His tall, handsome figure was illuminated by the faint glow of the dim white bedside lamp. His firm chest and taut abdomen seemed to contain an inexhaustible strength, radiating a dark, magnetic presence.
He restrained his impulses, his voice low and husky as he whispered ambiguously, "Margie, it might hurt a little!"
It's my first time, I know.
I gazed at him through half-closed eyes, my vision blurred with emotion, my heart a mix of nervousness, anticipation, fear, and sweetness. These inexplicable emotions tangled within me, nearly causing me to faint under his tender touch, yet I couldn't help but despise myself for being so easily intoxicated.
Suddenly, he pinched my chin, his lips curling into a mischievous smile as he said, "Margie, the pain I'm talking about is the First Bite... Of course, it should start with—your—neck!"
In the dim light, his crimson eyes glinted ominously, flashing twice, and his sharp fangs lunged toward my neck. Before I could stop him, warm blood was already trickling down my skin...
Terrified, I screamed and pounded his back, desperate for him to stop, but the more I struggled, the more firmly he held me down. A sudden, tearing pain shot through my body—damn it, was he really this consumed by passion?!
I screamed in agony and begged in fear, but he continued to drink greedily, his lips locked to my neck, murmuring comfortingly, "Soon, just endure it a little longer, and we'll never be apart! God, your blood is so sweet, so sweet..." he rasped.
I could even hear him swallowing the blood eagerly, like a parched man drinking a cup of sweet, warm milk.
I felt my body convulsing, as though my blood was being drained away, my limbs growing cold. "No... stop..."
"Don't resist. After drinking my blood, once you wake up, you'll truly be my woman, Margie. Say you love me!" He wildly demanded my body, still sucking the blood from my neck.
"No—stop—help!"
I screamed, suddenly pushing him away and sitting up in bed. My face was drenched in tears, but I found myself alone in bed, the surroundings eerily silent.
The room felt eerily still, devoid of life, my rapid breaths loud and jarring in the stillness. Still shaken, I reached up to touch my neck—it was unharmed, and the necklace was still there.
God, it was just a nightmare!
Was it because I fell asleep wearing the necklace?
I thought about taking it off, but after a moment of hesitation, I decided to keep it on.
Just as I reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, a loud bang—the door was flung open. Before I could see who it was, a cold gust of wind swept through, the curtains billowing wildly, and I was swiftly pulled into an embrace. "Margie, what's wrong? I heard you screaming. What happened?"
"Lionel? I..." My voice was hoarse, and I pushed him away in panic.
We stood in silence for a moment, and he simply looked at me, as if giving me time to collect myself.
I grabbed the glass from the nightstand and took a few sips of water before calming down.
He turned on the light, took a tissue, and gently wiped the cold sweat from my face. "Did you have a nightmare?" he asked with concern, pulling me back into his arms. "It's okay, I'm here. Do you want to sleep a little longer?"
I wanted to tell him that I dreamed he was sucking my blood, but the words wouldn't come out.
I glanced at the wall clock—it was just 2:00 a.m. The thought I had at 9:00 p.m., "If he doesn't come back within five hours, I'll just leave tomorrow morning," flashed through my mind. And yet, he had appeared within those five hours!
God, was this fate or some damn curse?
The nightmare seemed to remind me that I was just his prey—an easy catch.
He gently helped me lie back down and lay beside me, still fully clothed. He didn't mention the silver jewelry on me again, instead running his long fingers through my hair and kissing my forehead. "Close your eyes, sleep a little more."
But my tears fell. "Lionel, why do you like me?"
If he had been honest and told me it was to use me to gain power for revenge, I would have stayed by his side. If he had casually fed me hollow words, I would have stayed as a spy.
But he gently wiped the tears from the corner of my eye, smiled slightly, and asked, "Margie, tell me, what nightmare did you just have?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Mhm," he responded thoughtfully.
Looking into his deep eyes, I couldn't help but wonder—was he thinking that I had dreamed about Benson?
Did he think I had a guilty conscience and dreamed of the person I killed coming back for revenge? The thought made sense, but it only deepened my unease.
But Benson, that devil, deserved to die. I wouldn't feel guilty!
After a moment of hesitation, I pulled the blanket tightly around me and said, "I dreamed that we were being intimate in bed, and then you said something about the First Bite, bit my neck, and told me to drink your blood to become a vampire... That's it."
He suddenly burst into laughter, lying back and laughing uncontrollably.
I couldn't help but feel annoyed and slapped him sharply. "I was scared to death! What's so funny about a nightmare?"
He barely managed to stop laughing. "That's not a nightmare, it's an erotic dream!" he said, laughing again.
An erotic dream?!
If that's what an erotic dream is, I'd rather die!
"Hmph!" I turned away, ignoring him, and coldly reminded him, "You still haven't told me why you like me."
"No reason, just because you're you!" His voice was light but carried a hint of seriousness.
I frowned. What kind of vague answer was that? It wasn't the honesty I wanted, yet it felt honest, but it wasn't honeyed words either. It was infuriating—couldn't he just give me a proper answer?
He turned and hugged me from behind, the blanket between us, rocking me gently as if I were a doll, and said, his voice tinged with playfulness, "Margie, then why do you like me?"