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He panted, trying to regain his composure. Every nerve on his body felt as if on fire, his cells begging him, yelling at him in unison. For blood. Mika covered his mouth with a gloved hand.

Calm down. Breathe. It was okay. Okay. It was okay. It doesn’t even hurt that much, Mikaela. Just—just breathe. His legs were wobbly. His chest waved up and down at an erratic pace. But he needed to keep going.

Just a little further.

Just a little further and he would be fine.

Mika spread a palm against the gray wall for support, walking alongside it through the streets of the underground city to reach his destination. He turned all of his focus towards moving one foot in front of the other—which was unfairly hard when he was hungry—and not thinking about the thirst.

Mika’s hands started to tremble. He closed his eyes shut. It was okay, he was going to be fine.

A dreadfully familiar smell invaded his nostrils, making Mika stop in his tracks.

Blood.

A hand jolted up to cover his mouth again, soft fabric brushing against his teeth. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. The scent came to him before he could see her, but now, she turned the corner into his field of vision, a frail human kid dressed in the whites and stripes of livestock.

She looked up at him, eyes widening. The girl was wobbly, tripping over her own feet to walk away from Mika in fear, gaze fixated on his face. She raised her hands, trying to protect herself. She looked terrified.

And the smell coming from her was intoxicating.

It took all of his self-control not to jolt towards her right then and now, but Mika clenched his fists and stood still for a moment. Focus. But it was increasingly difficult to when every ounce of his being ached with craving, with the one thought that he just needed to walk a few steps—it would be so easy—and grab her by the throat. He just needed to take the collar of her shirt out of the way—they were so wide already, it wouldn’t be hard—and sink his fangs deep into her neck. It would feel so good, his body told him. Mika gulped down. The smell, that smell that was so sweet, and so utterly and awfully delicious was just a few inches away. He could imagine the blood flowing out of her veins and flooding his mouth, going down his thirsty throat and the flavor hugging his tongue as he fed—

No. Mika cut the thought short, snapping his eyes shut. That seemed to move the kid out of her stupor, as she took one more step back and backed away, running the farthest away from the vampire as she could. Mika let out a small, shaky breath. Okay. Okay.

Okay.

He needed to get there. Fast.

Mikaela, by the time he finally reached the doors, was panting hard with both agony and need. He had quickened his pace twice already, not running too fast lest he lose control of his instincts, nor walking too slow for the pain was consuming him by that point. He clutched his chest, pushing one of them open with a hand. Mika let out a whine. It hurt.

He needed it to stop.

Krul Tepes, as he’d expected—thank the stars—was sitting on her throne, idly working on something he couldn’t bring himself to focus on. Mika’s vision was tunneled into her only, the pale flesh of her legs and arms covered by the exquisite robes the queen liked to wear, long sleeves letting out in the open her shoulders, but not her hands, some locks of pink hair falling down her side.

Falling down her neck.

As soon as he entered, Krul lifted her gaze up to him. Mika didn’t waste a second trying to access her expression—he couldn’t have even if he tried. The only thing that kept him moving right now was the thirst—before shakily dashing up to her and reaching out a hand to draw the silky waves away to uncover what was below. The skin. The thing pulsing underneath. Rushing through her veins. Plenty, sweet, flooding.

Mikaela, without resistance from her, sank his fangs deep into her neck.

“Oh, Mika?” Krul asked, lifting a hand to pet his hair. She posed it as a question, but Krul Tepes did not sound surprised. She likely wasn’t. If anything, the queen’s voice had an edge of amusement. “Thirsty much, huh? Have your rations ended already?”

Mikaela didn’t answer. He was busy drinking, relishing on the feeling of soft fingers caressing his scalp and the liquid of life finally, finally getting to him. It was disgusting, really, how much this single thing had so utter control over him. Mika kept drinking, not caring if he was taking too much. Krul didn’t seem fazed at all. She could push him away at any moment she wanted.

The only reason he could feed was because she let him.

Mika retracted his face from the nook of her neck.

“Good boy,” Krul praised him, never leaving the hand out of his hair. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he turned his face away, kneeling under her by the floor.

“Sorry,” Mika mumbled, in way of explanation. Although he wasn’t really sorry. The punctures on her neck were already closing, shutting away the blood underneath. Krul didn’t even pay it mind. He licked his lips, trying to get every single drop he could out of them. Mika raised a hand to clean his mess on the back of the glove.

He heard a chuckle above him.

“What was it?” She teased, and Mika sent a glare up at her. “Did you end your supply already, child?”

Mika pursed his lips, getting up and turning his back at her to avoid the queen’s gaze.

“No,” he admitted, forcing the words out. “They shattered.”

Krul raised her eyebrows. She didn’t say anything else, and Mika turned to leave, but then she spoke again.

“Wait,” she ordered from her spot. Mika stopped, still not facing his patron. “Mikaela,” she called. He clenched his fists and turned to her.

The queen smiled at him.

“Hold on a minute. Let me prepare some more blood for you.”

Mika nodded, pursing his lips.

Disgust crept up at his throat, but it wasn’t like it would be any wise to deny.