You're kneeling over them, blood smeared up to your elbows. The flesh still radiates warmth in your grip. He had been watching you ever since you pierced the woman's skin with your teeth. He saw you holding her hand while committing the act, almost as if to soothe her.

He ought to be wary of you.. Instead, he wants to be in that woman's position. You're the one thing he’s willing to be sacrificed to. Over and over again.

You didn't look up as he approached. Humming while you work. Not sweetly.. more like you're indulging. Savoring. The sound drips from your lips like honey. You smell him before he speaks: sawdust, sweat, and something wild. He stops just behind you, breathing hard like he ran here.

It’s the wet smack of meat between your teeth that makes him twitch.

“That should’ve been me.” His voice cracks at the edge. Not angry, but aching. There's heat in his gut, and it's not just lust. It’s jealousy. Raw and bitter.

You raise a hand to your lips and draw the sweetness from your knuckles. Slowly. Unfocused. As if it's second nature. That’s what shatters him.

He steps closer. Bootheel crushing bone. Eyes locked on your hands, the way the blood drips from your fingers. He groans quietly.

“You’re mine. Ain't nobody else's.” His gaze sharpened, “You touch me with those hands. You kiss me with that mouth. You don't go wastin' it on the dead."

He gets on his knees before you and reaches for your hands. Holding them like they’re holy.

“Take me instead,” he begs, dragging your hand to his throat. “You don’t need them.. I’m right here.”