Eternally Bound by Blood(Dark Bl)

The man glanced at Alaric with a smile, his eyes dark. "So, what's your deal?" he asked, the question casual but probing. "You don't talk much, huh?" He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for a response. When none came, his smile widened, though there was an edge to it now. "What's your name? You got a name, right? Or are you one of those strong, silent types?"

Alaric kept his eyes forward, the faint smile on his lips still lingering but offering nothing more. The man was testing him, pressing for something—anything—that would make him feel in control. He was like a predator circling prey, curious but confident in his power.

"Where you from?" the man continued, his voice growing bolder. He shifted slightly in his seat, angling his body toward Alaric. "You alone out here? No family? No friends?" His tone had shifted, taking on a subtle predatory undertone, as though he was savoring the questions more than expecting answers.

Alaric remained still, his gaze fixed ahead, unbothered by the man's probing. He had encountered countless humans like this before—those who believed power came from intimidation or control. But this man was no different from the rest. Alaric had lived through entire eras of human brutality, seen men reduced to their basest instincts. This one was just playing a role, pretending to be dangerous, all while barely understanding the true depth of power.

The man's hand slid to Alaric's leg, his fingers pressing into his thigh with deliberate force. "You don't say much, huh? That's okay. You can keep quiet. I like the silent ones. Makes it easier."

The round man chuckled, glancing sideways at Alaric. "So, what's your story? Don't get many like you around here," he said, his tone casual, almost too friendly. His eyes flicked down Alaric's naked body, lingering far too long on his pale skin. "You ever see the sun, or are you always this... white?"

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, a faint rhythm that seemed to echo in the confined space, his smile curling into something more sinister. "I mean, don't get me wrong," he continued, voice light and conversational. "People like their... unique types, right? You stand out, keeps things interesting."

He laughed softly, as though he were sharing a joke only he understood. But when he turned to look at Alaric, ready to gauge his reaction, his breath caught in his throat.

Alaric's head was already turned, his eyes locked onto the man with an unnatural stillness. It wasn't just that Alaric was looking at him—it was the way he was looking, like he had been waiting. His pale face, devoid of emotion, caught the faint light in a way that made him seem more like a statue than a man, something carved from ice and bone. His eyes, cold and bottomless, seemed to consume the man's entire presence.

The man froze, his heartbeat suddenly too loud in his ears. His fingers stopped drumming on the wheel, and the smile on his face faltered, twisting into something fragile. The air in the car grew heavy, oppressive, as if Alaric's gaze alone was enough to suffocate him.

"Hey, man," the man stammered, trying to regain his composure. "It's just a joke, you know? Just messing around." But there was no humor left in his voice. The words felt hollow, barely holding together in the thick, suffocating tension that had filled the car.

Alaric's eyes didn't blink. His gaze pierced through the man like he was nothing more than a piece of meat, something insignificant, already claimed. The man's smile vanished completely now, his breath growing shallow as the weight of Alaric's stare pressed down on him. It wasn't anger in those eyes. It was something worse—cold, and indifferent, like he was staring into the void itself.

The man blinked, clearly unsettled by the lack of response but refusing to back down.

He cleared his throat, the moment of discomfort quickly forgotten, or at least shoved aside. He reached over and brushed his fingers lightly against Alaric's arm again, testing the boundary once more, convinced now that Alaric was simply mute, or maybe slow. The man's eyes roamed over Alaric's form, and his smile grew darker, more certain, like a hunter sensing victory.

"You've got nowhere to go, huh? No one's looking for you?" he pressed, his voice lowering as if to emphasize the isolation. He leaned closer, his breath hot against Alaric's cold skin. "No one's gonna miss you."

The man reached out again, his hand moving toward Alaric's neck, but this time, Alaric's gaze sharpened, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. His cold hand shot out, faster than the man could react, gripping the man's wrist with unnatural strength. The smirk on the man's face disappeared in an instant, replaced by shock and fear as he tried to pull back, only to find he couldn't.

Alaric's grip tightened, just enough to make the man wince in pain. Alaric leaned in, his lips parting slightly, allowing the barest hint of a smile to return.

Alaric's grip on the man's wrist slackened just enough to allow him to pull back, though he didn't release him completely. His gaze darkened as he stared down at the man, taking in every nuance of the fear, confusion, and—Alaric's lips curled slightly—the desire now filled the air. The scent of it was intoxicating, mingling with the sharp tang of fear, a combination Alaric hadn't tasted in centuries. It made his skin prickle excitement, though his expression remained cold.

