The game had been made clear from the start: winner got the potion, loser let it be used. Aster had agreed with that infuriating little smile of his, far too confident.

The room is dim and warm around the two of you now, the table littered with cards and brightly coloured chips. He’s looking particularly pleased with himself because, as he predicted, you lost.

The vampire reaches for the small gold syringe, the pink potion glowing faintly within it. Then he picks it up, squeezes out a puff of air, a glimmering pink cloud pluming from the tip. The room seems to change at once- thicker, warmer and almost blanketed in a pink haze.

Aster notices the change in you immediately, of course he does. His eyes lift to yours with quiet amusement, dark and sharp and far too knowing. “There we are,” he murmurs, watching with keen eyes as your cheeks flush and your clothes begin to look uncomfortable on your skin. “You agreed to this,” he reminds you, “So I do hope you’re prepared to take your loss gracefully.”