Page 39 of Bleed

The man makes a blood cocktail with the same energy as someone mixing a pre-workout protein shake. I watch him take a long sip, eyes half-closed, and I’m struck by how much my life has changed over the past six months.

A year ago, watching a man pour two bags of human blood into a drinking glass would’ve sent me running for the hills. Now, I’m just curious whether different blood types taste unique. Maybe O-positive is the vampire equivalent of a pumpkin spice latte.

He finishes in a few big gulps, rinsing his glass in the sink before returning to the living room. He pauses at the end of the couch with his arms folded, dark eyes scanning over me.

The pose should probably look casual, but it doesn’t. He’s too big for casual, his massive stature intimidating all on its own. It feels like he’s waiting for something, but I can’t tell if it’s a cue for me to speak or if he’s gearing up to give me some sort of lecture.

The silence quickly grows uncomfortable. I set my sketchbook aside, pushing to my feet. His gaze drifts briefly toward the drawing, then back to me.

“You went upstairs.”

My stomach drops.

For a second, I’m too stunned to respond– my brain immediately starts cycling through possibilities of how the hell he knows. Cameras, motion sensors, some other weird vampire bullshit… every theory feels equally plausible at this point.

“No I didn’t,” I blurt, the lie coming out on pure instinct.

It leaves my mouth smoothly enough, but his deadpan expression tells me he isn’t buying what I’m selling. I avert my gaze as his dark eyes drift over my face from behind the lenses of his glasses, the weight of his scrutiny making my skin prickle.

“You’re lying,” he says flatly.

My mouth drops open in outrage. “Excuse me?” I scoff, folding my arms.

I mean, he’s not wrong. But it’s not like I committed a crime; I walked up a damn staircase. That’s hardly a punishable offense.

His gaze sweeps over me again– not appreciatively, but clinically, like he’s gathering information. It’s unsettling as fuck. The man is built like he should be solving problems with brute force, yet somehow his preferred method appears to be staring people down until they confess.

“You haven’t looked at me directly since I mentioned it,” he murmurs.

I immediately force eye contact. “There. Happy?”

“Now you’re overcorrecting.”

“No I’m not,” I snap.

He tilts his head, cocking a dubious brow. “Your pupils dilated, and your heart rate increased by approximately eighteen percent.”

“That’s because you’re interrogating me,” I huff.

He stares at me, and I stare back, the two of us locked in a silent standoff. A tiny thread of doubt creeps in, and my thoughts start spiraling out of control.

What if he’s reading my mind right now?

What if he’s got some creepy vampire superpower that functions as a built-in lie detector?

“Okay, fine,” I admit, giving up the act. “I went upstairs. Congratulations, you solved the mystery. Add it to your scrapbook of accomplishments.”

“I don’t keep a scrapbook.”

“Of course you don’t,” I mutter.

He exhales through his nose, reaching into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulling out a small black key fob. “Come on, then,” he quips, turning toward the staircase.

I blink. “Huh?”

He glances back at me. “You wanted to see upstairs.”

“Well yeah, but… you’re just gonna show me?” I ask suspiciously.