Nathan was understanding when I explained to him that everything had been a series of misunderstandings. He listened, nodded at the right moments, and even smiled faintly, but the disappointment in his eyes lingered. I feel bad for him, but it's good that the misunderstanding has been cleared up.
Silas, however, didn't take the news nearly as well.
"You're talking to him again?" he said, his voice low and edged with annoyance. He'd been giving me the stink eye ever since, like I'd committed some unspeakable betrayal.
I'd tried to smooth things over, to explain. "It's not like that, Silas. You know I don't like him."
His response was swift and curt: "I don't like you talking to him."
We were in bed when this particular conversation unfolded, Silas stretched out lazily between my legs with his head resting against my stomach. A thick book was propped on his chest, pages swaying slightly with his steady breathing. My fingers idly combed through his dark hair, but his mood remained sour. He didn't even attempt to mask it.
I sighed softly, trying to keep my tone light. "You do know that, right? That I don't like him?"
He huffed, closing his book with an audible snap and looking up at me with a pout. "I knowww," he dragged out the word, his voice softening into something almost playful, but the furrow in his brow betrayed him. "But I hate it when people think they have a chance with you."
I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of me. "Me too," I murmured, tugging gently at his hair as he shifted.
Silas turned his body, sliding up until I was pinned beneath him. His head rested on my chest now, and he gazed up at me with those familiar, piercing eyes. The weight of him was comforting, grounding even, as if he were some kind of human-shaped blanket.
"You haven't eaten, have you?" he asked suddenly, his tone shifting to something softer, more concerned. He cradled my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against my cheeks. "You look pale again. Sickly."
Before I could answer, he sat up fully, straddling my stomach. His knees pressed into the mattress on either side of me, supporting most of his weight. He leaned forward, peering down at me with a mixture of worry and exasperation. "You can't keep doing this, Seb."
I yawned, blinking up at him. "Mhm. Haven't eaten," I admitted, my voice muffled as I stifled another yawn.
Silas sighed, shaking his head. "You're like a cat, you know that? I don't think you've noticed, but your fangs show when you yawn." He thumbed at my lip, his touch light, almost curious.
"They do?" I hummed, too tired to feel embarrassed, comforted instead by the warmth of his touch. Sleep was tugging at me, soft and insistent, and I let my eyes drift shut for the briefest moment. His weight, his heat—it was enough to lull me into the kind of rest I hadn't had in weeks.
"Don't sleep," Silas whispered, his breath warm against my face. I scrunched my nose as he blew a soft puff of air at me. "Hey, don't ignore me. Look at me."
Reluctantly, I blinked my eyes open, meeting his gaze. He smiled, his lips tugging into a grin that was far too mischievous for someone who'd just been pouting at me. "You're so cute," he said, his voice teasing. "Your fangs are poking out again."
I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could say anything, he pressed a thumb against one of my fangs. It was a light touch, almost experimental, until—
"Ah!" Silas flinched, pulling his hand back. A tiny bead of blood welled up on his thumb.
"Silas!" I sat up quickly, grabbing his wrist. My heart leapt into my throat as I examined the small wound. It was barely more than a pinprick, but guilt swelled in my chest nonetheless.
"It's fine! Jeez, Seb, it's not like you ripped my hand off," Silas said, laughing as he tried to pull his hand away. "It's just a scratch. I didn't realize your fangs were so sharp."
I froze. The smell of his blood hit me all at once, rich and tantalizing in a way that made my stomach twist. My throat felt dry, like I'd been wandering in a desert for days. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sudden hunger clawing at my senses.
"Seb?" Silas's voice was light, teasing. "What are you—hey, that tickles!"
I blinked, realizing with horror what I was doing. My tongue was on his thumb, lapping at the tiny drop of blood. Mortified, I pulled away sharply, dropping his hand as if it had burned me. "I—I'm sorry," I stammered, my face heating. "I didn't even notice—I wasn't—"
Silas was laughing, his cheeks flushed. "Relax, Seb. It's fine. Honestly, it's kind of cute. And hey, mage blood probably tastes amazing for you, huh?"
