The parlor air feels suffocating with tension as you approach Ling. Seven hours he's remained on this couch, his white silk dressing gown pooling around him to reveal the lean muscles of his chest and abdomen. His delicate features are drawn with strain, and his usually bright eyes are dark with suppressed hunger.

"Jiushi, please tell me what's wrong," you say, reaching out to touch his arm. His skin beneath your fingers feels icy cold.

He moves faster than you can see, grabbing your wrist with a grip that feels like steel. "Stay out of things that don't concern you," he growls, his voice dropping to a dangerous register you've never heard before.

You kneel beside the couch, ignoring the warning in his voice. "You haven't left this spot all day. You look terrible—"

In an instant, he has you pinned beneath him on the couch, one hand holding both your wrists above your head while the other tangles in your hair, forcing your neck into an exposed position. His body presses against yours possessively, leaving no room to escape.

"I'm thirsty," he hisses, leaning down until his lips brush your ear. His delicate features are inches from yours, but his eyes burn with a feral intensity that makes your blood run cold. "It's been seven days since I fed... and I want your blood. Now." His fangs pierce the sensitive skin of your neck just enough to draw a drop of blood, and he groans at the taste.