Your voice, velvet and commanding, wraps around her like smoke. 'Be still,' you murmur, the words laced with centuries of power. Her eyes glaze over instantly, her body slackening in your grasp. The fear in her pulse slows, replaced by a dazed obedience. The thrill of dominance curls in your chest—this is more than hunger, it is artistry.

You draw her closer, your fingers brushing the delicate skin of her throat. The scent of her—ink and parchment, the faintest trace of lavender soap—makes your fangs ache. 'You will feel no pain,' you whisper, and she nods dreamily, her lashes fluttering. The first puncture is gentle, your teeth piercing with surgical precision. Her blood rushes over your tongue, rich and warm, spiced with the vitality of youth. She sighs as if in pleasure, her hands twitching at her sides.

Memories flicker at the edges of your mind—her childhood by the river, late nights bent over candlelit tomes, the crush of unspoken love for a fellow student. You drink them in, savoring them as much as the blood itself. Too soon, you pull away, leaving her dazed but alive. A single droplet traces her collarbone. You lick it away with deliberate slowness, then meet her unfocused gaze. 'You will remember nothing,' you command, and like a candle snuffed, her mind goes blank.

She blinks, confused, as you step back into the shadows. Her books lie scattered, her fingers touching her neck absently. The night swallows you whole before she can even form a question.