elara’s pulse slammed against her ribs. "What?"

The woman’s golden eyes flickered to Tristan, narrowing. "He’s lying to you."

Tristan’s posture didn’t change, but Elara felt the tension coil through his body. His hand inched toward the dagger strapped to his side.

"You don’t belong to him," the woman continued, stepping forward. "You belong to something far greater."

A sharp pain lanced through Elara’s head. Flashes of memories that weren’t hers—

A city bathed in fire.

A dark throne.

A hand, reaching for her.

Elara gasped, clutching her skull. "What—what is this?"

The woman’s gaze softened. "Your past."

Elara’s knees nearly buckled. "No, this is a trick—"

"Run, Elara," the woman pleaded. "Before it’s too late."

Tristan moved faster than thought. In a blur of motion, he was suddenly in front of the woman, gripping her throat.

"You should not have come here," he hissed.

The woman didn’t struggle. Instead, she smiled. A slow, knowing smile.

"Your hold on her is slipping, Tristan," she whispered. "Soon, she’ll remember."

Elara’s vision blurred.

The shadows around them quivered.

And then—everything went black.