LUSTBORN

{"You are not sleeping, are you?" I jolted upright on my bed, the voice sharp, closer than a whisper, deeper than thought. My eyes darted across the room. "Marek?" He stepped from the darkness, slow, deliberate. The moonlight licked at his silhouette, casting an unnaturally long shadow behind him. His eyes found mine, smoky, unreadable. "You left me hanging," he said, tone neutral but biting. "Again." I blinked, pushing hair out of my face. "It's….. It's late. I'm tired. I didn't know you'd be……" "Real?" He cut in, cocking his head. "Is that the word you're afraid of?" My mouth went dry. "I didn't expect you to come out of the story." "You didn't expect?" Marek moved closer. "You write me on purpose. Every detail, my scars, my rage, my hunger, you summoned me. Don't play dumb now." "I…. I didn't summon anything!" I snapped. "I wrote! That's all!" He chuckled darkly. "Writers like you…. You think ink is harmless. That fiction doesn't breathe, but you cracked the

"You're late," Elara whispered to no one, staring at the empty corner of her candle lit room. Her voice was shaky, but laced with something she didn't recognize, a need, a burn, an ache that only a shadow could fill. The room hummed with silence. The mirror still bore the crack of yesterday, spiderwebbed glass glinting under flickering light. Fallon was asleep down the hall, the house finally still, and yet, Elara sat perched on her bed like prey waiting for the predator. "You waited for me?" She froze. That voice. Smooth. Deep. Dangerous. Her eyes darted to the mirror. There he stood. Marek. "You take your time, don't you?" she asked, forcing nonchalance, but her heartbeat betrayed her. She gripped the bedsheet behind her tighter. "Time is subjective, Darling," He said, emerging from the shadows like ink spilling into water. His black coat flowed behind him like a cloak of midnight. "But your wait makes you sweeter." She exhaled slowly, afraid any su

"I know all the names," Marek said casually, sipping from his coffee as he leaned back against the desk. "They gave me the profiles of every student I'll be taking on."Fallon tilted her head. "Oh, that's efficient. Makes it easier to remember us, I guess."Elara stood rooted to the floor beside her friend, her stomach twisted in knots. That was a lie. She knew it. She could feel it.Profiles?He didn't need profiles. He already knew. Because he wasn't supposed to be here, because he wasn't real.Fallon laughed lightly, completely unaware. "Even my allergies are in there. Wild."Elara's fingers dug into the strap of her bag. She felt watched. Not just by Marek. By something deeper, older, something lurking in plain sight.When they got home, Fallon was still gushing over Marek's charm. "He's so mysterious, Elara. Like dark cloud wrapped around silk."But Elara didn't respond. She dropped her keys at the entrance and walked straight up the stairs."Elara?" Fallon called.No answer

Thunder rumbled low in the distance as Elara stirred from sleep. The dim gray light of a stormy morning filtered through her curtains, casting elongated shadows on the walls of her room.Her body was unusually warm beneath the sheets, and as she blinked the haze from her eyes, she caught a strange sensation almost like a soft burn on her wrist.She sat up slowly. Her room was silent, the air was thick, humming with energy. When she turned her wrist over, her breath caught.There, on the soft skin above her pulse, was a faintly glowing symbol. A twisting design that looked both ancient and ethereal. It pulsed softly, like a second heartbeat. Her heart galloped."What the helly…." She whispered.Fallon's knock came before she could process it."You alive in there?" Fallon called through the door. "You missed breakfast. It's like, almost time for lit class."Elara scrambled to hide the mark beneath her sweater sleeve. "Yeah, just coming."When she opened the door, Fallon frowned.

The alley was quiet, early…except for the soft scuff of old slippers against concrete.Mrs. Maloney, a bent hunched woman with thin white hair and a shaky cane, squinted through her thick glasses at the lump sprawled behind the dumpster.At first, she thought it was a stack of rags. But then she saw the blood.So much blood.She gasped, one hand trembling to her chest.Her scream tore into the still morning air, slicing it open like a knife.Within minutes, sirens wailed, lights spun, and the body of Damien Reeves was surrounded. ****"Male. Twenty-three. Multiple lacerations. Face was….." The forensic officer paused. "Unrecognizable. Fingernails ripped off. Teeth broken. Slashes…dozens of them…all over his chest and arms. His neck wrinkled. The eyes were missing."Detective Langdon squatted near the covered body, glancing toward the pool of dried blood staining the cracked pavement. "This wasn't a robbery. This was rage. Vicious. Like someone