#vampwint

“...I don’t know, I just don't understand why people are so stupid. It’s like, obviously, if I agreed to swap shifts with him, then he would take mine, like you wanted a different day, you still have to show up on that fucking day.” I pause to take a sip of my water, and in my rant, I notice that Cameron has stopped responding. “Cam? You ok?”

He looks tired in a way that goes deeper than tired, like it’s sitting in his bones. His hands are folded tightly in his lap, fingers pressing into each other like he’s trying not to fidget. I’ve seen him tired before. This isn’t that.

“Have you been eating enough?” I ask without thinking too hard about it. That makes something flicker across his face, quick and guarded.

“I’m fine,” he says, but it comes out quieter than usual.

I watch him for a second longer than I usually would, and it clicks in a way that makes my chest feel strangely soft. My poor baby is starving. 

I shift a little closer, so I’m actually looking at him properly. “Cameron…” I start, and he tenses like he’s been caught. “You could’ve just asked.”

“I didn’t want to take advantage,” he says carefully, like each word is something fragile. He says it like he’s been carrying it alone for a while.

I reach for his arm before I even think about it. He doesn’t pull away. “You’re not taking advantage,” I say, firmer now, because I mean it. “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t say yes.”

He looks at me for a long moment like he’s trying to decide if I’m serious. It almost hurts how unsure he is about it. “I don’t want to be too much,” he admits finally, voice barely there. 

“Oh Cam…” I say sympathetically, tilting my head slightly as I furrow my eyebrows at him. “You could never be too much.” I brush his arm softly, scooting closer to me

“I’m just so scared of hurting you.” His eyes meet mine as he looks up, and he looks terrible. His eyes are glassy, and he looks like he’s on the verge of tears. I know he doesn’t need as much sleep as everyone else, but he looks completely worn out. 

“Cam, how long have you needed to, you know…” I trail off, and he looks away, not saying anything. “Wait, have you not fed since the last time? Baby, that was like 3 weeks ago, that’s too long.”

“Ok, maybe, but you were on your period, and I didn’t want you to get like, I don’t know…” He trails off, looking down as he quiets. 

“Anemic? You don’t need to worry about that. I can eat a steak or something.” I let go of one of his hands, bringing mine up to his face and caressing him gently. “You need to take care of yourself too.” 

He looks back up at me, a tired smile resting on his face. “You make it really hard to argue with you.” He murmurs, knocking his forehead against mine. 

“Good.” I whisper, kissing him gently. 

His smile softens for a second, tired and fond, before it fades into something more hesitant. I can feel the shift immediately. The uncertainty creeping back in now that this is actually happening.

My thumb brushes over his cheek gently. “Cam,” I murmur, quieter this time. “It’s ok.”

He nods once, but it’s small and careful. Always careful.

I don’t think he even realizes how tightly wound he is until I slide my hand into his hair and feel him practically melt under it. “There you go,” I whisper softly. “Come here.”

He exhales shakily through his nose before leaning in slowly, like he’s still giving me the chance to stop him even though I’ve made it very clear I won’t. I tilt my head slightly for him, fingers still running through his curls. His hands settle carefully at my waist, almost tentative, like he’s afraid holding me too tightly might break something.

He tugs my shirt to the side, nuzzling his face into my neck as he lays me back on the couch. I can feel his breath on me, nose brushing against my skin as he takes me in. I’m not sure that I would do this for anyone else. He plants soft kisses on my collarbones, and I dig my fingers in his hair. “Cammy, that tickles…” 

I feel his chest move against mine as he giggles. “Oh, I’m so sorry angel.” He says teasingly, rolling his eyes. 

I let out a soft sigh as I feel his teeth sink into me, just above my collarbone. It’s strangely intimate, an act this tiring yet fulfilling. It feels a bit like the first time you have sex with someone who truly understands you. It’s deep but soft. Even in his desperation and need, he still handles me so carefully. The initial sting fades quickly, much quicker than last time, and for a bit, it actually feels kind of good. I whine and tug at his hair as he takes what he needs from me. 

“There you go, doing so good.” I whisper softly. The tension starts leaving his body and it’s evident in the way his shoulders relax, the way his grip on my hips softens from nearly desperate to something more relaxed. My fingers keep moving through his hair, pulling gently. 

He exhales shakily against my skin, and the sound alone tells me how exhausted he must’ve been. By the time he finally pulls away, it’s slow and reluctant.

His forehead drops against my chest as he breathes deeply for a second, and I swear I can feel him melting into me now that the edge has finally been taken off.

“Hi,” I murmur gently.

A tired laugh leaves him, muffled against me. “Hi.”

I smile, brushing some curls away from his face. He already looks better. Less pale. His eyes aren’t nearly as glassy now.

“There he is,” I whisper fondly. “You look much less sick now. Do you feel better?”

He looks up and kisses me gently, and I can faintly taste my blood on his tongue. It’s kind of hot. “Much better.” He pulls away from me, his expression shifting immediately. “You need to eat something.”

I stare at him for a second before laughing softly. “Cameron…”

“I’m serious.” He pushes himself up onto one elbow, still hovering over me protectively. “You need iron.” I open my mouth to protest, but he shuts that down right away. “Shut up, I’m gonna make you spinach, and you’re gonna eat it.” 

“Okay, whatever you say, Dr. Acula.” I can’t help smiling at how genuinely concerned he looks now that he’s not half-delirious from hunger. I am a little glad that he’s so worried, because I do feel slightly dizzy. “You know, usually aftercare involves cuddling…”

He turns his head towards me and smirks. “You know, I think I can arrange that.” 

