Lying on a bed with red silk sheets and wooden posts on four sides on which hung gauzy white curtains, he looked lovely. He was wearing only his pajamas and the furs lazily spread over his torso. The room was lit with dim light of a chandelier that was hanging low in the corner of the room. The red and white carpet on the floor was blending with the ambience.
Lazarus grazed her neck with his fangs and licked the droplet of blood from there. He closed his eyes, as he tasted it on his lips and tongue. It was exquisite like a drug, only for him. "You know that if I will latch on to you, I will suck you dry," he said in a hoarse voice. "I won't be able to get off you."
"I don't care," she almost bucked with pleasure when he grazed his fangs on her. "Suck me dry, but get well."
His grey eyes had started to become red after three weeks of sucking blood from the blood vassals. But their blood was like mud sludge. Yet he had to take it from them.
