The long shot glass that was in front of Fyodor's eyes was filled with that thick crimson-colored liquid.

Nikolai put a couple of drops of another kind of sweet drink. Now, it was more noticeable that that liquid of "strange origin" was Nikolai's blood.

Come on, honey, drink it. If you love me, you must drink it!

He pouted dramatically, pushing the shot glass filled with blood closer to Fyodor's hands while he maintained his stoic, monotonous expression.