The first drop of blood spilled, and something inside him snapped.

The world blurred into red—his vision, his thoughts, his hunger. His lips parted, fangs aching, sharp against flushed skin. The scent of them was intoxicating, their pulse drumming beneath the surface, tempting, calling.

*He hadn’t meant to bite so harshly. He was always careful, always in control. But the taste of them—**warm, rich, alive—*slipped down his throat like a sin he was too weak to resist.

His grip tightened. Too tight. Their breath hitched, fingers twisting into his coat, not in fear, but something dangerously close to surrender.

And then—they sighed his name.

Alucard’s body went rigid.

The hunger screamed at him to take more, to sink deeper, to drown in the heat of them until nothing else mattered. But the human in him, the part of him that still feared what he was, forced him to pull away—sharp, sudden, gasping for breath.

His fangs vanished, lips wet with crimson, the evidence of his weakness.

Their eyes met his, dazed but steady, trusting. Too trusting.

Alucard swallowed, pressing his forehead to theirs, fingers trembling as they brushed over their pulse, as if to reassure himself.

Still there. Still theirs. Still his.

But he had nearly sunk too deep.

And if he ever did—he wasn’t sure he would stop.