A few days prior.
"Can you please just… just give me justice and kill yourself?" she asked as a twisted smile grew on her face.
Drip. Drop.
"...I'm sorry."
The words landed uselessly between them like a cruel joke neither wanted to hear.
Diana wiped her tears and laughed. The sound was dragged out of her chest rather than being made by her mouth.
"Sorry?" she repeated his word. "You're saying that you're sorry but won't kill yourself?"
Her knees buckled and she had to catch herself against the wall to prevent herself from hitting the ground.
Her fingers pressed against the stone wall and dug into it deep enough to leave holes before she pulled her hands away.
In shallow and uneven stutters, she breathed faster and faster.
"You don't get to be sorry," she said hoarsely. "No! You don't even get to say sorry. Sorry are for people who deserve to be forgiven. All you get is to exist knowing that every breath you take is another reminder of what you did to me."
Bell didn't argue. He agreed to an extent.
He stood still, hands loose at his sides, posture deliberately non-threatening — not because he was afraid of her, but because he understood that anything else would push her over the edge.
"I know," he said quietly.
That only made it worse.
Her chest burned. Her vision swam like an idiot out in the sea after drinking enough alcohol to cripple ten men.
The hunger — that cursed, ever-present ache that could only be quenched by drinking blood, it had been suppressed a moment ago but now it flared violently in her gut.
By him.
The thread between them pulsed.
Her mouth watered at how delicious the scent of his blood was. It already smelled good and tasted even better before but now, it seemed like the tastiest thing in the world.
Her stomach twisted in disgust as she realised what was going on with her.
She covered her mouth with trembling fingers, breath hitching as nausea rose.
"…No," she whispered. "Not now. Not like this. Not him." Could she even drink his blood anymore? Wasn't he part-vampire now?
Wouldn't that mean his blood was tainted in the sense that it wasn't the blood that vampires desire?
She had no answers to these questions spinning around her mind.
She staggered away from him, pressing her back to the far wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the cold floor.
"I won't," she said, voice cracking. "I won't drink anyone's blood again." Especially not his. "I won't hurt anyone else. I don't care if it kills me." It was the only way she could atone for empowering Bell with her blood, creating a threat far greater than what he was before.
Bell watched her carefully, the thread allowing him to read her emotions and understand what was going on with her.
Then he spoke.
"You won't last."
Her head snapped up. Blue eyes turning red in an instant; those red eyes blazing like fire.
"What did you say?"
"You won't last," he repeated evenly. "You can fight it. You can starve yourself. You can pretend bread and meat are enough. But eventually, you'll slip. And when you do, it won't be controlled. You'll simply attack the first human that crosses your path, creating another victim."
Her nails dug into her arms. The very word "victim" felt like a punch to her gut.
"You think I don't know that?" she hissed. "You think I didn't feel it tearing me apart every second of every day?" At least that was the case before she drank that one man's blood.
"I think," Bell said calmly, "that if you lose control even once in public, exposing your vampiric blood, you'll be hunted."
The word hit her like a blade.
"…Hunters," she whispered. Wasn't the job extinct?
"Yes."
Her throat tightened.
"Forget doing in public. If a body turns up drained," he continued, "or if someone survives an encounter and talks, the Church will get involved. Or worse. And if they find you—"
"They'll kill me," she finished hollowly. "So? I don't care if they do. This life of mine isn't worth living!"
"And everyone around you," Bell added. "Your friends. Your classmates. Anyone you've ever interacted with."
Silence.
The whispers in her head laughed softly.
Diana squeezed her eyes shut. She was trying to read his emotions to see if he was lying, but she couldn't tell. It didn't seem like it was.
The truth is that he was. He just came to an understanding of how the thread works and consciously spent all of his efforts suppressing that certain feeling of his mind, heart, and soul.
It seemed to work as she didn't call him out, nor did her emotions indicate that she sensed his lies.
"…Then what?" she asked, exhausted. "What do you want me to do?"
Bell hesitated.
For the first time since this inevitable interaction began, uncertainty flickered across his face.
Then he made his decision after thinking for a while.
"Drink my blood."
Her eyes flew open.
"What?" she uttered, unsure if she had heard correctly.
"Drink mine," he repeated. "Only mine."
The air went cold.
"That's not funny," she said sharply.
"I'm not joking. I know you were craving it. Still craving it even now. It smells delicious to you, doesn't it? Although your vampiric essence is now coursing through my veins, it should be fine since—"
She surged to her feet, fury snapping through her like lightning.
"You think I'd do that?" she spat, cutting him off. "After everything? After what you did to me? You want me to become dependent on you?"
"No," Bell said. "I want you to survive."
Her laugh was hysterical this time.
"You think that's survival? Tying myself to you even more than I already am?" She clutched her chest, fingers curling over the spot where the thread seemed to connect. "You're already in my head. In my senses. In my blood. And now you want—"
"I don't have the same hunger you do," Bell interrupted.
That stopped her.
"…What?"
"I can sense blood," he said. "Life. You. But I don't crave it the way you do. I don't feel the compulsion to hunt or kill. If anything, it's… muted."
He met her gaze steadily.
'...That's unfair,' she thought. Why did he get the benefits without the cons?
"You won't drain me. My blood will replenish faster than you can consume it. You won't lose control and kill someone by accident. A sin you don't want to carry around. And no one will notice you feeding."
Her breathing slowed, the offer sounding like salvation despite the disgust in her heart.
"No one gets hurt," he continued. "No bodies. No witnesses. No vampire hunters coming to kill you."
She stared at him, horror and revulsion twisting in her chest.
"You're asking me to violate you," she whispered.
"I'm offering myself," he corrected. "There's a difference."
