"What does it taste like?" I ask, unsure of whether or not I truly want the answer. Knowing that I can't unring a bell. He moves closer to me, coming further into the room so that he can sit on the cot. For a brief moment our bodies brush and he touches my hip. I tell myself it's purely for his stability that I don't step back. "Your blood?" He asks, clarifying. Again he's lower than I, looking up at me from the foot of the cot. His hand hasn't moved from my hip. I nod silently, breath ceasing in my lungs in anticipation. The light in his eyes shifts, "Your blood is different in many ways. You say the bite is a drug? You have no idea what's in your veins... I can still feel it, within me. Your taste is much like your smell: rich and earthy. Warm. I could get drunk on you, Jacob." Quiet hangs between us, and the way he's looking at me makes the few inches of separation tangible and painful. At some point I started breathing again, but words don't come. Whether he's noticed the shift in the air, I'm unsure, but like so many moments before this one, I feel pinned by his stare. "Does that answer your question?"