Blood and Bond

Blood and Bond


Reyna’s POV

The door clicked softly as Lucien left, the sound echoing in the heavy silence like the toll of a distant bell. I sat on the bed beside Draven, but he felt far away — like his body was here, but the rest of him was somewhere else. His shoulders were tense beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his head bowed low. He hadn't moved since the blood bag was placed on the table. He hadn’t even looked at it.

He was starving.

And he was still refusing to feed.

My chest tightened. I had never seen someone fight their own nature with such quiet, violent resistance. His skin was pale, drawn tight over sharp cheekbones, his eyes dark-rimmed and tired. But the worst part? He didn’t look afraid. He looked resigned. Like he was ready to let himself waste away.

"Draven..." I said quietly, but he didn’t answer.

I reached out and gently touched his hand where it rested on his thigh. Cold. So cold. His fingers didn’t twitch beneath mine.

"You’re hurting. And you're pretending it’s fine, but it's not. You think you're protecting me," I whispered, "but this isn’t protection. It’s punishment."

Still, silence.

The pain in my heart twisted into something else—helplessness. Anger. Not at him, but at the situation. At the unfairness. At whatever curse tied him in knots like this. I stood slowly, my legs shaky from sitting too long.

As I moved, my eyes caught on something sitting on the nearby table—an old letter opener. Thin. Silver. It gleamed in the low light of the fire, as if calling to me. I walked toward it, almost in a trance. My fingers wrapped around the cool metal.

Behind me, Draven stirred.

“Reyna?” His voice was hoarse, alarmed.

I turned around slowly and looked at him, my heart pounding.

“You won’t feed,” I said softly. “So I’m going to make it impossible for you not to.”

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking abou—”

But he stopped when I raised the blade.

His eyes locked on the silver in my hand, then followed as I lifted my wrist. The edge of the blade kissed my skin. My breath caught.

“Don’t—” he choked out, starting to rise.

But it was already done.

I pulled the blade across the inside of my wrist in one smooth motion.

A thin red line opened, and blood began to spill — thick, warm, and vibrant. It dripped down my arm slowly, every drop hitting the wooden floor with a soft tap, tap, tap.

Time froze.

Draven stood rooted in place, his body trembling. His lips parted slightly, his fangs barely visible. His eyes were no longer dull. They burned — like molten metal, like hunger personified.

A low, guttural sound escaped him, deep from his chest. His hands clenched at his sides. He was breathing harder now, every breath shaking.

“No,” he rasped. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“Yes, I do,” I said gently. “You’re dying, Draven. And I can’t watch you fade.”

He backed away like a cornered animal, but his eyes never left the blood. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I’ve spent centuries keeping control. You... you don’t know what happens when I feed like this.”

“Then show me,” I whispered. “Let me see the truth of you.”

My voice, broken and soft, seemed to snap something in him.

Suddenly, he was in front of me — faster than I could track. But he didn’t grab me. He didn’t lunge. He fell to his knees.

He looked up at me, his expression full of pain and something else—something raw and sacred.

“I don't want to hurt you,” he said again, pleading now.

“You won’t,” I said firmly, kneeling to face him. I reached out and cupped the back of his head, guiding him closer. “I trust you.”

His breath stuttered. Slowly, his fingers curled around my wrist, his grip trembling as he lifted my bleeding arm closer. The scent of my blood was thick in the air, and his eyes darkened further, glowing faintly red around the edges.

And then, with a reverence I hadn’t expected, he pressed his lips to the cut.

The moment he drank, something shifted inside both of us.

His lips were soft against my skin, but I could feel the power behind the hunger. The first pull was gentle, hesitant. A groan escaped him — almost like a sigh of relief, of pain easing. He gripped my arm tighter, and I could feel the strength returning to him, bit by bit. His breathing changed, becoming deeper, more grounded.

I should’ve been afraid.

But I wasn’t.

Instead, I felt something deep inside me stir — like a thread being tugged. A bond, maybe. Something invisible, ancient. Like this moment had been waiting for us for centuries.

As he fed, my body grew warm. Not from blood loss, but from the connection. I felt every pull of his lips, every breath he took between gulps. He was drinking carefully, reverently, like I was something sacred.

His name escaped my lips in a whisper. “Draven…”

He paused, eyes fluttering closed. Then he pulled back, his lips stained red, his chest rising and falling like he’d just been pulled out of the ocean after drowning.

He licked the wound slowly, gently, and I felt warmth rush over the cut as it healed under his tongue. No pain. Just a strange, comforting sensation.

When it was done, he pressed his forehead against mine.

“I’ve fed from many,” he murmured, voice low, “but none of them tasted like this. None of them felt like this.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

My body was trembling—not from fear, but from the overwhelming weight of it all. The intimacy. The energy between us. The way his hands still held me like I was something fragile and precious at the same time.

He helped me up carefully, carrying me to the bed like I weighed nothing. I sank into the pillows, breathless.

He sat beside me, brushing the hair from my face with such tenderness it made my chest ache.

“Never do that again,” he said, voice sharp. “You could’ve fainted. Bled out.”

“But I didn’t,” I whispered. “Because you stopped yourself. Because you’re not the monster you think you are.”

His eyes searched mine, wide and haunted. “You don’t know what I am.”

“I know what you aren’t.”

We sat in silence, hearts thudding softly in sync. His head lowered until it rested beside mine. And for the first time since I met him… I felt him breathe without pain.

Something had changed.

Something powerful.