Host survival not guaranteed, I thought, still moving. That's a new notification.
"Don't move," she whispered, her breath cold and intimate against my ear, brushing over my skin like dry ice. "You'll make it worse."
Then she sank her teeth in. The pressure came first, then the two sharp points piercing deep. Her tongue and lips sealed cold and wet against my skin. A freezing sensation spread from the wounds, not just outward, but inward, like something alien was sliding into my veins along with the pull.
My muscles locked. Not from fear. From something in my blood trying to decide what to do.
She drank. Deep, rhythmic pulls that I could feel in my throat, in my chest, in the base of my spine. Each swallow took more than blood. It took warmth. Strength. Something vital.
My hands pushed against her but the strength wasn't there anymore. It was draining out in real time, pulled through two small points in my neck.
This isn't just blood, I thought. She's taking something else.