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "That's not the point," I muttered, my voice muffled. "It's disgusting. I'm disgusting."
Not until Silas cups my face and forces me to look at him do I finally snap out of my daze. His hands are warm, grounding, yet there's a teasing glimmer in his golden eyes as he tilts my head slightly.
"That was cute," he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't mind. It's like having my own mosquito." He pinches my cheek lightly, the way someone might tease a child, but the gesture only earns him a sharp glare from me.
"Are you serious?" I mutter, my tone flat, but he only chuckles in response, clearly enjoying himself.
"Anyways," he sings, drawing out the word as if we aren't sitting here in the dead of night, "enough of that. It's already 1 A.M. Time to sleep." Without waiting for my agreement, he yanks the covers over both of us in one swift motion, wrapping me in the cocoon of warmth and tucking me against his chest. His arm loops around me, pulling me so close I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
I sigh, the tension in my body melting away as I burrow my face into the crook of his neck. The scent of him fills my senses, warm and golden, like sunlight distilled into a single person. It's intoxicating, though I can't put into words why. He smells like something comforting, something safe.
"You dog," Silas murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. "Sniffing me so brazenly."
I snort at his teasing and mumble, "Just sleep," though my voice lacks any real bite. Yet, even as I close my eyes, I can't stop the thought lingering in the back of my mind—the memory of the taste of his blood. Sweet, rich, and utterly haunting.
I fall asleep easily that night, faster than Silas, I think. His breathing is still even and steady when sleep claims me. But it's not rest that greets me—it's something darker. Something that leaves me trembling.
The dream is vivid, too vivid. I'm tasting something on my tongue, metallic and hot—the unmistakable taste of blood. My hands are sticky, coated in it. And then I see him.
Silas.
He's beneath me, his body sprawled and motionless. His eyes are empty, staring into nothing, and his neck… Oh god. His neck is a ruined mess of flesh and bone, torn open as if by a ravenous animal. Blood pools beneath him, staining my knees as I kneel over his broken form.
"S-Silas?" My voice cracks, trembling with confusion and terror. My stomach twists violently, bile rising in my throat, but I can't look away. Can't stop myself.
I should be horrified. I am horrified. But the blood—it tastes so good, rich and overwhelming, like nothing I've ever known. My tongue craves it. My body craves it. I want more. I need more. More. More—
"Sebastian?"
The sound of his voice jolts me awake. My gasp is sharp, my chest heaving as though I've run a marathon. My body is trembling, drenched in sweat, and my eyes dart frantically around the room. Darkness presses in from every corner—Silas must've turned off the lights after I fell asleep.
"Seb?" he says again, and this time I turn my head. He's sitting up beside me, his golden eyes wide and bleary with sleep. His voice is gentle, worried, but it's enough to send a fresh wave of panic rolling through me.
He's fine. There's no blood, no gaping wound on his neck, no lifeless stare. Just Silas, alive and whole, watching me with concern.
"S-Silas, I—" My voice breaks, the words choking in my throat. I can still feel the phantom taste of his blood on my tongue, rich and consuming. My stomach twists again, but this time it's hunger that coils low and hot inside me. Hunger, sharp and primal.
"Sebastian," Silas says softly, and his hand finds my cheek. His touch is warm, grounding, but it only makes the gnawing ache inside me worse. "Hey, look at me. What's wrong?"
He flicks on the bedside lamp, and the sudden light makes me wince. I turn my face away from him, trembling under the weight of the nightmare still clawing at my mind.
"You're freezing," he murmurs, his fingers brushing against the side of my neck. The contact sends a shiver down my spine, and I instinctively lean into him, pressing my forehead against his shoulder. But as soon as I do, the image from the dream flashes before my eyes—the same shoulder, mauled and bloody, flesh and bone exposed. I jerk away from him, my breath hitching.
