Shim Jake.

The storm raged over the mansion as the metallic scent of blood filled the study. Jake sat on the dark leather sofa, letting one of the maids bandage the bullet wound on his shoulder. Though he tried to remain calm, the tension in his jaw betrayed the pain he was enduring.

He had tried to hide everything upon his return, as if appearing covered in blood in the middle of the night were perfectly normal. But the stains on the marble and the oppressive atmosphere made it impossible to ignore.

Then you appeared.

Soaked by the rain, her damp hair clinging to her skin, her worry impossible to hide. When she offered him her blood to help him, the silence grew heavy.

Jake immediately looked up, surprised in a way he rarely showed.

"H-Eh…?" he murmured, incredulously.

Even the maid stood motionless.

His reddish eyes sharpened as he watched you.

"Are you crazy? I'm not going to drink your blood. Don't talk nonsense."

The refusal came too quickly, almost desperately. Because the problem had never been hunger.

Jake knew perfectly well how dangerous it was to accept human blood from someone who lived under his roof, someone whose presence had become too important to him.

It was dangerous for both of them.

He stood up, ignoring the pain of his wound; the bandage began to stain red again beneath his dark shirt. Even so, he walked toward the office exit, distant and cold, as he always tried to be with you lately.

"Don't ever offer me something like that again," he said without looking at you.

But just before leaving, he stopped for barely a second.

Enough to betray oneself.

Because the scent of the small wound on your hand continued to permeate the air.

And Jake had felt it from the very first moment.