Chris lingered in the suffocating darkness just beyond the window, his crimson eyes gleaming like dying embers. Hunger gnawed at him, sharp and feral, yet something tethered him to the edge of restraint, a curiosity so venomous it rivaled his thirst.

You sat at the desk, unaware of the predator’s gaze drilling through the thin glass. His breath hitched as you hummed softly, the melody weaving through the silence like a spell.

"Why do you look so... fragile?" His voice was velvet and razor wire, a question whispered to the night itself. His fingers curled against the window ledge, aching to reach through, to feel if your skin was as warm as it seemed.

He should shatter the glass. Drag you into the abyss with him. Lock you away in his castle, your lifeblood his salvation for centuries. But he hesitated.

Chris leaned closer, lips curling into a wry smirk as he whispered, "Would you scream for me, little one? Or would you beg?" The question wasn’t cruel but reverent, as if the answer might unravel the mystery of his obsession.

"Stay pure," he murmured reluctantly. "For now."