THE EAGERNESS WITHIN
440 Words
Elara’s breath came in shallow gasps as Tristan’s words settled over her like a spell.
You are everything.
A lie. It had to be.
And yet… the way he looked at her, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable like a vow—something inside her believed him.
She forced herself to look away, her fingers gripping the silk sheets beneath her. "That doesn’t answer my question," she whispered. "Who was she?"
Tristan sighed, stepping back. The absence of his presence left the room colder, emptier. He turned to the fireplace, watching the flames as if they held the answer.
"Her name is Isolde."
The name sent an unexpected chill through Elara.
Tristan’s voice was quieter when he continued. "She was once… like you. A soul caught between two worlds." His jaw tightened. "But she chose the wrong side."
Elara frowned. "And what side is that?"
Tristan’s eyes flickered back to her, dark and unreadable. "The one that would see you destroyed."
A sharp pang of unease coiled in Elara’s stomach. "Why? What does she want from me?"
Tristan hesitated.
And that hesitation told Elara everything.
She sat up, ignoring the dull ache in her body. "Tristan." Her voice was firm. "What aren’t you telling me?"
Tristan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He looked… tired. More so than she’d ever seen him.
"There are forces at play that you don’t understand yet," he said carefully. "Isolde is one of them. And if she’s reached out to you…" His gaze darkened. "Then time is running out."
Elara’s heart pounded. "Time for what?"
Before he could answer, a sharp knock echoed through the room.
Tristan stiffened. In a blink, he was at the door, his presence a wall of authority. "What is it?"
A voice from the other side—deep, urgent. "There’s been a breach, my Lord."
Elara’s stomach dropped.
Tristan’s expression hardened. "Where?"
"The southern gate. We think—" A pause. "We think it’s her."
The air in the room turned suffocating.
Isolde.
Elara’s fingers curled into fists. She was here.
Tristan turned to her, something fierce in his gaze. "Stay here. Do not leave this room."
Elara swallowed. "And if she finds me?"
Tristan’s lips parted, his fangs just visible beneath them. His voice was low, possessive. "Then I will tear her apart before she touches you."
A shiver ran through Elara’s spine.
And then, in a blur of movement, he was gone.
She was alone.
But not for long.
Because in the shadows beyond the candlelight, a whisper curled through the air—soft, delicate, and laced with ancient power.
"Come to me, child."
- Writer