"Seb?" Silas's voice is sharper now, tinged with alarm as I scramble out of bed. My hands are shaking as I grab my jacket from the chair in the corner of the room.
"I—I'm going home," I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. "If that's alright…"
"What?" He stands too, his worry etched deeply into his face. "Seb, what's going on? Are you okay?"
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. 2:45 A.M. I woke him up for this. For a nightmare. I feel a pang of guilt, but it's drowned out by the hunger still gnawing at me, the phantom taste of his blood making my mouth water. I can't stay here. Not like this.
"Go back to sleep," I say, my voice shaky but firm. "Please."
"Sebastian—"
But I'm already out the door, my hands trembling as I pull my jacket tighter around myself. My stomach growls, the hunger clawing at me, and I swallow hard, trying to ignore the drool pooling in my mouth.
The taste of him lingers, haunting and irresistible. And it terrifies me.
By the time I got home, it was already 3 AM. The house was silent, shrouded in a stillness that felt heavier than usual. After kicking my shoes off, I dragged myself to the bathroom. With a towel draped on my neck, I slumped onto the couch, staring at the blank TV screen in front of me. My stomach growled, and I swallowed hard, my mouth pooling with saliva.
Hunger clawed at me, but I didn't move. I couldn't.
The sound of the front door creaking open jolted me, though I didn't flinch.
"Jesus, Seb, you scared me!" Torie's voice broke through the silence, sharp but familiar. She stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. "Why are you sitting here in the dark?"
I turned my head slightly to look at her, the towel still draped around my neck. "Hey," I muttered, my voice low and raspy from the late hour. "Why are you home so late? It's past three."
She closed the door behind her with a soft click, stepping into the room. "Hm? Oh, I was at Ashley's house. But…" She tilted her head, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "I guess I felt the need to come home. Looks like I know why now. What about you? Why are you still awake, little bro?"
I sighed and shook my head, trying to brush off her question. "Nothing. I just… couldn't sleep." The words came out heavier than I intended, and I avoided looking at her.
Torie walked over and plopped down beside me, her presence warm and grounding. She leaned forward slightly, studying my face with that sisterly intuition that could be both comforting and annoying.
"Really?" she asked, her voice softening. "Did you and Silas fight or something?"
"No." The word came out too quickly, and I shook my head again, more firmly this time. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just… not tired tonight." I sighed heavily, the weight of everything pressing against my chest.
Torie didn't push. Instead, she reached out and gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. "Well," she said after a moment, "if you need someone to talk to, you know I'm here, right?"
"Yeah," I muttered, barely audible.
She grinned, breaking the tension. "Alright, then. How about we both just go to bed now, huh?" She gave me a playful shake, her hands gripping my shoulders before standing up, her energy the complete opposite of my drained state.
I nodded, the motion slow and almost reluctant. "Yeah… okay."
Torie lingered for a second, as if waiting to see if I'd say more, but when I didn't, she gave me one last smile and headed for her room. I stayed on the couch for a few more minutes, listening to the sound of her footsteps fade away, the silence creeping back into the empty spaces she left behind.
My hands clenched into fists on my lap. I would do anything to get the thought out of my head—the thought of hurting Silas.
—
I knew being a vampire meant freedom from illness, but somehow, the next morning, I felt a sick, churning weight in my stomach. It was as if something foreign and wrong had taken root there, twisting and coiling. I could barely lift myself from the bed. School awaited, and with it, the conversation I'd been planning to have with Silas—an apology for leaving so abruptly the day before. But at this rate, I wasn't sure I'd make it out the door.
"You don't look so good, Seb. Your temperature says you're fine– cold even, but…" Torie's voice trailed off as she studied me, her worry clear. I groaned and buried my face into the pillow, trying to block out the nausea and her concerned gaze. My stomach churned again, and I winced. "I don't get it," she added softly, almost to herself. "You look awful."
