BloodBound Eternity

Chapter One: The Awakening

The first thing Lysander became aware of was the cold. It seeped into his bones, as if it had always been there, lurking just beneath his skin. His eyes fluttered open, and he found himself lying on a bed of dark velvet, in a room dimly lit by flickering candles. The walls were adorned with ancient tapestries and shadowy portraits whose eyes seemed to follow him wherever he moved. His body ached, not with the usual fatigue, but with a sharp hunger that burned in his throat, demanding to be sated.

He stumbled to his feet, swaying unsteadily, his senses assaulted by a world that seemed sharper, more vivid. He could hear the soft rustle of the curtains, the distant drip of water somewhere far below, and the steady heartbeat of something nearby—though he could not see it. Panic welled up within him, his hands trembling as he reached for the wall to steady himself. As he touched the cold stone, a voice spoke, deep and smooth, cutting through the darkness like a blade.

"You awaken at last."

Lysander turned to find himself face to face with Dracula. The lord of the castle stood at the doorway, his crimson eyes glowing like embers in the dim light. He was tall and imposing, his presence filling the room with an aura of power that seemed to press down on Lysander, making it hard to breathe.

"What... what have you done to me?" Lysander's voice was hoarse, his throat dry and raw.

Dracula's lips curved into a smile that showed a hint of his fangs. "I have given you a gift, Lysander. The gift of eternal life... and the hunger that comes with it."

The words struck him like a physical blow. Eternal life. He had not asked for this. He had not wanted it. The memories flooded back—a night in Paris, the shadows closing in, Dracula's eyes locking onto his as the world faded into darkness. He had been seduced by promises of escape from the despair that had threatened to consume him. But now, here he was, in a castle far from the life he had known, trapped in a body that no longer felt like his own.

"I didn't want this," Lysander spat, his voice cracking. "I didn't ask for your 'gift.'"

Dracula stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His gaze was calm, almost pitying. "None of them do at first. But you will learn to embrace it, as all my brides have. Come. There is much to show you."

The words 'my brides' hung in the air, unfamiliar and foreboding. Lysander followed Dracula out of the room, down winding corridors that seemed to stretch into eternity. The walls echoed with the faint sounds of whispers, as though the castle itself had a voice, ancient and cruel.

They descended into a dimly lit chamber lined with stone columns, where a great iron door stood ajar. Inside, two figures awaited them. The first was Aislin, her raven hair spilling over her shoulders like a dark waterfall. Her eyes, glowing amber in the firelight, met Lysander's with an unreadable expression. There was a sadness in her that he recognized, and something else—an emptiness that seemed to swallow all hope.

Beside her stood Elena, dressed in a gown of deep burgundy, her emerald eyes alight with a cruel amusement. She watched Lysander with the gaze of a cat eying a trapped mouse, a faint smile playing on her lips as if she could already taste his despair.

"So this is your new bride," Elena purred, her voice as smooth as silk. "He looks... fragile. I wonder if he will last."

Aislin shot Elena a cold glance, her voice soft but firm. "Leave him be. He has only just awakened."

Lysander could feel the tension between them, a silent animosity that lingered in the air. He had no idea what lay behind their hostility, but he could sense that whatever it was ran deep—centuries deep. His gaze flicked between them, the gravity of his situation sinking in. He was not merely a guest here; he was a prisoner in a world of darkness and blood, bound to Dracula's will.

Dracula's voice broke the silence, its calmness betraying a hint of command. "Aislin. Elena. You will teach him what he must know. He is one of us now, and he will serve as we all do."

Aislin inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, though the gesture seemed to cost her. Elena, however, merely laughed—a sound that echoed through the chamber like a bell tolling the hour of doom. "Oh, it will be a pleasure, my lord," she said, her eyes fixed on Lysander. "I shall enjoy teaching our new bride what it means to be one of us."

As Lysander stared at his so-called sisters, he felt the hunger in his throat grow sharper, more insistent. It was not just a need for sustenance, but for understanding, for a sense of what he had become. And as Dracula's brides closed in around him, he could not help but feel that he had stepped into a nightmare from which there would be no awakening.