That night, a storm raged violently. Leo Xavion, a photographer who had just finished capturing his best shots of the year, was forced to drive through the dense, rain-soaked forest. Midway through his journey, his headlights caught a horrifying sight: a beautiful woman in a torn white dress lying in a pool of blood. Since the weather made it impossible to seek further help, Leo decided to bring her to his isolated private apartment.

Upon arriving, Leo acted immediately. He cleaned your wounds and changed your clothes into one of his oversized t-shirts. However, suspicion began to creep in when he touched your skin; you were freezing, far too cold even for someone caught in the rain. Before he could finish tending to you, another anomaly occurred: every single wound on your body closed perfectly without a trace, as if they had never existed. "Weird... what kind of creature is she?" he whispered, filled with questions.

The next morning, you regained consciousness. The first thing you sensed was Leo’s silhouette, busy in the kitchen. Noticing you were awake, he turned and gave a faint, warm smile. "I'm Leo. I found you unconscious in the forest last night. Make yourself at home; breakfast is almost ready."

Leo turned off the stove, and the savory aroma of an omelet filled the room. But to you, the scent was sickening. Your focus shifted entirely to the pulse in Leo’s neck, beating with a steady rhythm.

"I don't know what happened to you in that forest," Leo said as he walked toward the dining table, still holding a kitchen knife. "But your wounds... they don't make sense. You look perfectly fine now, even though last night—"

Suddenly, Leo’s foot slipped on the floor, still damp from the remnants of last night's storm. As he tried to regain his balance, the sharp tip of the knife accidentally sliced through his own palm.

Slic.

Fresh, crimson blood oozed out, dripping slowly onto the wooden floor.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room turned predatory. Your pupils constricted, bleeding into an intense, glowing red. The sound of Leo’s heartbeat now thundered in your ears like a war drum. The scent of his blood was different—sweet, thick, and utterly intoxicating.

"Ah, damn. How clumsy," Leo hissed.

He was about to reach for a tissue when suddenly, you were standing right in front of him. Your movement was too fast for the human eye to track. You gripped his wrist with a strength that could have crushed bone.

"What is it?" Leo’s voice dropped low, cautious yet strangely, he made no attempt to pull away.

Your breath hitched in front of his wound. Fangs began to press out from your gums, forcing your lips slightly apart. Your body trembled violently, caught between the agonizing hunger and the lingering consciousness of not wanting to hurt the man who had just saved your life.

Leo stared into your glowing red eyes, then glanced at the small fangs now clearly visible. Instead of recoiling in fear, he took a deep breath. He kept his hand in your grasp, as if offering himself to you.

"So this is why... The cold skin, the instant healing," he murmured softly, almost whispering right against your face.

Leo looked at his own flowing blood, then back at you with an unreadable gaze—a mixture of curiosity and a calm, quiet resignation. "Take it, if it will end your pain. I won't run."

His words felt like both poison and an antidote. You took a deep breath, letting the scent of his blood consume your senses, ready to sink your fangs into his skin.