Yeah, this is definitely worth the blood loss and bruising. 

Cameron doesn’t like the sun. 

It’s not something he’s ever given an explanation for, although he’s not very good at explaining anything, but it shows up in little ways. He’s a bit slower in the mornings, always picking the seat furthest from the window, wearing his sunglasses all the time, even when we’re inside, like he’s some kind of pretentious indie rocker who’s too good to look at us peasants. 

I used to think it was just him being him. A quirk, like he’s always been like that. One of those Cameron things I didn’t question because he’s been my friend for years, and that’s what you do when someone’s been in your life long enough. They stop needing explanations. 

Lately, though, things have been off. He texts less, shows up late more often, and laughs at things like he’s a second behind everyone else. Like he’s not all there. When I ask if he’s okay, he gives me that same answer every time. “I’m fine, just tired.” 

Tonight is supposed to be normal. No gig to attend, no interviews to do, nowhere to be. Just us, alone at his place on Friday night. The lights are dim, and some Bob Dylan song is playing lowly in the background. I’m sprawled across his couch with my legs thrown over his lap like I’ve done a hundred times before, except this time, it feels different. There’s no hand gently rubbing my calves, no soft laugh to himself about whatever book he’s reading, nothing. 

“Cam?” He looks up and hums at me, patiently waiting for whatever I’m about to ask him. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” 

“You worry too much.” His voice is quieter than usual.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Yeah?” I shift a little, sitting up more, my legs still draped over him. “Well, you’ve been kind of weird lately. I think I’m allowed to be worried.” 

He sighs, pressing his fingers lightly into my calf, not enough to hurt, but enough to make me notice. “I said I’m fine. Maybe I just haven’t felt like talking.” 

“Or maybe you’re avoiding me.” I mutter under my breath. 

That gets a reaction. It’s subtle but it’s there. “I’m sitting right here, aren’t I?” he says, tilting his head slightly. 

“That’s not the same thing and you know it.” I say, furrowing my eyebrows. 

For a moment, neither one of us says anything. His hand slides slowly down from leg to ankle. Guiding me off of his lap. Just moving me carefully. 

“Come here.” He says quietly. 

“Wow,” I say, raising an eyebrow as I let him pull me upright. “That almost sounded like a command.”

“Maybe it was…” He mumbles. That’s new.

I blink at him, caught a bit off guard for half a second, but I don’t pull away. I lean in closer, “Oh yeah? Since when are you like this?” My voice is soft, and I’m not complaining, but rather questioning when he had such an attitude change. 

His gaze drops to my mouth before coming back up. “Since you started asking too many questions.” A faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

“So this is your distraction?” My breath catches slightly, but I don’t move away. “Are you gonna make me listen?”

“I don’t think I have to.” There’s barely any space between us now, and whatever’s been off about him lately, it’s still there, but it’s placed itself in the back of my mind. My focus shifts from his behavior to his mouth. 

“Someone’s confident tonight.” I mumble, more so to myself. “Eager much?”

“Only for you.” He whispers, leaning in to give the tip of my nose a quick kiss. 

I pull my hands up from the couch, gripping his sweatshirt in my hands and yanking him towards me. 

It’s rushed and needy, and his hands find my hips very quickly, but I’m not complaining. He lays me back down on the couch, hovering his body over mine as his tongue maps my mouth. 

I whine into his mouth and he pushes further. He leans in more, mouth trailing just off mine, down to my jaw. “Sorry,” he whispers again, but it doesn’t sound like he means it.

His lips press against my neck, and I tilt my head without thinking, giving him space, teasing, “Careful, I bruise easy…” The words catch in my mouth when I feel it, sharper than expected, not quite what I signed up for. Did he just bite me?

“Wait, Cam that feels kinda weird…” I start, half-laughing, half-confused, but his hand steadies me, not rough, just… firm. And for a second, everything goes very still. His breath is warm against my skin. His mouth lingers, like he’s deciding something. 

“Sorry, you just smell so good.” He digs his face into my collarbone, kissing and nipping at the skin lightly. Nothing we haven’t done before, but I feel his teeth more now. This doesn’t feel like playful marks, hickeys don’t hurt like this. 

I suck in a breath, my hand flying to his shoulder. “Baby,” I press on him, trying to push him off, a nervous laugh slipping out as he sinks his teeth in. “Cammy, that kinda hurts…” He inhales deep and something about that makes my stomach drop. That’s not normal. “Cameron, stop please.” That’s what does it. 

He jerks back like he’s been burned, breathing uneven. His hand flies to his mouth, now tinted pink and covered in spit. “I, I didn’t…”

I’m already touching my neck, my heart racing as I trace the spot that is quickly becoming sore. “You bit me.” I say, slower than I mean to, like I can’t believe he would do something like that. 

He just stares at me, brows furrowed as he watches me try to gather myself. “I stopped.” He mutters, not denying my accusation. His eyes flicker to my neck, where my hand is still covering his work. But when he looks this time, I see something in his eyes that worries me. He doesn’t look embarrassed. He doesn’t look guilty. 

He looks hungry. 

“Oh my god,” I think I know what’s wrong but I know he’s going to be upset when I ask, but I have to know for sure. “Are you high? Did you take something?” 

“No.” He snaps back, too quickly like he’s getting defensive about it. 

“You are,” I say, staring at him, trying to piece it together. “You’re acting weird, you just bit me for Christ’s sake, who does that? What did you take?”

