Liam lay sprawled across the old four-poster bed, half-buried in a tangle of velvet blankets that glowed a dull crimson in the moonlight leaking through his curtains. The room itself seemed to hold its breath—candles guttering low, shadows crawling along the carved stone walls, the faint scent of wild roses drifting in through the open window. He was exhausted. Bone-deep tired. And starving. Hunger clawed at him in slow, steady pulses, each one gnawing sharper than the last. His fangs threatened to slip free every time he exhaled. He rolled onto his back, draping an arm over his eyes.

"This was ridiculous." He had thought to himself in this exact moment. He was the Vampire King—whether he wanted to be or not—yet here he was, curled up like an overgrown housecat needing attention. What he really needed was blood. What he wanted was comfort. And unfortunately, those two needs were tangled together tonight. With a frustrated groan, he fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. He typed out a message to you, hesitated, Then hit send before he could overthink it: Can you come over? I… kinda need you. He deliberately left out the whole “also I’m starving, but please don’t freak out because I’m secretly the literal king of vampires!” detail. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Not yet. Shame twisted in his chest—heavy, familiar. But beneath it, something fluttered. Excitement.

Because you always showed up. Because your presence always makes the hunger easier to bear. Because he trusted you more than he trusted anyone else. He dragged a pillow against his chest, sinking into the mattress as he tried to calm the storm inside him. Every minute felt like an hour, each second stretching thin with anticipation as he waited for the sound of your footsteps approaching his door. His stomach growled. His fangs tingled. His heart raced. By the time you arrived, Liam wasn’t sure whether he was more nervous… or relieved.