"I don't know what's wrong either," I muttered, voice muffled by the pillow.
And I didn't. I hadn't felt anything like this since I was turned. Back then, my body had been strange—alien, adjusting to its new limits and hunger, but never weak. Never sick. Was this normal? Could vampires devolve? Was that even possible?
"How about you skip school and rest for today?" Torie suggested, sitting beside me on the bed. Her hand brushed lightly over my hair, a soothing gesture I appreciated more than I'd admit.
"That's the plan," I mumbled, turning away from her and curling tighter into myself.
"If you want, I can call Silas—ask him to swing by after school," she offered.
I hesitated, but the thought of seeing him later was oddly comforting. "Hn. Okay," I murmured.
"Can I take your keys? I'll pass them to him," she asked.
"Mhm." I barely managed a response, already half-asleep, her presence fading as she left the room. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with my exhaustion.
The relief was fleeting. Sleep came quickly, but with it, the nightmares. Again.
I jolted awake, heart pounding, body cold despite the blankets tangled around me. The same nightmarish image had invaded my dreams—a shadowed memory that refused to leave. I curled onto my side, too afraid to close my eyes again, knowing it would still be there, waiting.
This wasn't new. I'd suffered from nightmares before. When I was first turned, I dreamed constantly of feeding on my family—devouring them in a haze of bloodlust and waking to the horror of what I'd become. For nearly a week, I'd locked myself in my room, terrified of going near anyone. My parents had called it my "depression phase." But it wasn't depression. It was fear. Fear of hurting them, of losing control.
The nightmares had haunted me relentlessly—Torie, Kath, even strangers in the street. I thought I'd escaped them. Moved on. But now… now it was Silas.
The worst part was that it wasn't just a dream anymore. I'd tasted his blood. I knew the pull of it, the way it burned through me, intoxicating and unbearable. And because he was a mage, it was so much worse. The magic in his blood made the hunger impossible to ignore. I thought I'd conquered this. I thought I'd learned control. But not even sleep could drown the ache.
"God," I whispered into the dark, my voice hoarse and tired.
Last week, Silas had sent over several "juice boxes" filled with blood, a precaution he insisted on. Torie had almost drunk one by mistake—something that still made me laugh, despite everything. I should probably drink one now. Maybe it would help.
I sat up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in my limbs. The clock read 2 PM. I'd slept half the day away, and yet I still felt drained—hollow. Lethargy clung to me as I stumbled down the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The house was dark and silent, the quiet almost oppressive.
Reaching the fridge, I grabbed one of the juice boxes and bit into it without bothering to find a straw. The cold blood hit my tongue, and I drank greedily, the sensation both satisfying and frustrating. It wasn't enough. I grabbed another and tore into it, ignoring the blood dripping messily down my chin. I didn't care. I just needed more.
The sound of the front door opening pulled me from my feeding. "Seb?" Silas's voice called out, warm and familiar. "Are you here?"
I finished the last drop, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before licking it clean. "Here," I called back, my voice rougher than I intended.
I heard the door close, and seconds later, Silas appeared in the living room, his bag slung over his shoulder. He set it down on the couch and studied me with a mix of concern and amusement. "Torie said you were feeling sick. Stomach ache?"
I grunted in response, collapsing onto the couch. My stomach growled loudly, betraying me. "I think I'm just… really hungry," I admitted, my voice low.
Silas chuckled. "I told you to eat more, didn't I? You never listen." He gestured to the juice box in my hand. "At least you're trying now."
"I am," I muttered, letting my fangs extend as I sunk them into the box again. The blood flowed freely, and I drank with the desperation of someone who'd been starving for days. I didn't care how it looked. Silas let out a small noise—surprise, maybe—but I ignored him, finishing the juice and licking the remaining droplets from my hand.
I sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Sorry," I said, my voice softer now. "That must've looked disgusting." I wiped at the corners of my mouth, glancing at Silas. His cheeks were flushed, his expression unreadable. "You okay?" I asked, frowning.
