Eternally Bound by Blood(Dark Bl)

They dragged Eric down a series of dark, damp corridors, the cold stone walls forming a winding cage. The stench of rot mingled with the stale scent of dried blood, while distant, muffled cries echoed from the depths of this forsaken place. The hunters moved in silence, but the relentless clink of silver chains biting into his skin served as a painful reminder of his vulnerability. Ancient symbols marked the walls, each one inscribed with sinister precision, draining his strength with every step.

As they rounded a corner, Eric's eyes adjusted to the faint glow of torchlight, revealing rows of cells. Twisted, gaunt figures sat shackled within, their eyes empty and resigned, stripped of the monstrous essence that once defined them. He realized, with a sinking dread, that this was a place where beings of the night were meant to wither away, left to decay in silence.

They finally entered a vast chamber, its ceiling looming high above, illuminated by a single flickering light. The dirt and stone gave way to polished concrete floors, walls lined with cold metal panels, and a solitary white door set into the far wall.

Eric was unceremoniously thrown into the chamber, landing hard on the cold, dirt-streaked floor. Dust swirled around him, mingling with the oppressive stench of decay that clung to every corner. As he pushed himself up, his eyes flicked to the walls, covered in morbid symbols that now pulsed faintly with a deep crimson glow, each curve and line more precise and lethal.

The hunters locked the door with a sharp clang, plunging him into silence. Eric's gaze flickered to the door, where a shadow lingered just beyond the narrow gap in the frame. He could feel it—the familiar, steady presence of Alaric, watching from the other side.

A grim smile tugged at the corners of Eric's mouth. Alaric was there, waiting—captor or witness, he couldn't tell. That knowledge ignited a mix of unknown anger and dark amusement, a spark of defiance amid the suffocating darkness.

A familiar hunger twisted in Eric's stomach, sharp and insistent, clawing its way up as he leaned against the cold, filthy wall, breathing heavily. The symbols throbbed, struggling to suppress him, but they couldn't erase the desire burning through his veins. His vampire side—the part of him that refused to lie dormant—demanded satisfaction. And at the forefront of that hunger was Alaric's memory.

Eric closed his eyes, vividly recalling the first time he had tasted Alaric. His blood had been intoxicating, rich and laced with a strange energy. It had unlocked something deep within him, a craving that no other blood could sate.

The memory surged, and he felt his fangs lengthening, pressing against his lip as his mouth watered. His muscles tensed with the raw need to taste that power again, to claim it as his own. Even through layers of pain and fatigue, he strained to catch the faintest scent of Alaric lingering beyond the door, yearning for a hint of that familiar allure.

But staring at the locked door, feeling his instincts thrumming within, Eric realized the cruel nature of his predicament. Alaric was close, close enough to taunt his hunger.

Fury ignited within Eric, slicing through the desperation. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms as he pressed back against the wall. This wasn't mere captivity—it was degradation, a cage forced upon him. The whispered taunts of the hunters echoed in his mind, their mocking words about how Alaric had bound him to this fate, enforcing his humiliating dependence.

Bound to Alaric. The phrase left a bitter taste in his mouth. His fury sharpened, venomous and deepening with every pulse. Alaric was to blame for this—every chain, every bruise, every second in this wretched place was thanks to him. Alaric had orchestrated his suffering, feigning helplessness while manipulating everything around him. The realization burned within him, a poison thickening his blood.

A snarl twisted Eric's lips, his fangs bared as the bitterness consumed him. All he could see was Alaric's calm, superior face, infuriatingly just out of reach. The irony was maddening: his rage was fueled by the same hunger Alaric had awakened in him, using it to control him, to keep him helpless.

He slammed his fist against the wall, feeling the shock reverberate through his bones. The symbols glowed, almost mocking him, tightening their grip with each blow. Yet, his anger only intensified, defying the symbols' draining power, feeding on his hatred for Alaric.

"Is this your plan?" Eric hissed into the dark, his voice a feral growl. "To bind me to you, to force me to want you while keeping me chained like an animal?"

In his fury, Eric sensed Alaric's awareness of every flicker of anger, every pang of frustration. Perhaps that was Alaric's design: to leave him here, steeped in rage and desire, chained to a maddening bond that refused to break.

Finally, Eric succumbed, letting his vampire side surge, flooding his senses with raw, uncontained hunger. He felt himself slip fully into that state where rage and desire intertwined, drowning out the restraints of his mortal facade. The chamber door creaked open, yielding to his will, and he stepped forward, crossing into a realm entirely unlike the filthy cell he had been trapped in.

The new room was clean, its walls smooth and pale, glowing with an unnatural brightness that cast everything in cold, sterile light. The scent was oddly sweet, almost floral, mingled with faint traces of incense. And there, in the center of it all, sat Alaric, cross-legged on an ornate cushion.

His skin was alabaster, glowing in the sterile light, silvery hair cascading around his shoulders, framing his face in soft waves that would have seemed beautiful were it not for the cold, unnatural stillness of his expression. He looked ethereal, sculpted rather than born, an unblemished creature untouched by darkness. Eric's anger and hunger seemed to evaporate in the face of that deceptive calm, the deeper part of his mind clouding with want.

But the instant Eric crossed the room's threshold, Alaric's eyes snapped open, shattering the illusion.

What had appeared angelic twisted into something monstrous. Alaric's gaze was no longer soft but a bottomless void, deep pools of ink absorbing the light around him. The delicate features darkened, revealing an otherworldly malice. His lips curled into a slow, cruel smile, revealing teeth that were serrated and shark-like, promising nothing but blood and pain.

"Eric," Alaric murmured, his voice low and smooth, devoid of warmth. He didn't need to rise to be menacing; seated with his legs crossed, he was a predator at rest, waiting with a patience that spoke of inevitable victory.

Eric felt hunger mingling with dread. Every instinct screamed at him to turn and flee, yet his feet stayed rooted, caught in the cold allure radiating from Alaric. The angelic figure had melted away, exposing the devil lurking just beneath the surface, a sight both horrifying and captivating.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Alaric's voice dripped with taunting honey. "Or have they finally broken you?" His eyes narrowed, a glint of satisfaction flickering as he observed the conflict swirling in Eric's expression.

The silence thickened, charged with anticipation, and Eric felt his fury rising again, dark and uncontained. He wanted to tear that smug look from Alaric's face, to taste his blood and remind him he was no one's prisoner. But Alaric remained seated, calm and unreadable.

"Come closer," Alaric whispered, the promise of danger threading through his voice.