Chapter 1
He had been watching me for months. Not in the way a predator watches its prey. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.
He knew my routines. He knew when I left work, when I cane home, which nights I stayed up too late watching movies, and how I always hummed quietly when I cooked.
He knew far too much about me.
And he knew one thing he wished he didn't.
My blood smelled different.
Sweeter.
Stronger.
Everytime I passed him in the hallway, his hunger twisted painfully inside him. But he never touched me.
He couldn't.
Because somewhere along the way, I had stopped being his temptation and became the one person he cared about most.
The longer he went wothout feeding, however, the worse he became. His hands trembled. His vision blurred. His body grew weakwr by the day.
And still, whenever I asked if he was alright, he smiled.
"I'm fine."
I knew he was lying.
One evening, I found him sitting on the floor of his apartment, pale and barely concious.
"You're not fine."
He looked up at me.
For once, there was no teasing smile.
Only fear.
"You need to leave."
"Why?"
"Because I'm hungry."
The words almost like a confession. His eyes flickered toward my neck before he immediately looked away.
"I won't hurt you," he whispered. "But I don't teust myself anymore."
I stepped closer.
He backed away.
"Don't."
"You haven't fed."
Silence.
"You've been getting weaker because you don't drink."
He said nothing.
I finally understood.
He wasn't refusing because he didn't want my blood. He was refusing because he wanted it too much.
I reached for his hand.
He froze.
"Then let me help you."
His eyes widened.
"No."
"You need it."
"I could hurt you."
"But you won't. "
"You don't know that."
"I know you."
For a moment neither of us moved.
Then I gently tilted my head, offering him the one thing he'd spent months desperately trying not to take.
His expression broke.
"You have no idea what you're asking me to do."
"I do."
He stared at me, torn between hunger and love.
Finally, he leaned closer. Carefully. As though I were something precious.
And when he finally fed, it was nothing like the violent hunger he'd feared.
He was gentle.
Almost painfully careful.
When he pulled away, he immediately looked at me with guilt in his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
I smiled weakly.
"You saved yourself.".
He shook his head.
"No."
His fingers gently intertwined with mine.
"You saved me."
And for the first time in months, the campire next door didnt feel like a monster.
He just felt loved.