"Yeah—yep," he stammered, coughing to cover his awkwardness.
I raised an eyebrow. "Was it that weird? I don't do it much. I'm not used to using my teeth, since it's always just juice boxes or glasses." I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Seraphine's always lecturing me about it. She says if I don't use them, my fangs will grow brittle and fall out. Apparently, they won't grow back." The thought made me shudder.
Silas laughed beside me, his usual easy smile returning. "I'm not sure that's true. But she has a point—you've never fed from someone directly, have you?"
"Of course not," I scoffed. "Who'd willingly let a vampire feed from them?"
Silas didn't respond right away, his expression unreadable once more. I shook off the unease and stood, albeit unsteadily. "Anyway, do you want to come upstairs? I'm still exhausted, and I don't want to pass out down here." I smiled faintly, trying to lighten the mood.
"Yeah," Silas said, standing with me. "Let's go."
I didn't forget to toss the juice box into the trash or rinse my mouth in the bathroom before crawling into bed. Silas had already fixed the sheets while I'd been busy tidying up, the faint scent of fresh linen hanging in the air.
"You cleaned my bed," I said softly as Silas tugged me down beside him, his arms wrapping snugly around my waist. I sighed, melting into the warmth of his embrace as I rested my head against his chest. His fingers combed gently through my hair, soothing and steady.
"That I did," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "Now rest."
"Not yet," I mumbled, lifting my head to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark and unwavering, studied me with a quiet patience that made my chest ache. "I… I wanted to say I'm sorry. For leaving so suddenly earlier. It was stupid of me." My voice wavered, the guilt settling heavy in my throat.
A faint smile tugged at Silas's lips, though his brows furrowed slightly. "Oh, Seb," he murmured. "It's alright. Were you having a nightmare?"
I nodded, my throat tightening as his expression softened. He sighed, his hand never ceasing its gentle motion through my hair.
"I had a hunch," he said quietly. "You were calling for me… and crying." He hesitated, his voice dipping with concern. "What happened in your dream?"
I bit my lip, the hesitation creeping in like a shadow. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as I lowered my gaze, shame pooling in my stomach. "It's… it's hard to say," I whispered, unsure if I could even find the words.
"Seb." His tone was firm but tender as he cupped my cheek, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to look at him. His touch was grounding, even as my breaths grew shallow and my vision blurred with unshed tears. "Tell me. Whatever it is, I'm here."
I swallowed hard, my voice shaky when I finally spoke. "I dreamt of… hurting you," I confessed, the words spilling out in a rush. "I bit you, Silas. I couldn't stop myself. I was so hungry, and it felt so real—too real. It was terrifying." My grip on his shirt tightened as I trembled against him, the memory of the dream clawing at me. "I thought it was real. I thought I'd actually done it."
Tears slipped free, and I hated myself for it. "You must think I'm disgusting," I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's revolting to dream of someone you love like that… to dream of… eating them. I—" My voice broke, and I buried my face against his chest, unable to bear the thought of seeing his reaction.
Silas didn't pull away. Instead, he exhaled softly, his thumb brushing away the tears streaking down my cheeks. "Hey," he said gently, his voice a soothing balm against my fraying nerves. "I don't think you're weird or disgusting. So stop saying that."
I blinked up at him, startled. Had I said that out loud? His dark eyes locked with mine, unwavering and sincere.
"This kind of reminds me of those stories about people who keep tigers as pets," I muttered darkly, attempting to lighten the mood even as my voice cracked. "They let them roam around the house like it's normal, and then one day… the tiger eats them."
Silas shot me a look, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. "You're not an animal, Seb. You do know that, right?"
I huffed softly, trying to look away, but Silas leaned closer, his nose nearly brushing mine. "If you're that hungry, you can feed from me," he said, matter-of-fact and calm. "Mage blood can keep you full for a month."
