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Sebastián

F lynn answered on the first ring.

“Sebastián,” he said on a rushed breath.

“Your blood belongs in your body,” I snapped, cradling the glass to my chest as I lowered myself into the armchair in the corner of my room, my limbs heavy after the long evening.

“But I’ve got so much of it.”

The light, teasing quality in Flynn’s voice twisted something inside me.

I stared at the glass in my hand, the rich crimson catching the dim light. I could tip it down the sink. I could march straight to Flynn’s door and return it. Both sensible options.

But the scent—Lord help me, the scent. My fingers tightened around the glass as memories of that single taste of his blood flooded back. Every cell in my body screamed for more, my hands trembling as I raised it closer.

Ten sips, I calculated. I could make it last. Draw out each precious drop.

The first taste hit my tongue and my eyes rolled back.

That strange electricity I’d noticed before had intensified tenfold, crackling through me like storm clouds ready to burst. Pure ecstasy flooded my senses, a pleasure so intense it bordered on spiritual.

This wasn’t mere sustenance—this was communion with something sacred.

A moan caught in my throat, and I barely managed to suppress it.

“You know, like eight pints of it or something.” Flynn’s voice crackled through the phone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get more out for you. ”

“Flynn, I made myself clear—”

“It was just a little bit!”

The second sip hit harder than the first. My body sang with pleasure, every nerve ending alight. Before I could stop myself, a third mouthful slid down my throat.

My fangs extended with a familiar ache. For once, I didn’t fight their appearance. What was the point?

Though the gift was cool, Flynn’s blood still warmed every inch of me, sliding down like liquid silk.

“How did you even get it out?” The image of Flynn with a blade to himself turned my stomach. “Do I dare ask?”

“Well, I was just going to slash my arm a bit with a kitchen knife but then Priya helped.”

The phone creaked in my grip. Priya? What must she have been thinking? “Priya helped ?”

“Yeah! She did it all properly and everything. Disinfected it all. She only let me give you that tiny bit.”

I took a fourth sip. The fury at Priya melted away as Flynn’s essence flooded my system. My head fell back against the chair. I couldn’t truly be angry, not while I sat there nursing the glass as if it were water in a desert.

A fifth sip. Slower now, savouring.

“Are you drinking it now?” Flynn’s voice dropped lower, curious.

I couldn’t lie. Not with his blood on my tongue. “Yes.”

“Is it… good?”

Divine. Utterly divine. Beyond words.

“Yes.”

A breathy little “Oh” escaped Flynn’s lips, then his voice dropped to a whisper to ask, “What does it taste like?”

The sixth sip rolled across my tongue. Sweet copper notes mixed with something uniquely Flynn —sea salt and citrus and sunshine. But underneath those familiar notes lurked a current buzzing beneath the surface, foreign yet intoxicating .

The seventh mouthful followed close behind. My body hummed with pleasure.

“Why are you using that voice?” I said.

“What voice?”

“That come-hither-and-fuck-me voice.”

Flynn broke into a shocked coughing fit. The sound yanked me from my blood-drunk haze, though not enough to stop the eighth sip from passing my lips.

“Look, if that’s what you’re hearing, that’s on you,” he said.

The final drops beckoned. I tipped the glass back, letting the sacred liquid pool on my tongue. Flynn’s essence filled my mouth—bright and alive and truly the most delicious thing I ever remembered tasting.

I swallowed, once.

It was over. My last ever taste of him.

I mourned its loss as a visceral thing, like watching the last ember of a fire fade to ash.

The last hint of him lingered on my tongue.

His warmth coursed through my limbs—leaving me feeling strangely strong, considering the tiny amount.

Even my fingertips tingled with vitality, as if I could feel every grain in the crystal glass beneath them.

“Show me where Priya cut you. I want to see a photo.”

I needed to ensure they hadn’t mutilated him. Priya and I clearly had very different definitions of acceptable risk.

“Give me a sec.”

The line went quiet. I turned the empty glass in my hands. The remnants of his blood clung to the sides, taunting me.

My phone buzzed.

I swiped—and there he was. Not his arm, but Flynn himself, sprawled across his bed in those ridiculous red-chequered pyjamas. His eyes crinkled with pure joy as he stuck his tongue out at the camera, playful and perfect.

My dead heart tried to beat again .

