Elena

The world’s always felt too small for me, too slow, like I’m a current trapped in a still pond. At twenty-two, I’m sharp-edged and restless, my dark hair a sleek curtain that catches the light, my hazel eyes—Mom’s eyes—flickering with something I can’t tame. People say I’m magnetic, that I draw them in without trying, and I do—friends, lovers, strangers—but it’s never enough, never deep enough. There’s a hunger in me, a pull I’ve felt since I was a kid, a shadow I can’t name. Mira’s gone now, vanished like smoke, and though I don’t remember why, the ache of her absence lingers, a quiet hum in my blood. But then I met him—Silas—and everything changed.

It’s a Friday night, the bar downtown pulsing with bass and heat, bodies pressed close under dim lights. I’m there alone, sipping something dark, my leather skirt hugging my thighs, my top clinging to curves I know how to wield. He walks in, and the air shifts—crackles—like a storm’s rolling through. Silas. Tall, lean, his jaw carved from marble, his eyes a piercing green that glint silver in the shadows, his blond hair tousled just enough to beg for my fingers. He’s unnaturally attractive, a beauty that’s more than skin—primal, electric, a pull that hooks me deep in my gut. I feel it before I see him, a tug in my core, and when our eyes lock, it’s like the room fades, leaving just us, two currents crashing together.

He moves toward me, his stride confident, predatory, and I don’t look away—can’t. “Elena,” he says, my name a low purr on his lips, like he’s known me forever, and I shiver, my skin prickling with a heat I don’t understand. “Silas,” I reply, my voice a tease, though I don’t know how I know his name—it’s just there, a whisper in my blood. He’s close now, his scent hitting me—pine, musk, a faint copper tang that makes my mouth water—and I feel it, uncharacteristic, unstoppable: I want him, need him, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

We don’t talk, not really. He brushes my arm, his touch cool yet searing, and my breath catches, my body leaning into him without my say-so. “Dance with me,” he murmurs, and I’m already moving, drawn into the crowd, his hand on my lower back, guiding me. The music’s a pulse, a heartbeat we match, and we’re pressed close—his chest against mine, his thigh sliding between my legs, our hips grinding in a rhythm that’s pure instinct. My hands slide up his arms, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt, and he grips my waist, his fingers digging in, possessive, perfect. I tilt my head, exposing my neck, and he groans, his lips grazing my pulse, a tease that sends fire racing through me.

The bar blurs, and we’re outside, an alley swallowing us whole. I push him against the brick, my hands tearing at his shirt, buttons popping as I bare his chest—smooth, taut, a canvas I need to claim. He’s just as wild, his hands under my skirt, peeling my panties aside, and I gasp, my nails raking his shoulders as he lifts me, my legs wrapping tight. “You feel it too,” he growls, his voice rough, and I nod, my lips crashing into his, tasting him—salt, heat, something ancient that sings in my veins. He enters me, hard and deep, and I cry out, my body arching, the world narrowing to the thrust of him, the press of us, a trance of flesh and need. It’s fast, fierce, our breaths mingling, my teeth grazing his neck—not to bite, not yet, but close—and he shudders, his release triggering mine, a wave that crashes through me, leaving me trembling, clinging, his.

We don’t stop there. It’s the start, a spark that ignites us. Silas is mine, and I’m his—unnatural, inevitable, a bond we don’t question. He’s gorgeous, beyond reason—those green-silver eyes, that tousled hair, a body that moves with a grace that’s almost too much—and I’m his match, sleek and sharp, our chemistry a fire that burns bright. We become that couple—envied, untouchable, a love so intense it’s a weapon. Nights are a blur of tangled sheets, his hands on my hips, my lips on his throat, our bodies locked in a rhythm that’s raw, relentless, erotic to our core. He tells me once, between kisses, his voice a rasp against my skin, “My dad… he was different too. Hungry, like us.” I freeze, a flicker of Mom’s face, Mira’s shadow, but I push it down, lost in him again, his touch drowning the questions.

I don’t know his father’s a thrall, not yet—don’t know Liam’s essence flows in him, from his dad, the same way it flows in me from Mom. But I feel it, the echo, the pull that’s more than lust, a hunger that binds us deeper than mortal love. We’re a storm together, Silas and I—dinners where we barely eat, staring across tables until we’re tearing at each other in the car; mornings where he wakes me with his mouth, slow and teasing, until I’m begging, my cries echoing through our flat. People watch us, want us, die for what we have—a beauty, a passion, a connection that’s unearthly, electric, ours.

He proposes one night, under a blood-red moon, his ring cold against my finger, and I say yes, my body pressed to his, our kiss a seal of forever. We’re a couple forged in something ancient, something we don’t name, but it’s there—in the way his eyes flash silver, the way my hunger matches his, the way we give to each other, again and again, a trance that never breaks. Liam’s in us, a shadow we don’t see, but Silas is mine, and I’m his—perfect, perilous, eternal.