I recoiled instantly, my stomach twisting. "What? No!" I scrambled to sit up, my hands gripping the sheets as I stared at him in disbelief. "Didn't you just hear what I said? I told you—I dreamed about hurting you, Silas! I can't—" My voice faltered as a familiar thirst clawed at my throat, sharp and insistent. My body betrayed me, my fangs extending before I could stop them. I could feel the drool pooling in my mouth, and my stomach churned with hunger.
It wasn't enough. The blood I'd had earlier—barely a few mouthfuls—had been a temporary fix. I needed more. I wanted more. The energy I burned every day was relentless, far more than I used to spend when I'd lived a quieter, less strained life. Now, it wasn't unusual for me to need two or three gallons of blood in a week, and even that was barely enough to keep the hunger at bay.
"Hey, you're drooling," Silas said, his voice dipping into amusement as he reached out to wipe the corner of my mouth with his thumb. My chest tightened as he gave me a lopsided smile, completely unfazed by the sharp glint of my fangs. If anything, his expression softened. "You really need to eat, Seb."
I clenched my jaw, shaking my head as I tried to pull away. "Silas, no. I can't." My voice was weak, barely convincing even to myself. He didn't let me go.
"You're running on fumes," he said, his tone almost teasing. "And let's be honest, I'm partly to blame. I shouldn't have pushed you so hard. I told you to cut back on your naps for two weeks, and I know how much energy you've been burning lately. If anything, this is my fault."
"Silas—" I started, but he cut me off with a smirk that made my stomach twist.
"Besides," he added, his cheeks flushing a faint pink, "I've been wondering how it feels to be bitten. You know… by you."
I blinked at him, completely dumbfounded. "What?" My voice was incredulous, my hunger momentarily forgotten. "Why would you even—?"
"Hey! No judgment!" Silas huffed, crossing his arms in mock indignation. His blush deepened, though, betraying his embarrassment. "I just… I've always found you handsome when you're like this. And—okay, maybe I've been reading too many books about vampires lately. Kath recommended this one about a human and a vampire and how their relationship revolves around the vampire feeding on the human. It was... a good read." By the time he finished, his face was a deep crimson, his words tumbling out in a rush.
I stared at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and a strange, aching warmth. Silas was ridiculous. He was infuriating. He was everything I didn't deserve, and yet here he was, offering himself to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I—what?" I stammer, heat rushing to my face. The embarrassment is almost unbearable. "Is that... is that some kind of smutty BL that Kath forced you to read?" My voice sharpens, tinged with both annoyance and disbelief.
Silas doesn't even bother denying it. Instead, he laughs—a rich, unrepentant sound that only serves to annoy me further. "Maybe~" he teases, giving an exaggerated shrug.
I narrow my eyes and jab him in the side, which only makes him laugh harder. He bats my hands away, a devilish grin fixed on his face.
"Ugh, Silas," I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "I doubt this is anything like one of Kath's books. Shouldn't you know better anyway? You're a mage. You know how vampires work, don't you?" My voice cracks slightly, turning into a whine.
Silas steps closer, his grin softening into something more playful. Before I can move away, he tugs me toward him, his dark eyes glinting with mischief.
"Seb, I can heal myself," he says easily. "It doesn't matter."
"It does matter," I snap, my voice unsteady. The words come tumbling out before I can stop them. "What if I lose control?"
The thought is horrifying to me—terrifying, even. The idea of sinking too far, of giving in to the hunger, makes my stomach churn.
Silas tilts his head, studying me with a calmness that only makes me feel more unhinged. "Between the two of us," he says, his tone almost condescending, "you may be stronger, sure. But I've got more experience, Seb."
I bite my lip, my gaze dropping to where our hands have somehow intertwined. His fingers are warm and steady against mine, grounding me even as my mind spins.
"Right," I mutter. "Right." My voice is barely above a whisper now. I glance back up at him, forcing a weak smile. "Are you sure you're not making me fulfill some kind of... kink?"