“I didn’t take anything.” He insists, but his voice is off. He sounds distracted. “I said I’m fine.”

“You always say that and clearly you’re not.” I shoot back. “You said that when you showed up late last week, and then when you didn’t answer your phone for two days, and now you can’t even kiss me normally without attacking my neck and you’re doing whatever the fuck this is, Cameron you’re kind of scaring me. What’s wrong?” 

His jaw tightens and for a second, it looks like he’s gonna argue back. But then I see that he’s looking at my neck again. In my rambling off at him, I let go of it, and he noticed. Really noticed it. And for the first time I feel genuinely afraid of my boyfriend. “Cam?” I manage to say, my voice so shaky and high it comes out as more of a squeak than a word. 

He backs up slightly. “Oh my god. I really got you bad, didn’t I?” He mumbles, more so to himself. 

“You’re not making sense, I just wanna help you.” I reach out and he jerks himself back like he has to force himself to pull away from me. 

“I think you should go home.” He turns around, refusing to look at me. 

“No, I’m not leaving.” I walk towards him, reaching for his shoulder. “Clearly something is wrong and you need help. Let me help you.” 

“You need to go home. If you stay, it might happen again.” he crosses his arms and jerks his shoulder away from my hand, still not looking at me. “ I don’t trust that I can stop.”

“Stop what? I love you and I wanna help you.” he drops his arms, walking to the kitchen. “If you won’t talk to me about it, will you at least talk to Max?” he pulls a glass out from the cabinet glaring at me.

“Fuck no. Don’t call him.” The way he says it, sharp and immediate, makes me flinch.

“Why?” I shoot back, crossing my arms. “He’s your best friend, if something’s wrong,”

“I said no.” He cuts me off, gripping the edge of the counter, knuckles going white. “I don’t need him in this. You’re involved and that’s bad enough.” He sips his water, trying to calm himself down, but it’s obviously not working.

I watch him for a second, really watch him, the way his hand tightens around the glass like it might shatter, the way his shoulders are too tense, like he’s bracing for something that hasn’t happened yet. “You’re shaking.” I say it quietly this time. Not accusing. Just noticing.

“No, I’m not.” He says quietly.

“Yes, you are.” The words come out softer than before, and I take a step closer despite everything in my body telling me maybe I shouldn’t. “Cam, you won’t even look at me.”

He exhales sharply, like he’s run out of room to hold all of this in, and finally turns. I think I finally understand why he didn’t want to tell me about whatever is going on here. His eyes look wrong. Not in a dramatic, horror movie way. Not fangs out, blood everywhere. Nothing like that. It’s subtle, worse somehow. His pupils are blown out, swallowing up most of the color in his already dark eyes, and there’s something behind them that I don’t recognize. Something sharp. He’s focused and locked in on me.

“See?” he says, voice low, almost hollow. “This is what I was trying to avoid.”

My stomach drops. “Avoid what? Me?” My heart hurts. Aches in a way I didn’t think was possible. 

He sets the glass down very carefully, like he has to force himself to control his every movement. “I’m scaring you. I never wanted to do that.” He reaches carefully up to my neck, fingertips grazing over the mark he left just minutes ago. “I hurt you. You’ve never done anything to me and I, I hurt you.” 

“Can you just talk to me?” For a second, I think he’s going to shut down again. I see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes flick away from mine like he’s already halfway out the door.

“I can’t,” he says quietly. It’s not defensive this time. It’s not sharp. It’s worse.

“Why not?” I step closer anyway, slower now, like approaching something fragile instead of something dangerous. “Cam, whatever this is, you don’t have to deal with it by yourself.”

His laugh is soft, but there’s nothing amused about it. “Yeah. I do.”

I shake my head immediately. “No, you don’t. You have me.” He looks back at me like I’ve deeply offended him. “I might not understand exactly what you’re going through, but I’m here.”

“That‘s the problem.” His eyes drop to the floor, and he looks like he’s gonna start crying. “You’re not supposed to be part of this. I love you, I don’t know what I would do.” 

I grab his hands, locking them tightly with mine so that he can’t pull away even if he wants to. “A part of what? You still haven’t told me what this is. I mean, sure, I have my suspicions, but that’s not real.”

“But it is real, and now you know, and I just feel like a monster!” He keeps looking at my neck, pale skin stained with his shame and hunger. “You shouldn’t stand this close to me.” He takes a hand back, pressing it to his mouth like he’s trying to physically hold himself back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think it was this bad yet. I thought I could feed and be ok, and then I just couldn’t stop.”

“Then maybe we can control it? I don’t know, maybe you can feed or whatever, and it can be ok. I want to help you but I can’t if you don’t let me.” His head snaps up so fast it almost startles me.

“No.” That’s the most serious he’s sounded all night. “No, absolutely not. I’m not feeding on you. That’s not happening.” His voice is sharper than it’s been this entire time, cutting straight through me. 

I swallow, trying not to let that sting. “You already did.”

“That was an accident.” He runs a hand through his hair, pacing now, restless, like there’s too much energy in his body and nowhere for it to go. “And you saw how that went. I didn’t stop because I wanted to. I stopped because you told me to.”

“But that means you can stop.” I step closer again, slower this time, watching him carefully. “You listened to me.”

His laugh is dry, humorless. “You had to tell me twice.”

“Yeah, because you were distracted,” I push, softer now. “Not because you’re incapable.”

