The Taste of Blood

The city sprawled beneath a sky drained of the Blood Moon's fury, its crimson stain replaced by a dull, ashen gray that pressed down like a lid on a simmering pot. Rain had given way to a damp mist, curling through the gothic spires and pooling in the hollows of the streets, a shroud that muffled sound and sharpened shadows. Ethan Calloway sat on the edge of his sagging mattress, his apartment a fortress of chaos—corkboard littered with Lilith's past, desk buried under crumpled notes, bourbon bottle half-empty on the floor. His trench coat hung limp over a chair, still bearing the rogue's claw marks, and his baseball bat leaned against the wall, a silent sentinel. His hazel eyes, bloodshot and restless, stared at nothing, the weight of James's words a stone in his gut.

He hadn't seen Lilith since the alley, since her hand had steadied him and her voice had promised a fight. Three days of silence, of dodging her texts—Where are you? We need to talk—and pacing his cramped space, wrestling with doubt. James's journal haunted him: Lucien's name, the vanishings, the chilling pattern of her lovers turned to ghosts. Was she different, or was he just another moth drawn to her flame? His fingers brushed the bruise on his ribs, a dull ache from the mansion, and he muttered, "What the hell am I doing?" But the answer eluded him, tangled in her touch, her eyes, the way she'd torn through that rogue to save him.

Outside, the city hummed—a low, restless drone of horns and distant shouts—but Ethan barely heard it, lost in the echo of James's warning: She's a predator. You're next. He'd trusted her, loved her, but now every memory twisted—her fangs in the cathedral, her hunger under the Blood Moon. Was it love, or manipulation? He stood, grabbing his coat, needing air, needing distance, but the itch to find her gnawed at him, relentless as ever.

****

Across the city, in her penthouse perched atop a gothic tower, Lilith D'Argento stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, the skyline a jagged crown against the mist. Her black ensemble hugged her like armor, but her posture was frayed—shoulders tense, hands clenched, her raven hair a wild cascade framing a face taut with strain. The air was thick with the scent of her dark blend—not wine, not blood—spilling from a shattered glass at her feet, its contents staining the hardwood. She hadn't fed since the mansion, hadn't dared, not with Ethan's scent lingering in her senses, his pulse a siren's call she couldn't silence.

Her fangs ached, a constant throb, and her obsidian eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the city's dim lights. Centuries of control—of measured sips, of restraint—were unraveling, thread by thread, every moment she'd spent near him. His blood called to her, a melody she couldn't unhear, richer than any she'd tasted in her long, cursed life. She'd fought it on the rooftop, in the mansion, but now it was a beast clawing at her insides, and she didn't know why—why him, why now. "Get a grip," she hissed to herself, pacing the sleek space, her boots clicking against the floor. But the hunger laughed back, a cruel echo of her weakness.

She'd avoided him too, sensing his distance, his doubt, but it only sharpened her need. Viktor's ultimatum loomed—Break ties, or he dies—and the coven's eyes were everywhere, waiting for her to falter. She grabbed her coat, the black fabric a shield, and slipped into the night, drawn to him despite every instinct screaming to run.

****

Ethan found himself at the edge of downtown, near the abandoned cathedral where they'd kissed, its spires a dark silhouette against the gray. The mist clung to him, soaking his coat, and he leaned against a lamppost, the faint buzz of its light a lifeline to sanity. He needed to see her, confront her, untangle the mess James had left in his head. His phone buzzed—I'm here. Cathedral.—and his heart thudded, a mix of dread and longing. She'd found him first.

She emerged from the fog, a vision of shadow and storm, her coat billowing, her eyes locking onto his with a fierceness that stole his breath. "You've been avoiding me," she said, voice low, edged with hurt and something darker—hunger, maybe.

Ethan straightened, hands in his pockets, meeting her gaze. "Yeah. Needed to think. James—he's a hunter, Lilith. Showed me things—your past, your lovers. Lucien. Said you're dangerous, that I'm next."

Her face tightened, a flicker of pain crossing her features, but she stepped closer, undeterred. "And you believe him?"

"I don't know," he snapped, voice rising. "You're a vampire—centuries of blood on your hands. How do I know I'm not just another mark?"

Lilith flinched, but her eyes blazed, defiant. "Because I've never lied to you, Ethan! I told you what I am—showed you, saved you. What more do you want?"

"The truth!" he shouted, stepping into her space. "Did you love Lucien? Did you kill him? Am I just a repeat of some twisted game?"

Her breath hitched, and she grabbed his coat, pulling him closer, her voice a fierce whisper. "Lucien was my world—until the coven took him. I didn't kill him—they did, to punish me. You're not him, Ethan—you're more, and it terrifies me."

He searched her face, doubt warring with the fire in her eyes, and softened, voice dropping. "Then why do I feel like I'm losing you?"

"You're not," she said, desperate, her grip tightening. "I'm fighting for you—against them, against myself. I—" She faltered, her fangs glinting as her control slipped, the scent of him—sweat, bourbon, blood—flooding her senses.

Ethan saw it—the wildness in her eyes, the tremble of her lips—and stepped closer, reckless. "Prove it. Show me I'm not wrong to trust you."

Her resolve shattered. She surged forward, hands cupping his face, and kissed him—hard, hungry, a collision of need and despair. He kissed her back, fierce and unyielding, the mist swirling around them like a cocoon. Her fangs grazed his lip, a sharp sting, and she moaned, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine. Then she pulled him tighter, her lips sliding to his neck, her breath cool against his skin—and she bit.

Pain flared, hot and sudden, as her fangs sank in, and Ethan gasped, hands gripping her shoulders. But it wasn't just pain—there was a rush, a warmth spreading through him, intoxicating and alive. Lilith's growl vibrated against his throat, her hunger unleashed, and the taste of his blood hit her like a storm—rich, electric, unlike anything she'd known. It sang in her veins, a symphony of life and fire, and she drank, lost in the ecstasy of him.

Ethan's knees buckled, the world tilting, but he held on, voice hoarse. "Lilith—stop—"

The word pierced her haze, and she tore herself away, fangs dripping, eyes wide with horror. Blood streaked her lips, his blood, and she stumbled back, hands shaking. "No—no, I didn't mean—" she choked, voice breaking, and in a blur of shadow, she vanished into the mist, leaving him reeling.

Ethan sank to his knees, hand pressing the bite on his neck—warm, wet, throbbing. The pain was sharp, but it was the betrayal that cut deeper—the realization that she could hurt him, that maybe James was right. He staggered to his feet, the cathedral looming behind him like a judge, and stumbled into the night, breath ragged. His coat sleeve was stained red, his mind a whirlwind of love and fear. She'd stopped—barely—but the taste of his blood had changed everything.

He reached his apartment, locking the door, and collapsed against it, sliding to the floor. His notepad fell from his pocket, pages splayed, and he grabbed it, scribbling with a trembling hand: She bit me. Lost control. Stopped—just. Am I safe? The pen slipped, ink smearing, but he clutched it tighter, grounding himself in the act. Lilith's face flashed—her desperation, her horror—and he knew she hadn't meant it, not fully. But the doubt James had planted grew roots, twisting with the sting of her fangs.

The city's hum seeped through the walls, a restless lullaby, and Ethan pressed his head back, closing his eyes. He loved her—God help him, he did—but the taste of his blood on her lips was a truth he couldn't unfeel. Was she his salvation, or his end? The question lingered, unanswered, as the mist thickened outside, hiding her somewhere in its depths, fleeing from what she'd done—and what she might yet do.