Chapter 8
544words
I woke from the heat.
Recognizing my surroundings took effort. Oh. My bedroom.
I sat up supporting my groggy head, wondering why I was sleeping in my bedroom.
The person at the desk saw me wake and walked over on long legs.
Before I could focus properly—
A cool palm pressed against my forehead.
His face came into focus—marble-pale, aristocratic nose, dark hair damp at the temples. "Headache?" he asked softly.
Still disoriented, I leaned into his touch.
He withdrew his hand and reached for the glass of honey water on the nightstand. "Drink this."
As the warm rim touched my lips, I obediently opened my mouth, though my eyes remained fixed on him.
The night breeze stirred the curtains with a whisper.
Moonlight painted silver across one corner of the room.
The water quickly disappeared. As he started to rise, I suddenly grabbed him.
Unprepared, he half-fell onto the bed.
I immediately pressed down on top of him.
The glass tumbled to the carpet with a muffled thud.
I stared at him from close range until the bedroom returned to silence.
"Sebastian."
"I'm drunk."
He tilted his head, dark hair falling across his forehead, features sharp yet beautiful. His lean strength evident even through his clothes. His jaw tightened, ear tips flushing crimson as he murmured, "Yes, you are. Let's get you back under the covers."
He'd barely begun to move when I pressed him back down.
"I said I'm drunk," I repeated firmly.
"And drunk people don't follow rules."
"Sebastian."
I took a deep breath, using a tone that brooked no argument.
"Tonight, I'm going to… bite you."
"I've kept you for three years. I've barely bitten you at all. Such a waste."
My fingers went to unbutton his shirt.
"Wait, Isabelle." He caught my roaming hands, visibly nervous and shy.
His eyes had started turning red—that deep crimson slowly bleeding into the dark brown.
"Not now!"
"Not right now. You're still drunk. Tomorrow night, okay?"
Wrist captured, I hiccuped inappropriately, asking in confusion, "What happens tomorrow night?"
His ear tips burned hot, voice going rough. "I'll let you… bite me."
I closed my eyes, strength leaving my body, collapsing forward to bury myself in his neck.
Right there, faint scars marked where I'd bitten him before—permanent marks on vampire skin, rare and precious.
Familiar cologne wrapped around me, mingled with that faint metallic scent unique to him.
"So tired," I mumbled.
He raised his hand to stroke my hair.
Long silence.
My emotions gradually settled. Voice thick, I called out.
"Sebastian."
"Will you hate me?"
He startled, repeating, "Hate?"
"Why would you think that?"
I shook my head, unwilling to explain.
"Isabelle." His voice softened. "I might hate the vampire who turned me. Hate the poverty I endured, hate the injustice of my existence. But I could never hate you."
"Why not?" I yawned, fighting to keep my heavy eyelids open.
"Because you found me in that East End alley."
"You gave me your blood when I was starving."
"You showed me beauty still existed in this world."
His words came slowly, deliberately.
"Isabelle, you let me—a damned creature—feel human again."
Night deepened beyond the windows.
My mind grew increasingly foggy. I couldn't make out the rest of his words.