I almost couldn’t believe my luck. I’d looked at the other picture he’d sent me—him stuffing a croissant into his mouth—countless times, and now I had another one to join it.

“That’s not what I asked for.” I tried to sound stern.

“I know. But you seemed stressed. Thought you could use cheering up.”

I stared at the photo again. The warmth in his expression, the way his hair fell across his forehead, slightly messy.

The casual intimacy of seeing him in his nightwear.

I reached for the metal cask, pouring a measure of blood into the glass.

I took a sip. Flat, lifeless—nothing like the symphony of flavours that had danced across my tongue moments ago. Like tap water compared to wine.

I tried not to think about where this blood might have come from, and with how much consent.

“You still there?” Flynn asked.

“Yes.” I drained the glass. “Thank you. For both the blood and the photo.”

Warning bells erupted in my mind, but I ignored them.

“You know,” he said, dropping his voice to a level that bordered on husky, “I was just thinking about photos. It got me wondering about where sexting comes into your vow of celibacy.”

“Sexting?”

The photo glowed up at me from my phone screen. Felix had set my lock screen to Monet’s water lilies. Would I even be able to work out how to replace it with Flynn’s face?

“You know, like sexy messages.” He was back to sounding like his usual, slightly awkward self, and my lips tugged into a smile.

“Flynn—”

“This is your fault. You’ve made me all hot and bothered by accusing me of using a come-hither voice.”

I let out a long sigh, then a stretch of silence filled the line between us .

My fingers drummed against the arm of the chair as two warring instincts battled within me—the urge to protect Flynn, and the desperate need to allow myself something , at least.

I studied his photo again. The playful spark in his eyes. The way his pyjama top had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of pale stomach.

“Tell me more about this sexting.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and I almost couldn’t believe what I was saying.

But…

The warmth of his blood still coursed through my veins, dulling the edge of my constant hunger.

Flynn wouldn’t be staying here for long—once I’d annihilated the evil that dared to harm him, he’d be back to the life he was building for himself in London.

Our paths would never cross again. So why shouldn’t I indulge in some harmless flirtation, with multiple walls between us and blood in my system to quell my monster?

“Well, how about I show you? It will probably be easier if we hang up. Else I might laugh.”

Before I could formulate a response, the line went dead.

I stared at my phone, mouth agape. Had he really just—

A message notification appeared.

My thumb hovered over it, a barrage of second thoughts clouding my mind. This was dangerous territory. I should ignore it, delete the message, turn my phone off and—

I opened it.

The photo loaded.

Christ.

Flynn’s pale torso filled my screen. His hand hooked into his pyjama bottoms, tugging them low enough to reveal a band of white cotton beneath. Dark hair trailed down from his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband.

A fierce hunger surged through me—not for blood, but for touch. To trace that trail of hair with my fingertips, to feel the warmth of living flesh beneath my hands. It had been so long since I’d allowed myself to want like this, to imagine the press of skin against skin .

My mouth went dry. The metal cask beckoned—perhaps another measure would steady my nerves. But moving felt impossible. Every muscle in my body had locked into place, transfixed by that strip of exposed skin, that teasing glimpse of what lay beneath.

A flash of desire sparked low in my belly, kindling into flame.

My mind replayed that moment when Flynn had confessed his inexperience, his shoulders tensed as though bracing for mockery or pity.

If only he knew how that knowledge had stirred something fierce in me—not simply lust, but an overwhelming need to ensure his first experiences would be nothing short of sacred.

Oh, the ways I would worship him, if given the chance.

I would take him apart with centuries of practiced patience, piece by precious piece, until he was consumed with pleasure.

Such thoughts were a betrayal of my duty. Flynn was here under my protection, and I shouldn’t complicate matters with base desires. It wasn’t fair to him.

Still, I found my fingers moving across the keyboard of their own accord.

Is this a “sext” or one of those lewd pictures used on the dating apps that Rory enjoys?

I hit send before I could think better of it. The message showed as read immediately. I flicked back up to see Flynn again. My trousers grew uncomfortably tight, and I shifted in the armchair, trying to find a more dignified position.

Without thinking, my palm pressed against the fabric, providing a hint of relief. A quiet groan escaped my lips. When was the last time I’d allowed myself this kind of release? Months, at least. Perhaps longer. Time had a way of blending together.

The three dots appeared at the bottom of my screen, and my heart performed a phantom race.

Tell me what you’d do to me if you were her e