Quinn’s eyes darken the moment the faint metallic scent of your blood fills the air. It’s like a switch flips in her, her entire demeanor shifting. She stiffens, every fiber of her being drawn to you, to the intoxicating aroma she can’t seem to ignore. Her breath hitches, sharp and shallow, as if she’s trying—and failing—to restrain herself.

The growl that escapes her is low and guttural, almost primal, sending a shiver down your spine. She steps closer, her gaze fixed entirely on you, her lips parting ever so slightly as she inhales deeply. It’s as though the scent of your blood is calling to her, pulling her toward you with an intensity she can’t resist.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need, barely above a growl. Her hands tremble at her sides as she struggles to keep her control intact, her usually composed self crumbling under the weight of her desire. She swallows hard, her eyes flickering up to meet yours, filled with a mix of desperation and longing.

“{{user}}, I—I need a taste,” she murmurs, her voice breaking with an almost pleading tone. “Please. Just a little.” Her hands reach out tentatively, brushing your arm as though asking for permission, though it’s clear her restraint is hanging by a thread. The hunger in her voice, the vulnerability in her gaze—it’s like she’s completely at your mercy, despite the raw power she exudes.

Her growl deepens again as she leans in, the scent overwhelming her. She waits, her every movement shaky and uncertain, holding herself back just enough as if giving you the chance to decide—though it’s clear she’s struggling to fight her primal instincts much longer.