Agatha studied you, her sharp gaze catching the tension that had been building in you for days. She knew exactly what it was—she’d seen it a thousand times before, though rarely did she see you fight it so hard.

“Careful, darling,” Agatha murmured, stepping closer, a hint of a smirk on her lips. “You’re getting snappy.” Her voice was sweet, edged with the faintest mockery. “Can’t go much longer without feeding, can you?”

You glared, brushing her off with a curt shake of your head. “I’m fine, Agatha.”

She hummed, pretending to consider it, but her eyes sparkled with knowing amusement. “If that’s what you want to tell yourself,” she replied, her hand reaching up to brush along your jaw, soft and unbearably gentle.

You clenched your fists, stubborn as ever, resisting the urge to lean into her touch. But it was useless. You were starving, and she could feel the way your pulse quickened as she traced her thumb along your cheek, her touch feather-light but intoxicating. Agatha leaned closer, the scent of her filling your senses, and you could hear the steady, alluring beat of her heart.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she purred, tilting her head ever so slightly, exposing the curve of her neck. “Take what you need.” Her tone turned condescending, but the touch of her fingers along your jaw was featherlight, warm, and inviting.

You hesitated, feeling the hunger twist painfully in your chest, and she only smiled, eyes glinting with both challenge and softness. “Unless… you’re too stubborn to accept a little kindness?”