Chapter 4

Sebastian POV

The morning light peeked softly through the blinds, making thin lines on the floor, but it didn’t make the intense feeling in the room any softer. Reed was awake before I even opened my eyes. He sat on the edge of the couch, his silver hair shining in the early sun, his red eyes locked on me like he had been watching all night, waiting for this. The warmth coming off his body was soft but clear, and I could feel it even through my thin pajama shirt.

I blinked, trying to clear the sleep from my head, but Reed’s stare didn’t move. He tilted his head a little, his eyes narrowed, and there it was again—that hunger. Not the kind you fix with food, not the everyday need people have, but something much deeper, much more demanding. It was like he was eating up my very presence, pulling energy from me with every slow breath, every small move he made.

“Good morning,” I said softly, my voice still thick with sleep. He didn’t answer with words. He didn’t need to. His eyes, dark and bright, said everything. I already knew the quiet connection between us—the small give and take, the invisible string that had started tying us together so tightly that even breathing felt important.

I swung my legs off the side of the couch and stood up slowly, careful not to scare him. He moved right after me, like a silent shadow, smooth and quiet. The second my bare feet touched the floor, I felt his presence like a weight behind me, a warmth that crawled up my back. Reed’s hunger wasn’t just for the times we touched anymore—it was constant, a beat I could feel in the air around us.

I walked towards the kitchen to make coffee, hoping to find a little bit of normal. Reed followed close behind, quiet, his hand brushing my shoulder very lightly. The touch should have been small, but it sent a shiver through me, a wave of awareness that made my heart beat faster. I realized, almost surprised, that the apartment didn’t feel like just mine anymore. It was his too, or rather, it was ours—claimed, defined by a presence I didn’t fully understand, but couldn’t ignore.

“Reed… I—” I started, looking over my shoulder as I filled the coffee maker, but he didn’t wait for me to finish. His hand caught mine, warm, strong, holding it with a firm grip that made me hold my breath. I felt the soft hum of his energy, weak at first, then growing like a wave, pushing against me.

“Don’t go,” I found myself whispering, almost without meaning to, even though he hadn’t moved. He just leaned a little closer, tilting his head, and the air between us grew heavy. I could smell him faintly—clean, a little metallic, and wonderfully strong. His presence was like a drug, and I was already addicted, unable to pull away even for simple morning tasks.

Breakfast should have been easy, but Reed’s hunger made it anything but. He stayed behind me at the counter, silent, watching me without blinking, as if everything I did mattered more than the food I was making. I tried to pour myself a cup of coffee, but his stare was so intense, so focused, that I found myself looking at him instead, forgetting the hot liquid in my hand. My heart pounded.

“What… do you want?” I asked quietly, though I already knew the answer. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he stepped closer, brushing against my back with a deliberate weight that sent a shiver through me. My hand shook as I set the coffee down, and I knew that fighting him was useless. He needed to be close, to have my attention, my energy. I was the source, whether I liked it or not.

The room felt smaller with every step he took toward me, and yet I couldn’t move back. A part of me—a surprisingly big part—wanted to feel that need, to be the one he craved. His red eyes looked up at mine, and I could see the hunger reflected there, not just his own, but something he was drawing from me. My stomach tightened, a knot of excitement and fear.

I tried to make small talk as I buttered toast, calling a friend just to distract myself from the tension, but Reed’s reactions were instant. His body tensed when I laughed too loudly on the phone. His head turned slightly, his red eyes narrowed, his lips parted as if to speak but stayed silent. When I ended the call, he was closer than before, the warmth from his chest pressing against my back.

“You… don’t leave me,” he finally whispered, his voice soft, almost a breath that carried across the room. I felt his words vibrate against my skin, and a shiver ran down my spine. The feeling of him wanting to keep me was gentle but clear, his need showing itself without anger, just through his strong presence.

“I’m not leaving,” I said, almost as if I had to defend myself, though I wanted to pull him closer, to feel the warmth of him against me, to let the wanting between us erase the distance that had always been there.

And he answered. Slowly, with purpose, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against my shoulder. My breath hitched. The electric feeling between us was immediate, like static electricity on my skin. I felt every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest, every small shiver that ran through him when I touched him. I wasn’t supposed to give in. I wasn’t supposed to let myself be pulled by him. But the hunger coming from him made resisting feel both pointless and foolish.

I turned slightly, careful not to overwhelm him, and ran my hand down his arm. He shivered, a soft, unplanned sound that felt like a key turning in a lock inside my mind. My other hand brushed a strand of silver hair away from his face. He tilted his head into the movement, showing the curve of his neck, the warmth of his skin so close to mine it was almost too much to bear.

A part of me yelled to stop, to keep the distance I had promised myself, but another part—bigger, louder—was captivated. I could feel my own heart beat faster, my body responding to the quiet signals, the silent plea coming from him. This was no longer casual. It wasn't something I could choose. Feeding him had become a constant thing, a living rhythm between us, and I was already hooked.

His lips were close to mine, just inches away, and I realized the hunger wasn’t just his. I could feel it inside me, a deep, physical wanting that went beyond just wanting him, beyond simple desire. It was a craving for closeness, for the connection he was asking for, and for the energy that only I could give him.

“Sebastian…” His voice was softer now, almost a sigh, a vibration that went through my whole body. I leaned closer, pulled by the invisible connection between us. My hands framed his face, my thumbs rubbing against his cheekbones. He tilted his head slightly, and the heat from his body pressed into mine.

The special kiss happened naturally, like it was meant to be in every tense moment between us. It was soft at first, testing, a question and an answer in one movement. But the pull—the hunger—grew instantly, and I found myself kissing him deeper, pressing closer, letting the energy between us flow through every nerve. I felt his heart beat faster against mine, his red eyes fluttered shut, his lips parted to meet mine. It was amazing, all-consuming, and completely overwhelming.

Even after the kiss ended, a breathless moment hung in the air between us. We looked at each other, our chests rising and falling together, the room around us forgotten. His red eyes glowed softly in the gentle morning light, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same. The apartment, the quiet rhythm of my life, my own sense of control—they were all gone.

I ran my hand through his silver hair, feeling the tension slowly fade into a quiet warmth, and he leaned into me, his eyes half-closed, content but still hungry. That hunger wouldn’t be easily satisfied. It was constant, demanding, alive. And I understood now, with an amazing mix of fear and excitement, that we had entered a bond I couldn’t break free from, a rhythm I could never ignore.

That morning had become just the beginning of something much bigger and dangerous than either of us could understand yet. And even as I held him close, feeling his warmth against my chest, I knew, with a thrill that ran through me like fire, that the world would never feel the same again for me.

Because Reed’s hunger wasn’t just about his body—it was personal, it was demanding, and it had already started to take over me just as much as I had started to feed it with my body.