"Don't you like it?" Cruxius stared as he blinked, calm enough even with her cold body, which, unlike his, didn't possess a single warmth, though it was soft. But her hand, placed on his neck, with the crimson eyes looking towards him and meeting intentionally, was enough to make him feel a clear, intense sensation within his body. But that wasn't enough to distract him; he kept his focus.
Her breath hitched as he answered, calm as ever, unfazed by the fact that her fangs had been buried in his neck for the better part of an hour.
"Don't you like it?" That single sentence hung between them like a thread—taut, humming, alive.
Evangeline's eyes narrowed. Not in anger, but in scrutiny.
"You… are not afraid of me," she whispered.
Cruxius didn't reply immediately. Instead, his fingers moved slightly—slow, calculated—as if brushing invisible dust off her thigh. He didn't grab her. He didn't push her. He merely touched the line between provocation and reverence.
