Page 13 of Bleed

“Right on time, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping aside to let me in. His voice is smooth and warm in a way that instantly settles the restlessness inside me.

There’s something timeless about Henry. Refined in a way that feels practiced over centuries.

I step into the foyer and immediately relax as the scent of sandalwood wraps around me. The antique furniture and Victorian décor creeped me out the first time I came here– I felt like I wandered into a haunted museum or something– but now, it’s strangely comforting in its familiarity.

Henry leads me into the living room, where a crystal tumbler of whiskey is already waiting on the table beside the chaise lounge. Soft jazz crackles faintly from an old record player in the corner, warm golden light spilling from the lamps around the room.

“You look lovely tonight,” he says, giving me a slow once-over that instantly sends heat creeping into my cheeks.

“You’re too kind,” I reply as I sink onto the chaise, the velvet upholstery impossibly soft against my bare thighs.

He hands me the whiskey, his fingers brushing mine. “Kindness is underrated,” he murmurs, moving to settle into the armchair across from me. “How have you been?”

“Good,” I reply, swirling the whiskey around in the glass before taking a small sip.

He studies me for a moment, then tips his head. “I worry about you.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “You’re the only one, then.”

“I doubt that,” he murmurs, watching me drain nearly half the whiskey in one go. “You remind me of someone I once knew. Someone who had no shortage of admirers.”

I lower my glass, warmth settling in my belly. “Wanting someone and actually caring about them are two very different things.”

“True,” he agrees easily. His gaze drifts over me again, lingering briefly on my bare legs stretched across the chaise before returning to my face. “Any new tattoos to show me?”

“Not this time,” I say with a smile. “Been busy with engagements. Spending less time at the shop.”

“A shame,” he murmurs. “One should never abandon their passions.”

“I’m not abandoning it,” I reply defensively, taking another sip of whiskey. “Just… taking a detour.”

Henry watches me quietly, like he’s trying to see the truth beneath my words. Then he gives a slow nod, accepting it without pushing further.

I finish off the rest of the whiskey in one final swallow, warmth spreading through my chest as I set the empty glass aside. Across from me, Henry rises smoothly to his feet and starts in my direction.

The anticipation hits instantly.

I lean into him on instinct when he settles beside me on the chaise, my body reacting before he’s even touched me. This is our routine: whiskey, easy conversation, then the bite. Predictable in the best possible way.

He lifts a hand, brushing my hair away from the side of my neck with practiced gentleness. His fingers graze my skin as they settle lightly over my pulse, my heartbeat jumping traitorously beneath his touch.

“Are you ready?” he asks softly, always the gentleman.

“Of course,” I breathe.

A faint smile curves his mouth, then his fangs extend with a quiet pop that sends a thrill skittering down my spine. I hold my breath as he leans closer, already knowing what’s coming and craving it like oxygen.

I flinch instinctively when his fangs pierce my skin, but the sting quickly melts into something warmer. A slow wave of heat unfurls through my body as the venom takes hold, spreading outward from the bite in pulses that light up every nerve ending in their path. My heart races, lips parting on a breathy gasp.

The sensation sinks deeper, pooling low in my stomach until my entire body feels charged. His hand slides to my waist, keeping me steady as he drinks.

Never rough.

Never greedy.

Always refined.

That’s the thing about Henry– even something as barbaric as a bite somehow feels elegant when he does it.