That wipes the smug grin off his face. Silas's cheeks flush a deep red, the color spreading all the way to his ears.
"Seb!" he protests, his voice pitching higher in indignation. "That's not true!" His expression is so mortified that I can't stop the laugh that slips out of me.
"Alright, alright," I say, raising my hands in mock surrender. "Fine. Just a little bit." My voice softens as the anxiety creeps back in. "But if I lose control... you'll have to hold me back. Okay? Promise me."
Silas's expression shifts from embarrassment to something more serious. He nods firmly, lying back against the couch with a contented sigh. "I promise. But you won't lose control."
I swallow hard, watching as he settles into place. He looks almost... excited. His face is still flushed, but there's a strange eagerness in his eyes that makes my stomach twist.
Meanwhile, I feel like I'm about to pass out. My hands are clammy, my legs feel like jelly, and my heart is pounding so loudly I'm sure he can hear it.
This is insane.
I crawl over him hesitantly, straddling his hips. My movements are slow, awkward, as if I'm walking straight into a trap.
"Besides," Silas says, his voice light but tinged with something deeper. "If this works, maybe you won't have those nightmares anymore." He reaches up to twirl a strand of his hair, a nervous habit I've seen a thousand times before. His cheeks are still red, but his gaze is steady.
"I feel like this is some kind of fetish," I mutter, half-joking, half-mortified.
Silas lifts a hand and smacks my chest weakly, glaring up at me. "Seb! I told you, it's not!"
"Alright, alright," I say, laughing nervously. The sound comes out strained, and I cough to cover it.
Before I can say anything else, Silas grabs my waist and pulls me down, forcing me closer. His grip is firm, his gaze piercing.
"Seb," he says, his voice low and serious now. "Just drink from me. It'll be fine. This will last you a whole month, maybe longer. You do know why purebloods like mages, right? It makes them stronger." He smirks slightly at that, as if the thought amuses him.
I sigh, my eyes flicking to the exposed skin of his neck as he loosens the top button of his shirt. The sight of his pulse, steady and inviting, makes something primal stir inside me.
"I don't even know where to bite," I admit weakly. My voice trembles with the weight of my nerves. "What if I hit a vein by accident? Would my saliva heal it? Or would you have to—"
What if—
"Seb, you're overthinking things," Silas said, blinking at me with a raised brow. His calm demeanor felt like a splash of cold water against the storm raging in my chest. I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling slightly.
"I'm just scared," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.
Silas's expression softened immediately, the sharp edges of his usual wit replaced by something gentler, something warmer. "What I saw last night…" My voice faltered, and I shook my head weakly, the memory clawing at my mind. "It was so terrifying, Silas. I don't even want to close my eyes."
He hummed thoughtfully, his fingers threading through my hair with practiced ease. The motion was soothing, grounding me in the moment, but it wasn't enough to drown out the hunger gnawing at the edges of my control.
I lowered my face to his neck, hesitating. Somehow, instinct took over, guiding me. I could see and feel exactly where to bite, as if my senses were honed for this very purpose. Was this just another part of what I'd become? Another cruel twist of my new abilities?
"Seb?" Silas's voice was soft, his hand finding its way to my waist. His thumb traced slow circles against my skin, a quiet reassurance. I nuzzled my head against his neck, savoring his warmth for just a moment longer, as if it could stave off the inevitable.
But it couldn't.
I wasn't sure if it was because I was so hungry or because it was Silas—only Silas—but suddenly, everything about him was louder. His blood called to me, a siren's song I couldn't ignore. His scent was intoxicating, far stronger than before, and I didn't even realize my fangs had elongated until they grazed his skin.
Silas let out a soft gasp, his body tensing briefly beneath me.
"Sorry," I stammered, pulling back slightly, guilt gnawing at me.
"It's fine," he said, his voice steady, though his breathing had quickened. "Go ahead. I'm giving you consent to take what you need."