She shook her head violently.
"No. No. I won't. I refuse. I'd rather die."
"You won't die. I doubt your body will let you," Bell said softly. "The vampire side of you will break free. You're not mentally strong enough to kill yourself."
The words were cruel.
They were also true.
Her shoulders sagged.
"…I hate you," she said weakly.
"I know."
Tears spilled down her face again, hot and angry.
"You're doing this on purpose," she accused. "Making yourself indispensable. Making it so I need you."
Bell was quiet for a long moment. That was not the case whatsoever. He never imagined a day would come when she would turn him part-vampire
Then, honestly—
"I don't want you to need me," he said. "I simply want you to not destroy yourself."
She pressed her hands to her eyes, breathing hard. Why? Why would he act as if he cares about her after what he did? Was this guilt? Was this something else? Some twisted game that he was playing to torment her even further?
She tried to read him, but could only sense that the words that came out of him were genuine.
That only made her feel even worse.
Minutes passed.
Finally, she spoke — barely audible.
"…If I do this," she said, voice shaking, "it's not because I forgive you."
"I wouldn't expect you to."
"And it doesn't make us allies." It especially did not make them friends or anything close to it.
"Understood," he nodded.
"And the moment I find another way," she continued, eyes burning as she looked at him, "I'm taking it."
He nodded once again.
"That's fair," he responded. "I wouldn't want you to be dependent on me either." For the sake of her own mental state.
Her jaw trembled.
"…You won't touch me unless I say so," she added fiercely.
"Never." Another genuine response, according to the thread.
"And you don't get to look satisfied about this," she snapped. "Not even a little."
That, finally, made something flicker in his eyes.
"…Alright."
Diana turned away, hugging herself tightly.
"This changes nothing," she whispered. "I still hate you."
"I know."
But even as she said it, the whispers in her mind went quiet for just a moment.
And that terrified her more than the hunger ever had.
The room was silent.
Not tense silence — the worse kind. The kind that pressed against Diana's ears until she could hear her own heartbeat, slow and heavy.
Bell stood a few steps away, sleeves rolled back. He didn't sit. Didn't lean. Didn't bare his throat like some romanticized offering.
He simply waited for her to take a step towards him. A step towards their new relationship that was cursed to be doomed.
"You don't have to look at me," he said.
"I know," Diana replied.
She was looking anyway.
Her gaze kept drifting to his wrist, where a thin line of skin lay exposed. Pale skin. Unbroken and even smoother than hers. Ordinary skin.
She hated that it looked ordinary.
Her mouth felt dry. No — burning. The hunger twisted sharply now that it had something to fixate on, clawing up her throat like a living thing.
"…I'm setting rules," she said, forcing steadiness into her voice.
"Alright," he agreed.
"I decide when it starts. When it stops." She swallowed. "And if I say stop, you don't argue."
"I won't. You're the one drinking. Not me."
"And if I lose control—"
"You won't," Bell said calmly. She didn't get to finish her sentence, but he knew what she was implying. If she lost control after what he stated, it would be his fault, his burden that someone else got hurt.
The confidence in his voice made her stomach churn.
Finally, she stepped closer.
Every instinct screamed at her to run — or to lunge and attack him. Both urges felt equally strong, equally wrong.
Bell didn't move as she stopped in front of him.
Up close, it was worse.
She could smell him. It smelled so sweet. It smelled like flowers. It smelled like a warm night wrapped in a blanket while it snowed outside. It smelled like the soup her mother made for her when she was sick as a child.
Her fingers twitched at her sides and her heartbeat began to stutter into a faster pace.
"…Don't you dare try anything," she muttered.
"I'm not going to move an inch," he replied, trying to reassure her.
She was mere inches away, but still, she hesitated.
Then, with shaking hands, she reached for his wrist.
Her fingers were cold. His skin was warm despite being part-vampire like her now.
That contrast alone sent a shiver up her spine. He was like her, yet he also wasn't.
Her fingers tightened around his wrist as she stared at it. The thin blue vein beneath the skin. The blood that coursed along the paths. The steady pulse she could not only feel but also see.
A terrible thought about the deal then suddenly struck her.
"…What if I can't?" she murmured.
Bell looked at her hand, then back at her face. "Can't what?"
"What if my fangs don't pierce through you?" Her jaw clenched. "You're different now. You're not just a human. You're part-vampire… just like me. What if it doesn't work and this was all for nothing?"
The idea twisted her stomach. The humiliation of accepting his deal already disgusted her. The hope she'd already allowed herself to have. If all of the was for nothing, it would be another slap to her face that was already bruised.
"It will work," he said simply.
That certainty irritated her. Comforted her for a brief second. Then back to irritation.
She hesitated one last time — then leaned in.
Her lips brushed his skin again. She swallowed, steadying herself, then let her fangs descend.
There was resistance at first. Not much resistance, but enough to send a spike of panic through her chest.
Her breath stopped as she thought, 'Of course. Of course it wouldn't—'
Then her fangs slipped in. Not with a tear or a violent puncture, but smoothly, like sinking into warm wax.
Diana froze, her teeth dug into his flesh. Other than the immediate blood that coated the bones, she didn't begin sucking and drinking.
Bell didn't react to the sudden intrusion. He didn't flinch, not even a sudden inhale of air.
'I'm here now. It's too late to back off,' Diana told herself. Might as well get a taste for this blood that was making her mind a mess just from the smell of it.
Blood welled immediately, hot against her tongue.
She should have pulled back but she didn't.
The first swallow unraveled her.
The taste bloomed fully this time. It was even richer, deeper than before, carrying something that was unmistakably his flavor. It flooded her senses so completely that the room seemed to tilt.