Zhe Huo shrieked. “What are you doing, Qinghan!”
Luo Qinghan lifted his head groggily, looked at her with tearful eyes, and then began yelping miserably, just as a wounded fox kit might.
Like a child lost in a dark forest. As though he was the one who’d just been bitten, instead of her. The fires of outrage in Zhe Huo’s heart were snuffed immediately. Chewing on her lip, she demanded, “Let go.”
Hearing her voice, the boy instead tightened his feeble grip around her a little, squirming fitfully. Trying to find her with his eyes, he whispered hoarsely, “Zhe Huo, I don’t feel so good…”
Those big, wet, blue eyes, normally so bright and clear, were now steeped in bloodlust. Gone was the frailty from before.
***
Fighting the rising distress threatening to consume her, Zhe Huo continued to soothe the boy. “Listen, Qinghan: We’re on our way to Tiancheng, right now, so we can get you cured. You’ll be just fine. Trust me.”
Qinghan hugged her tighter, whimpering.
At the same time, his nostrils quivered, detecting the scent of fresh blood. He flinched away, as though suddenly disoriented.
Feeling deeply disturbed, Zhe Huo was unable to hold on to a single coherent thought. Her head was swimming—yet she fought to keep still, terrified of provoking Qinghan into doing something terrible again.
All she could do was hold on and tell herself that she had to help him get through this. If drinking her blood was making him feel better, she could afford to lose a bit of that. Once they got to Tiancheng and found a cure for Qinghan, she was certain he’d be right back to normal.
Little did she know how wrong she would prove to be.
Qinghan continued to drain her blood for quite a while before he finally had his fill. His long, sharp claws gradually shrunk back down, and his pointed little ears perked up once more, twitching about and tempting one to pinch them.
Zhe Huo watched Qinghan fall asleep contentedly on her shoulder. He was satisfied now, but her worries meanwhile had only been compounded.