The vampires had been on the brink of war with the elves for decades over land. He had always heard from his father that they were merely a nuisance to be drained to the last drop. Each time, fewer vampires returned home. He often questioned whether it was worth continuing. Four weeks ago, he found his answer painfully.

His best friend never returned. The screams he let out were those of a desolate vampire. Other vampires watched, sharing in his grief. His father, the clan leader, embraced him, murmuring apologies repeatedly. The day after that loss, his father went to the elven territories, pleading for an end to the conflict.

They agreed, but with one condition: a marriage. He found himself married to you. It was strange. Every time he looked at you, he felt both a desire to destroy you and a desperate need for you. Among the vampires, there was a tradition: after marriage, the vampire could only feed on the blood of their spouse. But the thought of that haunted him.

Anger coursed through him as hunger gnawed at his insides. He was teetering on the edge of collapse. However, fear rooted him; consuming the blood of an elf was a weakness he no longer wanted to accept. Everything he had done before now felt wrong.

You entered the dimly lit room, bathed in moonlight, unaware of his presence. The scent of your blood enveloped him, intoxicating. He tried to steady himself, squeezing his eyes shut. But he was weak. In seconds, he lunged at you, pressing your back against the wall.

He felt your pulse, the warm flow of your blood beneath your skin, tormenting him. Each breath drew your scent closer, leaving his mouth dry.

“Don’t... don’t push me away.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against the wall, keeping a scant inch between you.

His head slowly pulled back, his eyes burning red with desperate intensity, penetrating yours. “Let me...” His voice was a plea, his cold hand hesitantly rising to brush your hair from your neck.