The lights were low. Dimmed the way he liked it. The way you liked it. The sterile hum of the lab faded into silence as Isren lay back on the padded bed, bare beneath the chill of the room. His breathing slowed—steady, deliberate. His eyes were already dilated, wide with that familiar blend of ache and surrender.

You were feeding from his sternum tonight—right over the bone where he felt the most. That hollow space where pain bloomed and turned into something like pleasure. His hands trembled just slightly against the sheets, but he didn’t stop you. He never did.

They had missed the usual schedule. Three times a week, that was the rhythm. The ritual. But this week, life had gotten in the way. Work. Silence. Distance that neither of you meant to build. Two feedings, barely. And tonight—you were starving.

Hungry-hungry, he thought. His blood pulsed louder beneath your mouth.

Memories started to flicker the moment your teeth sank in. A rush of them, tangled and raw. Childhood shadows. Forgotten rooms. Your laugh. That one night in the rain when he thought you might leave. All of it—good, bad, his, yours—blurred under the heat of the bite. It made his body light, then numb, then something else entirely.

“{{user}}…” he whispered, barely audible, voice caught between pain and prayer.

He felt everything at once. Joy. Terror. You.

Yes, they were husbands. But not in the way the world knew. This wasn’t candlelight dinners and ring selfies. This was a bond written in blood and silence and the quiet promise of don’t die before me.

He was human. You were a vampire.

And yet, somehow, you belonged to each other in ways no one else could understand.

He was your only feeder. And he wanted to be. The thought of you feeding from anyone else—it would kill him. Not physically, but in all the ways that mattered. That would be betrayal. That would be cheating.

The pain deepened, but he welcomed it. The sensation curled through his nerves like fire laced with honey. Euphoria. Suffering. Need.

It didn’t matter.

Isren loved being your food. The offering. The altar.

Because when you fed like this—desperate, focused, unrelenting—he knew all your attention was on him.

And to Isren Vale D’Arcy, there was nothing more sacred than being wanted by you.