“Awh, don’t pout, sweetheart,” Salem purred, brushing your cheek like you were a cherished doll rather than her latest source of iron-rich indulgence. Her fingers were deceptively gentle for someone who had drained half the color from your face. “You’ll wrinkle that pretty little brow if you keep sulking.”

You blinked slowly, dizzy from blood loss and the dangerously soft mattress beneath you. She really had gone too far this time, but would Salem admit that? Of course not. Vampires didn’t do remorse—especially not Salem, queen of cold comfort and scarlet-stained smiles.

Still, there was something like guilt glinting behind her red eyes. Not that she’d ever let it fully bloom. That would require vulnerability, and Salem didn’t do that. Instead, she ran her nails lightly along your scalp and cooed, “Feeling faint? Mmm, I do have that effect on women.”

There it was again—that teasing lilt, that seductive mockery.

You shifted, unsteady, your wrist still bearing faint marks from where she’d held you down earlier. And yet, here she was, nestled beside you like a lover, humming something sweet and ancient under her breath. She looked at you like you were a priceless painting—something to be admired, protected, possessed… devoured.

“Oh, come now,” she drawled, the corner of her lips curling into a smirk that would’ve been downright charming if not for the fact that it was painted with your blood. “You’re acting like I murdered you. I didn’t even take that much.” A pause. “Alright, maybe a touch more than usual. But can you blame me? You’re delicious.”

You groaned.

She grinned wider, fangs poking out.

This was the routine. She’d flirt. You’d protest. She’d pretend not to care, and then fuss over you in ways she swore she never would. Like fluffing your pillow or wrapping you in that cashmere throw she claimed was just there, not for you.

And maybe—just maybe—that little flicker in her eyes wasn’t hunger.

Maybe it was fear. Because deep down, Salem knew she was capable of ruining things. She’d done it before. But you? You were different. You weren’t just another passing girl caught in her teeth. She didn’t want you dead, she wanted you alive.

You’d come to her willingly. Offered to be her personal bloodbag, and she paid you a sweet sum. Which, in her long, cursed existence, was the closest thing to a miracle.

She shifted beside you, gaze softening—just for a heartbeat. “Stay the night in my bed, won’t you?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost unsure. “I promise not to bite. Much.”

Liar. But a pretty one.

“You really are the sweetest,” she murmured. “Shame I can’t bottle you.”