blood bond 🩸

THE HUNTING CALL

Elara’s breath hitched.

The voice slithered through the dimly lit room, curling around her like invisible fingers. It was soft—too soft. But beneath the delicate whisper was something sharp, something that scraped against the edge of her mind like nails on glass.

She forced herself to stay still. To breathe.

This isn’t real.

But the moment she thought it, the air in the room shifted. The shadows near the fireplace rippled, stretching unnaturally. The candles flickered, their flames bending as if pulled toward something unseen.

And then—

A figure emerged.

Tall. Cloaked in flowing black. Her face, veiled in a thin layer of mist, was pale and hauntingly beautiful. Eyes like frozen silver peered through the fog, locking onto Elara’s with an eerie familiarity.

Isolde.

The name clanged in Elara’s skull like a warning bell.

She scrambled back, her heartbeat pounding in her throat. "You—you're not supposed to be here."

A soft chuckle. The kind that slithered beneath the skin. "And yet, here I am."

Isolde stepped closer, the edges of her gown dissolving into smoke with every movement. Her voice was honeyed, dangerous. "You’ve felt it, haven’t you?"

Elara’s hands clenched around the sheets. "Felt what?"

Isolde tilted her head. "The hunger."

A cold rush of dread coiled in Elara’s stomach.

She knew.

She knew.

Elara shook her head. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Isolde tsked, amusement dancing in her gaze. "Oh, little one. You can lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me."

In a blink, she was beside the bed. Elara barely had time to flinch before cold fingers brushed against her jaw.

The touch sent an icy shudder through her.

"Your body betrays you," Isolde murmured. "Your blood sings for something more." Her thumb skimmed Elara’s lower lip. "You’re changing, little one. And soon, you’ll understand."

Elara jerked away, her breath ragged. "I don’t want this!"

Isolde’s expression didn’t change. "Wanting is irrelevant. It is already happening."

A deafening silence followed.

Elara’s pulse roared in her ears.

And then—

A crash erupted from the hallway.

The door flew open in a violent blast of wind.

Tristan.

His presence filled the room like a storm, his coat billowing, his eyes burning with fury. He moved in a flash, standing between Elara and Isolde in a heartbeat.

"You shouldn’t have come here," he growled.

Isolde merely smiled. "And yet, here I am."

Tristan’s muscles tensed, his fangs gleaming. "Leave. Now."

Isolde’s gaze flickered to Elara, something unreadable lurking beneath her icy stare. Then, without a word, she stepped backward—melting into the shadows as if she had never been there.

The moment she disappeared, the room came alive again. The fire burned brighter. The air lost its weight.

Elara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Tristan turned to her, his jaw tight. "Did she touch you?"

Elara hesitated, then shook her head.

Tristan’s gaze darkened. "She will return."

Elara swallowed. "I know."

And the worst part?

Somewhere deep inside her, she wasn’t sure if she wanted her to.