“I can hear your heartbeat.” He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s just said something he can’t take back. “It’s loud,” he continues, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at me. “It’s been loud all night. I tried to ignore it, I thought if I just…” He gestures vaguely, frustrated. “Acted normal, that it would go away.”

My skin feels hot and cold at the same time. I wish he would tell me point blank exactly what he means. “That’s why you’ve been weird?” I ask, softer now. “Because you can… hear my heartbeat?”

“And smell you,” he adds immediately, like it slips out before he can stop it. That does something to the air between us.

“What does that mean?” I ask, even though I’m starting to understand. I just need him to say it.

“I can’t,” he snaps, then softer, like he hates himself for it, “I don’t have words for it. It’s just…” He exhales hard, dragging his hands down his face. “It’s like starving and being handed food. Real food. Not the shit I’ve been getting by on. And you’re just,” his eyes glance down to my neck again, then away like it burns, “ You’re right there. Handing yourself to me on a silver fucking platter.”

Something in my chest tightens, but I don’t move away.

“Okay,” I say quietly. “Then we figure it out.”

“There is no ‘we’ in this.” He looks at me again, and there’s something desperate there. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You shouldn’t be anywhere near this.”

“I’m not going anywhere. If you think I’m gonna leave you because you’re different now, then you’re incredibly stupid.” The words come out steadier than I feel. I guess I’m doing a good job of reasoning with myself. If only I could get to him. “You don’t get to decide that for me.” 

His jaw clenches, and he furrows his eyebrows. “I do when it keeps you safe.”

“And I get to decide if I care about that.” I step closer again, close enough now that I can see the way his breathing picks up, the way his hands flex like he’s trying not to reach for me. “I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be.” It’s quiet. Honest.

“Maybe a little,” I admit, because lying would make this worse. “But I’m more scared of you shutting me out and pretending this isn’t happening.”

“I thought I could handle it,” he says after a second, voice cracking just slightly. “I thought if I just… managed it, kept my distance when it got bad, it wouldn’t touch you. You wouldn’t even know.” He trails off, eyes low.

“Wait, you weren’t even planning on telling me?” He doesn’t answer and that’s enough for me to know. “So I’m just that unimportant to you?”

“It’s not that you’re unimportant to me, he says, voice tight, like the words are cutting their way out of him. “It’s that you’re too important.”

I blink, thrown off by that. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does,” he insists, sharper now, finally looking at me fully. “If you mattered less, if I didn’t love you as much, fuck if I didn’t need you this much, this would be easier. I could,” he stops himself, jaw clenching. “I wouldn’t have to think about what happens if I lose control.”

My stomach twists. “You’re not making this better, Cameron.”

“I’m not trying to,” he snaps, then immediately softens, like he hates that it came out that way. “I’m trying to get you to leave.”

“Well I’m not going to. If you’re hungry, then I can help.” I take his hand, moving it back up to my neck and let him stroke it. It hurts a little, but I don’t care. 

“You’re asking me to use you like a blood bag. That’s crazy.” He stares at me like I’ve completely lost my mind. 

I lower my voice, trying to calm both of us down. “It’s not crazy if it’s what you need.”I shrug one shoulder like it’s simple, even though my heart is pounding. “And I’m not asking, I’m offering. We set rules. Boundaries, safe word, whatever you want. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He pulls me close, pressing his face into my hair, breathing me in. “That’s exactly why I can’t say yes. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” He whispers. 

“Then show me.” My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised he can’t hear it. Maybe he can. Maybe that’s making this worse. “But you stop when I tell you to. That’s the deal.”

His breathing goes uneven again. “That’s not a deal,” he says quietly. “That’s you putting yourself in danger.”

“That’s me trusting you.”

For a second, I think he’s going to refuse again. I can see the fight in him, the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands flex like he’s trying to hold onto something solid. Then, slowly, he reaches for me. His fingers brush my arm first, like he’s testing if I’m real, if this is actually happening. Then they slide up, hesitant, until his hand rests lightly at the side of my neck. Right over the mark he already left.

“Say it again.” He murmurs, eyes locking in on mine. “Say that you trust me.”

“I trust you.” I say immediately, my voice soft and unshaking. 

He leans in slowly this time, like he’s giving me every chance to stop him. His lips press against my neck first, it’s soft and careful. For a second it feels like earlier, like something familiar. Then his teeth graze my skin. I tense, but I don’t pull away.

“Cam,” I whisper, more warning than fear.

“I know baby,” he breathes against my skin. “I know, just,” He sighs and I brace myself. 

And then he bites. It’s not as sudden as it was before, but it’s messy. I tangle my fingers in his shirt as he starts to suck. It hurts a bit, but there’s less fear. Like he’s actually controlling it, practically holding himself on a leash. 

His grip tightens at my waist as soon as he does it, and I feel the exact moment that he lets himself actually take something instead of just hovering at the edge of it. His breathing changes and he stills for a second, like his body doesn’t know what to do with it. Like he’s been waiting for this and now he finally has it. A quiet sound slips out of him, something almost like a whine, and his fingers dig in just slightly. Not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor himself. 

I gasp, tilting my head back absentmindedly and his mouth stops for second. “Still ok?” He manages, voice strained like the words are being dragged out of him. 

“Yes,” I mumble, my pulse racing. “Just, oh fuck, just don’t forget.” I whine as he kisses my neck gently. 

“I won’t.” He says quickly, almost desperately. “I won’t forget, baby. I promise.”

He stays right there, controlled but clearly fighting for it. His hand slides up from my hip to my sides, caressing gently as he puts his mouth back. I sigh, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He’s stopped sucking now, opting to leave small kisses on top of the bruise. 

