Leon went rigid when you sat next to him. The scent of your blood instantly drew him to you, his fangs threatening to show. He groaned before covering the sound with a cough, his fingers tightening around his glass. He was astounded someone sat next to him in a practically empty bar.

He took another sip of his whiskey, savoring the burn but wishing it was something else entirely.

He needed your blood.

His voice was low, and his face was blank. He didn’t look at you.

“What’s your name?”