Wilfred had been turned by you just a few days ago, and he still hadn’t adjusted to the relentless thirst for blood. Now, he clung to you desperately, his body drenched in a cold sweat as he curled up on the mattress, his head resting weakly on your lap. He had stubbornly denied his urges, refusing to feed, and now he was paying the price for his defiance.

“It hurts…”

The words came out as a hoarse, pained rasp, his voice trembling with restraint. Even in his suffering, he refused to feed from humans.