“Cam…” I say again, softer this time. 

He pulls back, breathing hard and pupils blown wide again. He’s less frantic now, more focused on me as a whole, and not just my neck. “I stopped.” He lets out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “Holy fuck.”

“I know baby. You did good.” I nod, still catching my breath.

His expression drops, eyes snapping back to my neck like he’s just remembering what he did. “Oh my god,” His hands are me again, careful but urgent. Running over my ribs and pulling me close like I’m gonna run away. “Are you ok? Did I hurt you? We don’t have to do it again, I can find different ways to,”

I interrupt him before he can ramble his tongue off. “Cam, I’m ok.” I say quickly, but he’s already moving. Pulling us up to a sitting position, gently pulling me onto his lap. 

“Don’t say that if you’re not.” His fingers hover over the mark. “Can I?” I nod and that’s all the permission he needs. His fingertips press lightly against my skin, barely there, tracing around where he bit me instead of directly over it. His touch is so gentle now it almost doesn’t match the rush of heat coursing through us mere minutes ago. “Fuck, jesus, that’s really dark.”

“I bruise easy, remember? You’ve done worse to my thighs, I can handle it.” I shrug lightly, thinking about how truly ravenous he gets sometimes. I really shouldn’t be surprised that his teeth can do this much damage when I already know what his tongue can do. 

He pulls me closer, hugging me tightly, slightly rocking us back and forth. “You’re really ok?” His other hand comes up, softly rubbing over my cheek as I lean into him. 

“Yeah, I promise.”

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door and we both freeze. Cameron goes so still it’s almost unnatural.

Max walks in like he owns the place. “Yo I left my drumsticks!” He stops dead in his tracks. I’m sure it’s a weird scene from his perspective. The lead singer of his band on the couch, his girlfriend straddling his lap, with a massive hickey on her neck and spit covering both of their mouths. I’d be freaked out too. “Oh my god, sorry.” 

Cameron closes his eyes and tips his head back on the couch like he’s praying to every saint in existence that Max just grabs his stuff and turns back around. 

“Ok so I’m just gonna…” He trails off, grabbing his sticks off the island before really looking at my neck. “Jesus dude, I know you guys are like freaky and whatever but you might wanna ice that. Respect though, that’s dedicated.” 

I roll my eyes, moving off of Cameron’s lap. “Yeah thanks, I do know how to be an adult.”

“Yeah clearly.” Max responds, heading back out the door. “Just keep it down if you’re gonna keep it up. We do need him to have a voice for practice tomorrow.” 

Cameron gets up from the couch, shooing Max out the door. “Yep got it, bye.” Cam shuts the door, clicking the lock back into place before looking back at me. “Great now I gotta deal with that.”

“Oh my god,” I throw myself back on the couch, bursting into a fit of giggles. “Babe he thinks he walked in on us having sex, that might be worse than him knowing what was actually going on.” 

He comes to sit down next to me, putting his head in his hands. “I’m gonna disband I swear to God.”

The initial sting of his teeth sinking into my neck has become almost familiar now. A sharp, electric jolt that melts into something deeper, warmer. I’m lying back on his bed this time, a place we’ve decided is the best considering how tiring the act is for both of us. The soft sheets cool against my skin as he hovers over me, one hand braced beside my head, the other wrapped firmly around my waist. He’s been more careful lately, but I can still feel the barely contained tension in his grip, the way his breath hitches against my skin as he drinks. 

It’s not frantic like the first few times. It’s controlled, deliberate. Each pull from my veins sends a strange, dizzying warmth spreading through my limbs. My fingers are tangled in his hair, not pulling, just holding on as I feel the tension slowly drain from his body. His shoulders relax, his grip softens, and the desperate edge to his presence begins to smooth away. 

He pulls back with a soft, wet sound, his tongue darting out to trace the puncture marks. It’s a habit he’s developed, a final, gentle sweep that sends a shiver down my spine. His forehead rests against my collarbone, and I feel his chest expand with a deep, steadying breath.

“Okay?” he murmurs, his voice thick and low, vibrating against my skin.

“Never better,” I whisper back, my voice a little breathless. “You?”

He lifts his head, and I see it. The change that always happens after he’s fed. The glassy exhaustion is gone, replaced by a sharp, unnerving clarity. His eyes are dark, but they’re not just dark anymore. They’re focused, intense, and fixed entirely on me. The hunger is gone, but something else has taken its place. Something just as primal.

“Better than okay,” he answers, but his gaze has already dropped. It slides from my face, down the column of my throat, past the mark he just made, and lower, lingering where my shirt has ridden up, exposing a strip of my stomach. He’s looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time, like a map he suddenly wants to explore every inch of.

He shifts his weight, his knee nudging between my legs. The movement is slow, deliberate. “You taste…” he starts, then stops, swallowing hard. “You taste like everything.”

My breath hitches. He’s never been this vocal before. “Cameron…”

His eyes flick back up to mine, and there’s a question there, but it’s buried under layers of want. “I need…” He trails off, leaning down, but not to my neck this time. His lips brush against my sternum, right over my heart. “I need to thank you.”

Before I can ask what he means, he’s moving. His hands, which were braced and hesitant, are now sure as they slide down my sides, hooking into the waistband of my jeans. He doesn’t fumble. He doesn’t hesitate. He tugs, and I lift my hips without thinking, letting him pull the denim down my legs. His shirt follows, and then his, until there’s nothing between us but the cool air and the heat of his gaze.

