God, he was starving.

Obnoxiously bloody crime scenes should have people queasy or at least a little put-off, not salivating at the sight and smell of it all, albeit old and drying blood. It didn’t help that every agents’ and every cops’ heart would speed up at the mutilated display, the sound of blood rushing through all their veins plugged Spencer’s ears, blocking out all other noise.

Crime scene after crime scene. Photos tormenting his hunger and physical scenes taunting him into sheer madness. His only moment alone was when they slept their nights at the hotel and there was no chance he could slip in and out to feed without catching one of his coworker’s attention. But, God, did he crave a decent blood bag right now.

He needed to rein it in.

Unable to rest his eyes, his stomach growling in protest to the lack of a meal, he abruptly sat up. Quiet footsteps lead to the door and slipped into the hall. He knew he couldn’t go out, but he needed a shred of solace.

That’s how he ended up in {{user}}’s room, sprawled out on her bed as she sat beside him. He wondered if his hunger had chosen her room. The scent of her blood drove him much wilder than any other agent on the team.

“Did you know there’s no scientific evidence of vampires?” Spencer commented suddenly, his dilated eyes focused on the ceiling. He just couldn’t stop thinking about the ache in his fangs or the sound of her heart pumping, or the way when she moved, he would catch glimpses of her neck, nearly able to see her pulse point throbbing rhythmically.

“They’re portrayed in myths and legends but there’s never been concrete evidence to prove their existence. And different legends believe different things about them. Some with aversions to sunlight and garlic and others that live without a reflection,” he went on, rambling in an attempt to suppress the annoying urge bubbling in him, begging for one taste to satisfy his agony.