Alaric moved slowly, deliberately, like a predator toying with its prey. His pale, naked body seemed to glide in the dim light, each movement eerily graceful as he crawled over the man's lap. The man's breath hitched, his lips parting in a mixture of shock and disbelief. Alaric's cool flesh pressed against the man's clothed form, the contrast sending a shiver through the human that betrayed more than just confusion.

For a moment, the man's brain struggled to catch up with what was happening. One second he had been throwing out cheap insults, feeling smug and in control, and the next, this strange, unsettlingly beautiful creature was straddling him, pressing into him like some forbidden fantasy. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last, like a warning he didn't fully comprehend.

Alaric's weight settled fully onto him, his cold skin meeting the man's warmth. Beneath the thin fabric of his pants, the man could feel every shift of Alaric's body—the hardness of his thighs, the unsettling coolness of his skin. Alaric's expression was unreadable, his pale features as cold and distant as before, but there was something almost deliberate in the way he moved, as though he were enjoying the confusion and unease radiating from the man beneath him.

The man stiffened, not just in surprise but in undeniable arousal. His breath became shallow, his pulse racing beneath his skin, as his mind warred between fear and desire. What was happening didn't make sense, but the growing hardness between his legs told a different story. He could feel Alaric against him, shifting slightly, his hips moving just enough to stir a spark of lust that was quickly overwhelming any rational thought.

Alaric's lips curled into a faint smile, amused by the human's conflicting reactions. He could feel the man's arousal, the heat building beneath him, and it fed something darker within. This man, who had tried to mock him, now found himself caught between terror and lust, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

The man swallowed hard, his throat dry. His hands, shaking at first, found their way to Alaric's hips, hesitating for a moment before his fingers dug into the pale flesh, kneading it. He let out a low, shaky breath, his confusion melting into something more primal as he surrendered to the moment.

"God," the man muttered, his voice thick with desire, his gaze roaming over Alaric's pale, otherworldly form. "You... you're beautiful, you know that? The way you're sitting there... looking like that... like you want it. So fucking slutty."

His words hung in the air, heavy with lust and fascination. Alaric said nothing, his cold gaze still locked on the man's face, watching as the human unraveled beneath him. He shifted again, deliberately pressing down, drawing a soft gasp from the man. The line between fear and lust blurred further, the man's grip tightening on Alaric's hips as he lost himself to the dark allure of the creature before him.

In that moment, it no longer mattered that Alaric was something strange, something exotic. All that mattered to the man was the intoxicating mix of danger and desire that Alaric exuded, leaving him helpless to anything but the craving that now consumed him entirely.

The man's eyes fluttered closed, lost in the haze of pleasure and lust, his fingers gripping Alaric's pale hips with greedy hunger. His breath came in ragged gasps, the heat of his desire overtaking any lingering confusion or fear. The world outside the car ceased to exist as he gave in to the moment, the pressure of Alaric's cold body against him, the strange allure of this pale, enigmatic figure overwhelming his senses.

But Alaric felt something different—something darker—rising within him. The hunger, always lurking beneath the surface, began to claw its way up, demanding to be fed. His breath slowed, becoming a deep, guttural growl in the back of his throat. His body stiffened as his eyes snapped wide open, now completely black, voids that reflected no light, no warmth, no trace of humanity.

Alaric's once serene face twisted into something monstrous. His lips curled back, revealing teeth that lengthened and sharpened into jagged, serrated edges, like rows of a shark's teeth, designed for tearing and devouring. His mouth stretched wider, unnaturally so, like a predator about to feast. His previously graceful and silent demeanor had given way to a ravenous creature of the abyss—no longer a man but something far more ancient, far more malevolent.

The man, blissfully unaware of the transformation, kept his eyes closed, lost in the pleasure of the moment. His fingers kneaded Alaric's flesh, and a low groan of desire escaped his lips, oblivious to the danger now perched above him.

Alaric's gaze fixated on the man's throat, his pulse thrumming beneath the fragile skin, a siren call to the insatiable hunger that now controlled him. The darkness inside Alaric twisted, roared, and surged forward, overtaking any remnant of restraint. He no longer saw the man as anything but prey, a vessel to be consumed.

The man's head tilted back, lips parting in a sigh of pleasure, and in that instant, Alaric struck. His cold hands shot up to grip the sides of the man's face, fingers digging into his flesh like talons. The man's eyes flew open, but it was too late. He looked into the endless black of Alaric's demonic eyes, and terror dawned on him—too slow, too late.

The last thing he saw was the glint of those horrifying, jagged teeth descending upon him, a devil's maw about to feast. There was no time for screams, no time to fight, only the horrifying realization that the beautiful creature he had desired had transformed into something from the darkest nightmares. The air was thick with impending violence, and Alaric's hunger would not be denied.