He settles between my legs, his broad shoulders pushing them apart. He looks up at me from under his lashes, and for a second, I see the old Cameron, the one who’s afraid of taking too much. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by something confident, something predatory.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, but it sounds less like a warning and more like a promise.

And then his mouth is on me.

It’s not like anything I’ve ever felt. His tongue is impossibly precise, tracing patterns that make my back arch off the bed. He’s not just tasting me. He's reading me, learning every response, every gasp, every shudder. His enhanced senses aren’t just for hunting anymore. They’re for this. For me.

He finds a rhythm that’s both relentless and worshipful, his hands gripping my thighs, holding me open for him. The sounds he makes are obscene. Low, appreciative hums that vibrate through my entire body. He’s almost whining as he’s lost in it, in me, and the thought sends a jolt of pure pleasure straight to my core.

“Cam,” I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair. “Oh my god…”

He responds by sliding two fingers inside me, curling them just so. The dual sensation is overwhelming. My vision whites out, and I’m vaguely aware of crying out his name as the orgasm crashes through me, intense and all-consuming.

He doesn’t stop. He works me through it, his tongue and fingers drawing out every last wave of pleasure until I’m a trembling, boneless mess beneath him. But then something shifts. His movements become more frantic, almost desperate. His grip on my thighs tightens, and a low growl rumbles in his chest.

“You taste…” he pants, pulling back just enough to speak. “Fuck, I can’t… it’s too much.”

Before I can process his words, his head dips lower, his mouth pressing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I expect more kisses, more of the worshipful attention he’s been giving me, but instead, I feel the sharp, unmistakable pressure of his teeth sinking into my flesh.

“Cameron!” I cry out, my body arching off the bed. The pain is sharp, intense, but it’s immediately followed by a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on agonizing. He’s not just feeding. He’s claiming, marking, consuming.

He drinks from my thigh with a fervor that’s both terrifying and exhilarating. His hands hold me in place, his body pinning me to the bed as he takes what he needs, what he wants. I can feel the hot pull of his mouth, the rhythmic drawing of my blood, and it’s all so overwhelmingly intimate.

When he finally pulls away, his tongue laps at the wound, cleaning and soothing the sensitive skin. He looks up at me, his eyes wild, his face flushed with a mixture of blood and arousal. He looks like a creature of myth and legend, beautiful and deadly and entirely mine.

“Sorry,” he breathes, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. He looks triumphant. “I just… I couldn’t help it. You taste so good. Everywhere.”

I reach down, my fingers tracing the mark on my thigh. It’s already bruising, a perfect imprint of his teeth. “It’s okay,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I liked it.”

A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. “Yeah?” he murmurs, crawling back up my body. “Then you’re going to love what I do next.”

His mouth finds mine again, and I can taste myself on his tongue, mingled with the faint, coppery tang of my own blood. It’s a heady combination, one that’s uniquely ours. His hands roam my body, relearning curves he’s already memorized, but with a new urgency, a new hunger.

“Cameron,” I gasp as his fingers find my clit, circling it with practiced ease. “Please…”

“Please what, angel?” he murmurs against my lips. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I breathe out. “Need you, please…”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. He positions himself between my legs, his eyes locked on mine as he enters me in one smooth thrust. The stretch is exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that leaves me breathless. He stills for a moment, giving me time to adjust, his forehead resting against mine.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

“Better than okay,” I echo his earlier words, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Move, Cam. Please.”

He does, setting a pace that’s both punishing and tender. Each thrust is deeper than the last, hitting spots I didn’t even know existed. His enhanced stamina means he can keep going long after a normal man would have finished, and I’m not complaining. My body is a live wire of sensation, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice low and rough. I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze. They’re dark, almost black, with flecks of red that seem to glow in the dim light of his room. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” I moan, my nails digging into his back. “Yours.”

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his release. I can feel myself getting close again, the coil of pleasure tightening in my stomach. His hand snakes between us, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing tight circles that push me closer to the edge.

“Come on, angel,” he growls, his teeth grazing my neck. “Come for me.”

That’s all it takes. The combination of his words, his touch, and the feeling of him inside me sends me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me, more intense than the last, leaving me trembling and gasping for air.

He follows me over the edge with a guttural groan, his body tensing as he finds his release. He collapses on top of me, his weight a comforting presence as we both try to catch our breath.

After a moment, he rolls off me, pulling me into his arms. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

“Wow,” I whisper after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Yeah. Wow.”

I trace patterns on his skin, my fingers dancing over his skin. “So… that was new.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his fingers stroking my hair. “I’ve never… I’ve never lost control like that before. Not with you.”

I prop myself up on my elbow, looking at him. His face is softer now, the predatory edge replaced by something more vulnerable. “Did you scare yourself?”

He nods, his eyes closing for a moment. “Terrified me. I could feel it happening, this… this switch flipping. One minute I was focused on you, on making you feel good, and the next…” He trails off, his hand tightening on my hip. “The next, all I could think about was how you tasted. Not just your blood, but… all of you. It was overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming good or overwhelming bad?” I press, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He opens his eyes, and there’s a conflict there that I haven’t seen before. 

“Both? I just want to devour you, to mark every inch of your skin, to make sure everyone knows you’re mine. But I also want to protect you from… from this. From me.”

“Cam,” I say softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of this. What I felt tonight… it was intense, yeah, but it was also the most connected I’ve ever felt to anyone.”

He searches my eyes, looking for any sign of fear or hesitation. When he finds none, some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Really?”

