Wox exhaled softly. “Well… looks like our stories aren’t that different.”
Myor looked up slowly. Then the corner of Wox’s lips curved into a slight smile. “So I guess working together makes sense. We’ll make sure that bastard gets what he deserves. What do you say?”
Myor hesitated for a second. Then he gave a small nod. “…Yeah. You’re right.”
“Good. Now get up. Or are you planning to sit there forever?”
“Of course not, but… I’m not sure if I can.”
Myor tried to stand.
But the moment he shifted his weight, his body gave out. His legs would not hold him. After years of being sealed, he did not even have the strength to stand.
He looked up at Wox with an expression Wox did not understand. Wox narrowed his eyes. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Well… I don’t have any strength left. That seal not only captures you, but it also consumes your vitality.”
“Hmm.” Wox nodded at first. Then suddenly his eyes widened as he realized what Myor was trying to say.
“What the… you want to drink my blood? Is that why you’ve been staring at me like that?”
“That’s the only way I can recover my strength. Don’t worry… I only need a little. Your blood is that of a werewolf. Just a small amount will be enough for now to give me some strength.”
Wox fell silent.
After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to let Myor drink his blood. After all, he had drunk Myor’s blood first. And just as vampire blood could strengthen a werewolf, the reverse was also true. He understood that much.
Well, I guess it’s just like give and take.
Wox exhaled softly. “…Fine. Take it.”
He stepped closer and knelt down in front of Myor. The floor felt cold against his bare knees. He was still naked, but the bleeding had stopped.
For a few seconds, Myor just stared at his green eyes. Then, slowly, he moved closer, wrapping his arms around Wox’s naked body. His fingers brushed against Wox’s neck, hesitant at first, barely touching, before his palm settled fully against his shoulder.
Wox felt the warmth of his touch, and the slight tremble in it. And then he noticed something else. A faint flush spreading across Myor’s face, rising from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
***
Myor hesitantly leaned in. His lips touched the skin just below Wox’s jaw, lingering there as his breath brushed softly against his neck. Then slowly he sank his fangs in.
When the first drop reached Myor’s mouth, he let out a soft, almost surprised sound.
The taste. It’s…
It was sweet. Not like blood at all. Like honey, like summer fruit, like something Myor had never tasted but somehow always craved. His eyes fluttered closed. His grip on Wox tightened.
He sank his fangs deeper, drawing more blood.
The sweetness filled his mouth, his throat, his empty veins. It was perfect. Like this blood was only made for him. Like every drop had been waiting its whole life to find its way to his lips.
He could not stop. Did not want to stop. He drank like he had been starving for years, the thought of drinking only a little slipping away with every swallow.
***
My head…
Wox felt himself growing lightheaded. He could feel Myor’s grip tightening as he continued drinking without pause.
“What the hell are you doing?” Wox pushed him away, his head still spinning.
Myor’s eyes opened. They were dazed. Lost. A thin trickle of blood escaped the corner of his lips. His cheeks were still flushed, but now it was something more than embarrassment.
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