I hesitated, my instincts warring with my fear. "But if you feel nervous, you can—"
Before he could finish, my hunger won. My fangs sank into his neck, and Silas let out a choked sound—a mixture of pain and surprise. For a split second, I wanted to pull away, to apologize. But then his blood hit my tongue, and the world fell away.
It was divine. Warm, rich, alive. It coursed through me like liquid fire, filling the hollow ache in my chest. I couldn't focus on anything else—not the way Silas's hands clutched my waist, not the way he murmured something I couldn't quite hear. All I could think about was more.
More.
More.
The blood poured into me, and I drank greedily, the taste overwhelming every other sense. I was vaguely aware of it dripping down my chin, staining both his skin and his clothes, but I didn't care. I'd lick it all clean later. Nothing would be wasted.
"Ah," Silas muttered, his voice strained but not panicked. "That feels... weird."
His words barely registered. My hands gripped his shoulders as though anchoring me to him, and I drank until I heard him groan—a soft, involuntary sound that cut through the haze. It snapped something inside me.
I forced myself to stop. It was harder than I expected, my instincts screaming at me to take more, but I pulled back, retracting my fangs. Slowly, I leaned down, running my tongue over the puncture wounds on his neck. The motion felt intimate, almost too intimate, but it was instinctual. I licked away the remaining blood until the marks began to close, my saliva working to heal the small wounds I'd made.
This was my first time feeding directly from someone, and I hadn't expected it to be so... messy. Or so exhilarating.
"Seb?" Silas's voice was breathless, and I looked up to find his face flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Are... are you done?"
I hummed in response, still cleaning his neck until I was sure there was no blood left. Only then did I lean back, taking in the sight of him. His cheeks were as red as a tomato, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.
"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice tinged with worry.
"I'm fine," he said quickly, though his face betrayed a different story. "That was... shit, that was really pleasant."
I blinked at him, confused. "Pleasant? You were groaning. Didn't it hurt?"
For some reason, his blush deepened, and he shook his head. "No, it didn't hurt. Don't worry about that."
Something about the way he avoided my gaze made me think he wasn't being entirely honest, but I let it go.
"I feel... energized," I admitted after a moment. "Your blood is different from the ones you gave me before. It's more potent, stronger. And warm. Really, really warm."
Silas touched his neck thoughtfully, nodding as if he'd expected that. "I told you, you wouldn't hurt me. You even stopped on your own without me asking you to. See? You're in control, Seb."
I sighed, leaning into his embrace as he pulled me closer. "I was still scared," I murmured, the confession slipping out before I could stop it.
"You didn't need to be," Silas said, stroking my hair again. "Besides, it's not like I wasn't prepared. I've read about this."
"Read about it?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," he said with a sheepish grin. "Apparently, a vampire's bite is... uh, really pleasurable for some people. So, technically, you could bite anyone, and they wouldn't even notice." He paused, smirking. "Though, since I had a charm over me, I was awake the whole time."
I frowned. "So I could just... drink from anyone?"
"Seems like it," he said, a little too cheerfully.
"You look way too happy about this," I said, giving him a suspicious look.
Before I could say anything else, Silas moved, and suddenly I found myself on my back, his weight straddling my hips. His grin grew mischievous as he leaned over me, poking my cheek.
"It was adorable," he teased. "You looked like a blissed-out kitten drinking milk. You wouldn't even respond to me."
My face burned. "You're having way too much fun with this," I grumbled, turning my head away.
"It's safe to say the books were right," he said with a dramatic sigh.
I narrowed my eyes. "Wait... are you talking about the books Kath made you read?"
His silence was answer enough.
I groaned, shoving him off me. "That's it. I'm never feeding from you again, you kinky ass."
"Nooo, Seb, don't say that," Silas whined, clinging to me. "It was cute! And hot! And really handsome of you. Please, let's do it again!"
I stifled a groan, burying my face in the pillow. Of all the people in the world, I had to end up with a masochist.
Who knew?