“Really,” I confirm, my hand sliding down his chest. “In fact…” I pause, a mischievous glint in my eyes. “I think I might like it when you get a little… possessive.”

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Oh, is that so?”

“Oh, definitely,” I purr, straddling his hips. “The way you bit my thigh… fuck, Cam. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

His hands come to rest on my waist, his thumbs stroking circles on my skin. “I didn’t hurt you too badly?”

I shake my head, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “You didn’t hurt me at all. I really, really liked it.”

That earns a genuine laugh from him, deep and rumbling. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say, sitting up to look at him. “Even the fanged, bloodsucking parts.”

“All of them?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Especially those parts,” I confirm, my fingers trailing down his chest to his already hardening cock. “In fact, I was thinking…”

He raises an eyebrow, his hands sliding up my back to pull me closer. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” I say, leaning in to nip at his earlobe, “that since you’ve tasted me pretty much everywhere tonight…” I pause, letting the implication hang in the air. “I could taste you…” 

“Oh angel, don’t tease…”

The cramps hit like a wave, curling me into a ball on the couch and making me whimper against the cushions. It’s midday and the pain is relentless, gripping my abdomen in claws that won’t let go.

Cameron finds me twenty minutes later, still fetal and miserable. The couch dips as he sits beside me, his hand finding my hair, fingers threading through with infinite gentleness.

"Hey," he murmurs. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Period," I mumble into the pillow, my face flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry. I know it's... messy. Gross. I can go home if you want."

His hand stills. "What?"

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. "The blood. I know you feed or whatever but this is different, it's gross."

"Look at me."

The command is soft but undeniable. I roll onto my back, wincing as another cramp twists through me, and find him staring down with an expression caught between hurt and something darker, hungrier.

"You think I'm disgusted by you?" he asks quietly. "By your body?"

"I just thought... you’re very particular about blood, and this is dirty, and…"

He cuts me off with a kiss, fierce and claiming, his tongue sweeping through my mouth until I'm breathless. When he pulls back, his eyes are blown wide, the red flecks vivid and pulsing.

"Listen to me," he says, low and sweet. "There is nothing about you that disgusts me. Nothing. Your body, every part of it, every way it comes, is precious to me. Do you understand?"

I swallow hard, nodding, another cramp making me gasp.

He notices, his gaze dropping to where I clutch my stomach. "Hurts, baby?"

"Like hell," I admit, my voice small.

A slow, tender smile curves his lips, his eyes softening. "I can help with that. Let me take care of you."

"Cameron, I'm bleeding, I don't think,"

"Do you trust me?"

I nod, and he stands, scooping me up in his arms like I weigh nothing. He carries me to the bedroom and lays me down with such care, tucking the pillows behind my head and brushing the hair from my face with gentle fingers.

"Such a good girl," he murmurs, his thumb tracing my cheek. "Letting me take care of you. I'm so proud of you."

He strips me slowly, peeling off my clothes with reverent hands, and I try to cover myself when I see the evidence smeared on my thighs, but he catches my wrists, bringing them to his lips to press kisses to my palms.

"No hiding," he whispers softly. "You're perfect. Every part of you is perfect. Let me see you."

He settles between my legs, his broad shoulders pushing my thighs apart with gentle pressure. He doesn't rush. He takes his time looking at me, his gaze warm and adoring, and when he brings his hand up, he moves slowly, teasing through my folds with two fingers, gathering the wetness there.

"So pretty," he breathes. "So wet for me already. Such a good girl, getting ready for me."

He pushes those two fingers inside me in one smooth, unhurried thrust, curling them immediately to find the spot that makes my back arch. The stretch is perfect, the pressure is exactly what I need, and he starts to work me with patient, deliberate precision.

"That's it," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to cup my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple with feather-light pressure that feels electric, amplified by my hormones. "Just relax, baby. Let me work it out. Can you stay still and be good for me while I take care of you?"

"Yes," I whimper, arching into his touch, already feeling the cramp starting to loosen. "Yes, I'll be good."

"That's my girl," he praises, his voice warm and encouraging. "So soft. So perfect. Just let me do the work, okay? You don't have to do anything but feel good."

He finds a rhythm that has me melting, his fingers pumping in and out with wet, gentle sounds, the heel of his hand grinding soft circles against my clit. He uses his free hand to tend to my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers with such care, pinching just enough to send sparks through my oversensitive nerves but never too hard.

"How are your cramps?" he asks, his eyes fixed on my face, watching every expression with focused concern. "They getting better?"

"Yeah," I gasp, my hips rolling up to meet his hand. "Yeah, they're... oh..."

"That's it," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss my forehead, my eyelids, the tip of my nose. "Just let it build. Let me work you open, baby. Gonna make you feel so good, I promise. Gonna make all the pain go away."

He keeps up the relentless but tender pace, his fingers never faltering, his thumb working my nipple with gentle, rolling pressure. The cramps are fading, replaced by building heat that coils tight and low, warm and heavy instead of sharp.

"Cam," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders but not scratching, just holding on. "Please, I need you inside me, please…"

"Shh, I know, baby. I know you do. You've been so good for me." He withdraws his fingers slowly, making me whimper at the loss, and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a soft groan. "So perfect. You taste like everything."

He positions himself at my entrance, his cock thick and hard and hot, and he pushes in with one smooth, steady thrust, filling me completely. He sinks in deep and holds there, letting me feel every inch, his forehead resting against mine as we both breathe.

