Page 71 of Bleed

He carefully props the pouch against a stack of books on the coffee table before turning back to me. A cotton ball presses against the needle at my elbow as he slides it free, followed by a bandage over the tiny puncture. Then he straightens and goes to retrieve the runaway cap.

I push to my feet, a mild head rush making the room tilt for a second.

“You should stay seated,” he grumbles, stooping to pick up the cap.

He turns back toward the table and lifts the pouch to cap it, but his hand stops halfway. His nostrils flare, and for a long second, he just… stares. The cap hangs forgotten between his fingers, his gaze locked on the blood bag.

I tilt my head. “…Albert?”

He blinks once, like he’s trying to pull himself out of a trance.

“You can have a sip,” I suggest, smiling coyly. “I won’t tell.”

He gives a small shake of his head, but his eyes never leave the pouch. And just like that, I remember the feeling I used to get– the intoxicating rush of watching something stronger than me struggle against instinct. Of bringing creatures capable of tearing me apart to their knees with nothing more than the blood in my veins.

God, I’d almost forgotten how powerful it felt.

“Go on,” I coax, my voice softer this time. “Try it.”

His eyes slowly lift to mine, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any blue left. For a long moment, neither of us moves.

Then his fangs slide free with a soft pop. He raises the pouch to his lips and takes a tentative sip. The moment the blood hits his tongue, his whole face changes.

Albert’s eyes drift shut, his brow relaxing as a low, involuntary groan rumbles in his chest. He licks his lips slowly, like he’s trying to savor every lingering drop, then whatever restraint he’d been clinging to snaps.

He drags another mouthful from the pouch, then another, squeezing the plastic in both hands like a damn juice box as he drinks greedily. His throat works with every swallow, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he drains the bag completely before finally lowering it from his mouth.

For a second, he just stands there, breathing a little harder than before.

“Well?” I ask.

“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back as he slowly licks the last traces of blood from his lips.

I open my mouth, but before I can say another word, he lunges toward me, erasing the distance between us in a single stride. His hand lashes out, fisting my hair at the nape of my neck and yanking me flush against him. I gasp as he twists my head sideways, his mouth hovering over the side of my throat.

He doesn’t bite. He just lingers there, nostrils flaring as he inhales, every muscle in his body gone rigid.

I stare up at him with my pulse pounding in my ears, caught somewhere between fear and exhilaration.

“You wanna bite me, Albie?” I breathe.

His jaw flexes, fingers tightening painfully in my hair. For one suspended moment, I honestly think he’s going to do it.

Then something shifts.

I watch awareness crash back into his expression, panic following a heartbeat later. He releases me so abruptly I stumble backwards, falling onto the couch as he takes a jerky step back and retracts his fangs.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he snarls, dragging both hands over his face. He paces a couple of steps, forcing a slow breath through his nose like he’s trying to scrape together whatever composure he has left.

I blink at him, and then it clicks. A slow grin spreads across my face.

“So it isn’t my blood, then.”

He freezes. “What?”

“The reason Elliott doesn’t wanna bite me.” My grin widens. “It clearly isn’t my blood.”

Albert scowls down at me. “Don’t taunt a vampire to prove a fucking point, Bex. Do you have a death wish or something?”