Bound by Blood

AYA

^CAIRO, 1923^

Air rushed into my lungs, hot and damp. My blood felt like it was on fire, a blaze raging beneath my skin, setting every nerve alight with unbearable heat. My throat felt like it was burning, and a painful pressure built up in my jaw.

A strange, new pain throbbed at the corners of my mouth, deep and persistent. And I screamed—over and over again.

It was a scream of pain, of confusion, of something more primal than fear. It was the sound of my body being ripped apart and reshaped into something unnatural.

My blood felt like it was boiling, my ears filled with a sharp, high-pitched noise, and my head spun wildly. I tried to move, but it was as if invisible chains held me down—a relentless weight pressing down on every part of me.

My limbs felt heavy, as if they were made of lead, sinking into the depths of my torment. The pain seemed to go on forever. Each moment felt like an eternity.

I silently pleaded for the pain to stop, for the heat to lessen, for some kind of relief. My body shook violently, my muscles twitching under the strain. My lips were dry and cracked, my throat so tight it felt like it might cave in on itself.

Then, slowly, the fire began to die down. The weight lifted. My mind was still spinning when I finally managed to open my eyes.

The world around me was blurry, flickering in and out of focus like a dream on the verge of waking. And then, suddenly, everything became clear—a thousand colors. A million.

Each one brighter, more vivid than I had ever seen before. I could see the fine threads of the velvet sheets on the bed, the faint smudge of dust on the desk in the corner. The slightest change in the air sent a ripple of awareness down my spine.

I could hear—or rather, ~feel~—the hum of the world around me: the distant creak of the floorboards above, the rustling of fabric as someone moved nearby, the steady beat of a heart that wasn’t mine. And then, there was the smell.

It was intoxicating. Mouthwatering. My body reacted before my mind could understand what was happening. A hunger hit me, a hunger unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

It wasn’t the empty feeling of a hungry stomach—it was something deeper, sharper, a void inside me, desperate to be filled. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, gasping as my body moved with an unnatural grace and strength.

More of the room came into view, and with it, a pair of icy blue eyes. I froze. They held me captive, deep and endless, their color like frost under moonlight.

They belonged to a man, his face sharp and unyielding—high cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, a straight nose, lips that curled up slightly as if he found my turmoil amusing. But his expression was not kind. It was possessive, calculating.

Somewhere in the back of my scrambled mind, a spark of recognition flickered. “Alexander?” My voice was a croak, rough and pained, my throat still raw from my screams.

His smirk widened slightly. “I’m glad to see you awake, Aya.” His deep voice echoed in my head, settling there like an unmovable presence.

“I know you must be confused.” He leaned forward, his voice soft but firm. “Before I explain anything, I’ve brought you a present.”

My body tensed at his words, the hunger inside me twisting into something more violent. I barely heard him over the sound of the heartbeat.

It was frantic, pounding in my ears like a war drum. My breath hitched, my gaze snapping toward the source. A young boy, no older than twelve, sat trembling on the ground.

His wide brown eyes darted around the room, refusing to meet mine, his small hands clenched into fists against the wooden floor. I found myself ~hissing~ before I even realized I had made a sound.

Every part of me was suddenly hyper-aware of him—the way his pulse throbbed beneath his thin skin, the scent of his fear mixing with the irresistible sweetness of his blood. It called to me, teased me, begged me to take what was mine.

I lunged. He fell into my grasp as if he weighed nothing, his body fragile in my hands. His pulse pounded against my fingers, sending a wave of raw anticipation through me.

My mouth opened before I could think, and I sank my teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. The skin ripped like a delicate piece of silk, and a warm sensation flooded my mouth.

The flavor was beyond words—richer than the finest wine, sweeter than the purest honey, and it burned as it slid down my throat. A moan escaped my lips, my fingers clenching around him as I drank deeper, tilting his head to draw more, to take it all.

The power, the pleasure—it was all-consuming. I was oblivious to his cries, blind to the man still observing from the bed, indifferent to anything beyond the euphoria of drinking. I was lost in it, submerged in sensation, in the sheer ~rightness~ of it all.

I drank and drank and drank. And then there was nothing left. The body in my arms went limp.

The heartbeat that had once pounded against my senses fell silent. The scent of his blood faded. Only then did I pull away. And I saw him.

The boy’s lifeless eyes stared back at me, his face streaked with tears. His skin was pale, lips slightly parted in silent terror. A choked gasp escaped my throat as I recoiled, pushing his small body away as if it had burned me.

My stomach churned violently. My hands trembled. My breath came in ragged, panicked bursts. And then, suddenly, hot liquid gushed from my eyes, dripping onto my shaking hands. Red. Blood.

A sob caught in my throat, my vision blurring with crimson tears. My hands—my hands were drenched in his blood. A slow, deliberate chuckle reminded me I wasn’t alone.

I turned to find Alexander still seated on the bed, his penetrating gaze fixed on me, his fangs lightly touching his lips. He ran his fingers through his dark stubble, watching me with something dangerously close to satisfaction.

“It seems we’ll need to work on controlling your thirst,” he murmured. I shook my head, pressing myself against the wall, terror clawing through me as memories surfaced—his fangs sinking into my throat, the sharp sting of the bite, the sensation of dying and being reborn.

My trembling fingers brushed against my neck where he had bitten me, but there was nothing there. No wound. No scar. As if it had never happened.

I looked back at him, my voice barely above a whisper. “What did you do to me?”

He smiled, slow and deliberate. “I set you free.”

My breath came in shallow gasps. “What did you ~turn~ me into?”

I glanced down at the boy’s corpse, at my own bloodstained hands, and a deeper horror settled over me. Because beneath my revulsion, beneath my guilt, a darker truth whispered in the back of my mind.

I would do it again.

I wanted to do it again.

Alexander rose from the bed, moving toward me with the predatory grace of something no longer human. I finally saw him for what he truly was—a hunter.

And I had been blind to it until it was far, far too late.

“You are mine now, Aya,” he murmured. His voice wrapped around me like a vice, deep and commanding. “Forever.”

“No,” I whispered, but my back was already against the wall, and there was nowhere left to run.

“I am your maker, Aya,” he breathed, his gaze boring into mine. “We are linked forever. You will obey me, trust me, serve me, forever.” As he spoke, he lifted his hand and caressed my cheek lightly. “And I will take care of you. Protect you, guide you, forever.”

A shudder ran through my body as his skin touched mine, and I felt my heart pound heavily. It was at that moment that I realized my heart hadn’t been beating at all since I woke up.

He stepped back to appraise me, a small smile forming at the edge of his lips.

“Come nightfall, let me show you what it really means to live, Aya.”