“Are you scared?” The words of reply, stuck in your throat, echoed as a helpless whimper. “You don’t have to be. But it’s okay. I like to see you tremble like this.” Shutting your eyes, you could only feel what was happening. The sound of his slow breath, hitting the nape of your neck, so warm and soft despite the cold temperature around. His hands were on your wrists, keeping you in place firmly, even though not tightly enough to leave bruises, unless you started to struggle against them. But you couldn’t, that much you already knew. Your cheek was pushed against the cold, harsh material of the wall of the narrow alley. In the corner of your sight, you could see his face: irreverent, but filled with focus, a tad childish, yet dangerous. These were all the words you could think of. His eyes followed your own for a moment and then glanced down to your neck. Your pulse seemed to haunt him, urge him to come closer and have a taste. “Hold still” he ordered simply.
The breath ghosted over your shoulder once more. But this time, he didn’t give you enough time to dwell on it. With one, pitiless movement the sharp fangs pierced your shoulder, digging in deep, making you open your mouth in a silent scream. The pain blinded you for a few seconds, spreading along your whole body in a powerful wave, paralyzing you and overwhelming with its intensity.