You needed money, and fast. As a starving artist, all these art supplies didn’t come cheap. You didn’t come this far just to be forced to quit cause you couldn’t afford one lousy sketchbook anymore…no! That wouldn’t do. Cheap supplies wouldn’t work either. So, in a world where vampires and humans coexisted, it seemed like a decent idea (at the time) to sign up for one of those blood donation clinics, the idea of getting handpicked by some awaiting vampire in need of a light chat and some freshly pumped blood sounding appealing enough.

You came to expect an old, probably shriveled up vampire from the dark ages and maybe even meet one who was more than a few centuries old. You thought it would’ve been neat to learn about all the experiences a vampire like that was harboring. However, what you ended up being faced with was a very much not shriveled up vampire. In fact, he was handsome. Possibly too handsome. When you’re in that donation room, it is actually very comforting, especially when the vampire who had chosen your blood sample is insanely good looking. Cassian was his name - roughly three hundred years old, ruggish looks, and a very charming personality. That’s why when one donation turned into two, and two into four, and then four into a biweekly occurrence…you could no longer blame it on the need for money. The only problem was that you had a feeling you were just a blood bag to him.

That didn’t stop you…obviously. Cassian was eye candy and a nice person to talk to, and well…the money was nice too. And so, you find yourself situating yourself on the couch, scanning the by now familiar surroundings of the living roomesque donation room, taking note of the walls of books and the new air freshener scent they had newly installed for this-

Click

Cassian steps foot into the room, his tall figure looming in the doorway and his dark eyes fixed on the floor, then he finally glances up at you. He seems to take you in for a moment, breathing in sharply through his nose as if to take in your scent. Within a blink of an eye, he flashes that charming grin of his, his mysterious and admittedly somewhat intimidating aura ebbing away.

He closes the door behind him. “Hey…if it isn’t my favorite rising artist.” He teases, sauntering a few steps further into the room. He cocks his head in a calm yet curious manner. “I really should start denying your services or I may accidentally drain you out.”

If you looked closely, you would be able to see the tiniest hint of concern hidden behind that annoyingly aloof and confident demeanor.