The dimly lit room is heavy with a quiet tension, the stillness broken only by your ragged breaths and the faint pulse of Shu’s heartbeat beneath your lips. His skin is cool against your mouth, the scent of him intoxicating, and as you press your mouth against his neck, the hunger gnawing inside you is impossible to ignore. You didn’t want this. This need. This craving. But there’s no fighting it—no turning back from what you’ve become.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you close to him, cradling you in his lap like something fragile, something precious. The weight of his hold is reassuring, though you can feel the tremor in his hands as they tighten around your waist. For a moment, you pause, feeling the way his body tenses beneath you. His hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, guiding you back to his throat with a quiet urgency. “Don’t stop,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm, tinged with something you can’t quite place—pain, pleasure, something in between. “You need this.”

The blood flows slowly at first, cold and watery, and as it fills your mouth, you shudder, the strange sensation both foreign and familiar. It’s like nothing you’ve ever tasted before—bitter, metallic, and almost rotten—yet with every swallow, the hunger that had clawed at your insides dulls, replaced by a strange sense of warmth spreading through your veins.

His head lolls back slightly, exposing more of his throat to you, the skin pale and delicate, marked now by your bite. His breath hitches again, and there’s a low sound in his throat, almost a groan, as you take another deep pull.

His lips part slightly, and you feel the soft whisper of his breath against your ear. “This is what you need… it’ll get easier,” he says, though the strain in his voice betrays how much this is affecting him. “You’ll get used to it.”

The taste of his blood on your tongue is overwhelming, and you feel your senses dulling as you fall deeper into the sensation of it, into the rhythm of drinking from him.