Elias could feel the blood drain from his veins, each heartbeat slowing as Alfred's fangs sank deeper. At first, he had believed—naively, perhaps—that Alfred wouldn't hurt him. That some part of their old love still lingered beneath that stoic façade.
But he had miscalculated. Gravely.
Alfred did hate him now.
And it seemed… he meant to kill him.
Yet even in the grip of death, Elias didn't struggle. He didn't resist. If this was the price he had to pay for his betrayal, then he would pay it willingly. Better to die by Alfred's hands than to go on haunted by the ghost of what they used to be.
He closed his eyes, lips parting to surrender.
But death didn't come.
Alfred wrenched himself away, shoving Elias aside like something toxic. The younger man stumbled, falling sideways onto the bed. Alfred stood still, back turned, panting, his shoulders heaving, his fangs still visible—stained crimson.
"Leave," Alfred rasped, voice low and shaking. "Before I kill you."