"There you go," he whispers, his voice strained with the effort of going slow. "There's my good girl. Taking me so well. So warm. So perfect."

He starts to move, rolling his hips in deep, grinding thrusts that drag against every sensitive nerve inside me. He keeps his weight on his elbows, caging me in a sanctuary of warmth and safety, his hands framing my face as he rocks into me with steady, purposeful rhythm.

"That's it," he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine, never looking away. "Just like that. Feel that, baby? Feel me working that ache out?"

"Yes," I breathe, my legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. "Yes, Cam, don't stop…"

"Never," he promises, his thrusts gaining a little speed but staying deep, grinding, intentional. "I'm right here. I've got you. Just let go for me, okay? Be my good girl and let me take care of everything."

He shifts his angle slightly, hitting deeper, and I cry out, my back arching. He notices my breasts bouncing with the movement, and his mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking gentle and slow, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak with such care I could cry.

"So sensitive," he murmurs against my skin, moving to the other breast, giving it the same worshipful attention. "My poor baby. Let me make it better."

He sits back on his heels, pulling me with him so I'm in his lap, wrapped around him, chest to chest. He holds me close, one arm wrapped tight around my waist, the other hand tangled in my hair, and he rocks up into me with deep, rolling thrusts that hit exactly where I need.

"Look at me," he commands softly, his voice thick with emotion. "Stay with me, baby. I want to see you. Want to see when it stops hurting."

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the tenderness there combined with the steady, grinding pressure between my legs sends me spiraling. He keeps one hand on my hip, guiding my movements, and brings the other to my breast, rolling my nipple in gentle circles that make me sob with overstimulation.

"That's it," he breathes, his thrusts becoming a little harder, a little more purposeful as he feels me tightening around him. "Let it happen. Cum for me, baby. Be my good girl. Cum for me and let all the pain go away."

His words break me. I cum with a cry that sounds like relief, like release, my body clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever. He works me through it, his thrusts staying deep and grinding, his hand on my breast gentle and soothing, his mouth pressing kisses to my throat, my jaw, anywhere he can reach.

"Good girl," he whispers against my skin, his own breath coming faster now. "Such a good girl. So perfect. So soft for me."

He keeps going, his movements becoming more focused, chasing his own release now that he's taken care of mine. He lays me back down, folding me in half gently, my legs over his shoulders, and he thrusts deep and steady, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Tell me if it's too much," he gasps, his control fraying at the edges. "Tell me, baby," 

"It's perfect," I sob, still sensitive, still trembling. "Please, Cammy, please,"

He buries himself to the hilt with a soft, broken groan, his whole body going rigid as he spills inside me, pulse after pulse, filling me with heat. He collapses carefully, rolling us onto our sides without breaking our connection, his arms wrapping around me like a cocoon as we both tremble through the aftershocks.

"Okay?" he whispers, his hand stroking down my back in long, soothing lines.

I nod, boneless and blissed out, the cramps completely gone, replaced by a warm, heavy satisfaction. "More than okay," I mumble against his chest. "Wow."

He chuckles, the sound warm and satisfied. He presses a kiss to my forehead, then pulls back to search my eyes. "How are the cramps, baby? Be honest."

I pause, actually taking inventory. The gripping pain is gone, completely, replaced by a pleasant, warm ache between my legs and deep in my muscles. "Gone," I say, wonderingly. "You actually... they're just gone."

He smiles, proud and pleased, and kisses my nose. "Good. That's my good girl. Let me take care of you, okay?"

I smile, but then feel the wetness between us—the mess we've made, blood and cum—and my face heats with renewed embarrassment. "We should clean up," I say quietly. "The sheets, Cam I’m sorry..."

He catches my chin, his expression gentle but firm. "Hey. None of that. You have nothing to be sorry for. You were so perfect. So good for me." He kisses me softly, sweetly. "Stay here. I'll run you a bath."

He pulls out of me gently, making me whimper at the loss, tugging his clothes back on as he walks to the bathroom. I hear the water start, hear him moving around, and then he returns to scoop me up again.

"I can walk," I protest weakly.

"I know," he says, carrying me into the steamy bathroom. "But I want to hold you. You're my girl and I like holding you."

He lowers me into the tub, the warm water feels amazing and I sink into it with a groan of pure pleasure. He kneels beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves, and proceeds to wash me with such tender care it makes my chest ache.

He cleans between my legs with a soft cloth, no trace of hesitation or disgust on his face, only concentration and love. He washes my hair, gingerly placing kisses to my cheeks as his fingers massage my scalp until I'm purring like a cat. When he's satisfied, he helps me out, wrapping me in a fluffy towel and drying me off like I'm something precious.

"There you go, baby," he murmurs, kissing my damp hair. "All clean. Go pick out pajamas and I'll meet you in bed."

I pad to his dresser and pull out one of his worn t-shirts and soft cotton shorts. When I return to the bedroom, he's just finishing tucking fresh sheets onto the bed, the old ones balled up in the hamper. The room smells faintly like sex, but neither of us seem to mind.

He looks up as I enter, and his expression softens into something so full of adoration I feel tears prick my eyes.

"There's my girl," he says softly, holding out his arms.

I go to him, letting him lift me onto the bed and tuck me under the covers. He climbs in beside me, pulling me against his chest, his hand finding my stomach again and pressing warm and soothing against the last faint echoes of discomfort.

"Sleep," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you, baby."

"I love you," I whisper, already drifting, safe and cared for and utterly cherished.

"I love you too," he says. "Every part of you. Always."

And I believe him.