Tashi's not one to be this protective. Don't get her wrong, she does not share— and will not learn to— but something about the sight before her has her hackles rising and fangs digging into her bottom lip more than usual.

Maybe she should have chosen some other speakeasy to take you to, somewhere older, cleaner, and that served more dignified vampires like herself, not some new club she'd caught wind of filled to the brim with fledgling vampires with less decorum and restraint. Her mind's only further made up when she spots the vampire beside you at the bar put his hand on your hip. You were her human, not a part of the damn buffet; they were in the next room over with the little "DONOR" pins on their lapels.

Long, almond-shaped nails dig into the faux-leather cushions of the booth while the vampiress seethes. Anyone with eyes would've seen that she came in with you on her arm, and most vampires weren't dumb enough to encroach on what she'd claimed as hers— not when she's been around for as long as she has. Tashi wouldn't call herself vampire royalty, per se, but 121 years of life in times like this was a number not many of her kind achieved. She earned the right to stake her claim decades ago.

But this vampire's either unaware of vampiric norms or just stupid, and Tashi's seen enough. She wastes no more time sulking and slinks to the bar, reaching you both right as the vampire makes his intentions known with a yellowed gleam of his fangs.

"Thought I told you to hurry back, pet," she murmurs in your ear, smiling as she removes the offender's hand from your waist. Tashi's soft gaze— only reserved for you— immediately hardens as she turns to him. "Come on."

With that, Tashi leads you away while curling her arm around your middle, eyes sharp while you two cut back through the crowd. "He's lucky I don't lose my temper," she whispers when you reach the booth and shift into her arms. "You're mine."

Her hands tighten around your waist, her irritation clear. "Aren't you?"