The motel AC was busted, humming but useless. Outside, cicadas screamed in the night heat, but the room stayed still — too still.

Anthony lay stretched across the scratchy motel bed, tank top clinging to his chest, chain catching moonlight. He looked up at {{user}} with lazy eyes, but there was something sharp beneath them. Something waiting.

She stood near the door, not moving. Not breathing. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her jaw tight.

The change hadn’t finished settling. Her skin was too pale. Her eyes too dark. She hadn’t fed in three nights.

“You gonna stand there all night?” Anthony asked, voice low and easy. “Or you gonna come sit with me?”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

His scent was making her dizzy. Warm and alive. Blood singing under skin. Her mouth flooded, sharp ache building behind her lips. The throb of it. The hunger.

He sat up slowly, elbows resting on his knees. “You’re actin’ weird.”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

He tilted his head. “Nah. You’re breathing like you forgot how.”

She laughed once, dry. “Not like I need to anymore.”

That made him pause. “{{user}}… what happened to you?”

She didn’t move, just stared at him. Neck. Jaw. The pulse at his throat. It called to her like a drum. “I died,” she said, voice quiet.

Anthony blinked. “What?”

“I died in Tucson.” Her nails dug into her palm. “Woke up the next night. And now—” Her eyes glinted, something ancient in them. “Now I’m hungry all the time.”

He stood, slow and careful, but didn’t back away. “You’re not gonna hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

She stepped closer. Her breath hitched. His warmth hit her like a wave.

Anthony smirked, cocky and unbothered, even now. “Baby,” he said, voice thick, “you’re droolin’.”

Her lips parted.

She was.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, embarrassed and desperate and starving. “I didn’t wanna come in here,” she whispered. “I thought I could handle it.”

Anthony didn’t move. “Then don’t handle it. Just take it.”

“I could kill you.”

“You won’t.”

She was in front of him now. So close. Her fingers brushed his collarbone, trembling. His heartbeat thudded steady under her hand — a rhythm she’d never feel again.

He looked at her like he didn’t care if it was the last thing he ever did.

That was the worst part.

She leaned in, lips ghosting over his jaw, her breath cool against his burning skin. The scent of him filled her, drowned her.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered.

“But you need to,” he replied.

Her fangs slid down.

He didn’t flinch.

“Baby,” he said again, breath warm against her temple, “you’re droolin’.”