Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 81 - Chapitre 90

Samuel’s POV I found David in the kitchen, standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open, staring at its contents like they might rearrange themselves into something he could stomach. “Can’t eat either?” I asked. He slammed the door. “Everything tastes like ash. I tried coffee, bread, fruit…” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “What’s happening to us?” The morning light streaming through the window made my skin prickle. I’d drawn every curtain in my room, huddled in the darkest corner until the sun climbed high enough that I could move without feeling like my nerves were on fire. “Where’s Elena?” “Where do you think? The library. Reading those damned books.” I’d been avoiding the library. That’s where it had happened: the ritual, the game, whatever we were calling it now. But David was already walking that direction, and I followed because the alternative was standing alone in a kitchen full of food my body rejected. Elena had transformed the space. Heavy drapes

Samuel’s POV I stopped him at the bottom of the stairs. Not with words or with force. I stopped him with something else, a compulsion that rose from the bond between us, from the power Elena had awakened when she fed. David froze mid-step, the sledgehammer trembling in his hands. “Put it down,” I said, and watched in horror and fascination as he obeyed. Elena appeared beside me, her hand finding mine again. “Good,” she whispered. “Now come back upstairs, David. We need to talk.” He climbed the stairs like a puppet, fighting every step, his fury battering against my mind. When we released him in the library, he collapsed into a chair, gasping. “What the fuck was that?” “Power,” Elena said simply. “The kind you could have too, if you’d stop fighting.” “I won’t. I’ll never… ” But his protest died as the hunger doubled him over. I felt it through our bond, gnawing at him like an animal trying to eat its way out. “You’re killing yourself,” I said. “David, you haven’t eaten in fou

Eli’s POVThe coffee shop didn’t have a name worth remembering. Just a counter, a tired espresso machine, and a fluorescent light that turned everyone ugly. I liked it for exactly that reason, no one came here to be seen. They came to disappear into a laptop screen or a deadline, and the barista, a kid named Drew who never spoke more than four words to me, let them.It was almost midnight. I had a layout for a boutique skincare brand due by morning, and I’d been staring at the same composition for forty minutes, moving elements around like rearranging furniture in a room I didn’t want to be in. The rain had started an hour ago, it was one of those cold, relentless rains that made the city sound like it was being scrubbed clean, and I was considering whether to order a third coffee or just walk home and finish in miserable silence when the door banged open.He came in the way weather comes in. All at once, loud, impossible to ignore.Soaked through. Jacket clinging to him, hair plast

For a while, it was like falling without noticing the ground was gone. The first time we had sex was on a Sunday. No preamble, no buildup you could point to, just a morning where the light came in wrong and we looked at each other across my kitchen and the air changed. He kissed me first. I pulled him closer. We didn’t make it past the hallway. It was slow in a way that surprised me. Jordan had this way of paying attention, his hands unhurried, eyes open, like he was memorizing something. He touched me like I was worth the time, and I let him, which was its own kind of surrender. Afterward, we lay tangled together on my bed, his fingers tracing idle lines down my spine, and I felt something crack open in my chest, not painfully, just open. Wide. The kind of open that makes you vulnerable in ways you can’t take back. We fell into each other after that. Hard and fast and without the caution I’d spent years building. Nights at the bar. Mornings after, waking slowly, his body warm and

I almost didn’t go. Sat in my apartment for an hour that night, shoes on, jacket over the back of a chair, staring at nothing. The invitation had come through Sam, not Jordan. A flyer for the reopening, passed along casually, the way you share a restaurant recommendation. No message attached. No indication that Jordan wanted me there or knew I’d see it. But the branding was mine. The logo on the poster, the warmth of the color palette, the way the text sat on the page like it was breathing. I’d made that. It existed in the world now, attached to a place I’d helped build, and something in me needed to see it. So I went. The Amber Room was alive in a way I hadn’t seen before. Full. Loud. The kind of crowd that fills a room not because it’s trying to but because the room is asking for it. The trio in the corner was better than I remembered, and the amber light caught everything just right, and for a moment I just stood inside the door and watched it all and felt something close to p