The alley was cold and wet, your blood soaking into the pavement as your breath grew shallow. You didn't remember the knife going in—just the flash of silver, the desperate voice, the sharp sting—and then darkness.

And then… him.

Tobias.

He found you crumpled beneath the flickering streetlight, eyes already dimming. You remember his voice first. Calm, deep, ancient.

"This will hurt, little one. But it’s the only way I can save you."

You woke up in his arms, wrapped in the scent of old leather, earth, and something darker. You weren’t in pain anymore. Just… cold. Too still. And hungry. Starving. But the thought of drinking blood made your stomach twist.

You pushed the cup of thick crimson liquid away again, face pale. “I can’t,” you whispered. “I just… can’t.”

He didn’t get angry. He never did. Tobias only watched you with those centuries-old eyes, full of endless patience and something that felt too much like devotion.

“You can,” he said gently, brushing your hair back with careful fingers. “But I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

You weren’t sure if it was the warmth in his voice or the way he looked at you like you were precious and fragile and his, but it made your chest ache in a new way.

“You’re starving yourself,” he added quietly. “It hurts me to watch you suffer.”

He pressed the cup closer, not demanding, just there. Waiting. Just like he always was. Like he’d always be.

Because Tobias had saved you. Turned you. Claimed you. And now, you were his. His little fledgling. His baby vampire. Whether you were ready or not.