༺ Chapter 68 - Blood (10) ༻
A week had passed since Soren had agreed to let Lilliana feed from him regularly, and by now the situation had become familiar enough that he no longer stopped to question how strange it should have felt.
Lilliana sat lightly on his lap, one arm looped around the back of his neck, the other resting against his shoulder for balance.
Her body was warm through the layers between them, her weight so slight that it barely registered unless she shifted, and the place she fit against him had started to feel less like an intrusion and more like something they had quietly settled into without ever saying so aloud.
At first, they had tried to avoid this.
They had both tried, really.
Standing had seemed like the safest choice, at least in theory. Lilliana behind him, one hand on his shoulder, quick and simple.
That idea had lasted all of one attempt before her knees gave out beneath her the moment she started drinking.
Sitting side by side had been no better.
She had leaned over awkwardly, lost balance halfway through, and nearly pulled the both of them down with her.
After that, practicality won.
His lap put his neck at the right height, kept her steady, and spared them from pretending there was a more proper solution that actually worked.
So this became normal.
…Or close enough to it.
Her lips rested against the side of his neck, her tongue passing slowly over the small puncture marks after each swallow, careful and unhurried, not teasing, just soothing in the same absent-minded way someone might press a hand over a bruise after causing it.
The sensation still made him tense sometimes.
Not because it hurt, since it didn't, not really, but because it was impossible to forget how close she was whenever she did that.
It had been worse the first few times.
Then, every shift of her weight had felt huge.
Every breath at his throat had gone straight through him.
Every brush of skin had made him painfully aware of the fact that a beautiful woman was sitting on his lap and drinking from his neck like that was a completely reasonable way to spend an evening.
Repetition had dulled the sharpest edge of that embarrassment, though not all of it.
Now it was mostly warmth, pressure, the faint pull at his throat, the soft drag of her breathing against his skin, and the need to stay still so she did not have to work harder than she already was.
Soren exhaled quietly and made himself relax again.
He had made progress in blood magic over the past week as well.
Under Lilliana's supervision, he could now absorb magically formed blood created through [Hemokinesis], though "absorb" was still generous considering that, for the moment, the most reliable method remained drinking it.
It was useful, technically, and miserable in every other way.
Even after multiple attempts, the metallic taste still turned his stomach.
Progress was progress, though.
He could endure disgusting.
That part, at least, he was getting very good at.
His fingers curled faintly against his own knee, then loosened again, attention drifting in a direction he had been trying not to look at too directly.
Amelia.
Since this arrangement with Lilliana had started, lunch had become awkward in a way that left a sour feeling behind every time he thought about it.
He had told Amelia more than once that he could not eat with her, each excuse thinner than the last, each apology more useless, and she had accepted it each time with that same quiet, blunt face of hers, never pushing, never asking for more than he was willing to give.
That made it worse.
If she had complained, snapped at him, called him an idiot, it might have been easier to bear.
Instead, she had just… stepped back.
Not completely, but enough for him to notice.
She didn't wait around for him in the same way anymore.
She didn't follow beside him as naturally.
There was still no anger in her, only a hurt she never seemed to know how to voice properly, and Soren knew, with a miserable certainty, that he had put it there himself.
'I keep doing this…'
Not this specific situation, since he could hardly tell Amelia, "Sorry, I have to go let the homeroom teacher sit on my lap and drink my blood," but the pattern of it, the secrecy, the choosing for other people what they got to know and what they did not, the expectation that they would simply accept the distance and stay anyway.
After the attack in the city, being alone still never felt entirely fine.
Even when nothing happened, some part of his body stayed braced, as if trouble were already halfway through reaching for him.
Amelia had made that easier without trying.
Her presence took the edge off something in him.
She was strong, yes, but it was more than that.
With her nearby, he stopped scanning every corner quite so hard.
His shoulders dropped a little.
Breathing got easier.
And he had been pushing her away anyway.
Not because he wanted to.
But because it was simpler, because this was complicated, because he kept putting things off until the damage had already been done.
His jaw tightened.
'I should talk to her soon.'
He owed her at least that much.
With a final swallow, the pressure at his neck eased.
Lilliana did not pull away immediately; she lingered for a moment, one hand still light against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded and unfocused with that familiar post-feeding fatigue.
Her mouth was faintly stained red, though less than before, and she absently brushed her tongue over the marks at his throat one last time as if making sure she hadn't left them worse than necessary.
Only then did she draw back.
Her breathing was a little uneven.
Her usual polished composure had dulled around the edges, softened by tiredness, and for a brief second she simply looked at him as though remembering where she was.
"Should we…" She swallowed and glanced toward the books and notes on the table. "Continue the lesson?"
Soren looked at the wall clock, then back at her.
Given her class schedule, tutoring work, and the fact that she still somehow found time to care for the plants crowding every spare bit of light in her room, it was almost ridiculous that she had managed to stay awake this long in the first place.
"Do you want to?" he asked.
She shook her head at once, too tired to dress it up.
"…I'm tired."
That was answer enough.
"Right," he said quietly. "Then let's wrap up here for today."
Lilliana didn't object; she only let out a small breath that sounded suspiciously like relief.
"Do you want food?"
A pause, then a tiny nod.
Something in Soren's expression eased.
"Okay."
He slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back before standing, careful and slow enough that she had time to tense if she wanted to.
She did not.
That, more than anything, still struck him sometimes.
The first time he had lifted her after feeding, she had gone rigid in startled embarrassment.
Now she only made a small, tired sound, her hand catching lightly at the front of his shirt for balance before relaxing again.
By the time he crossed the room, she had already let some of her weight sink properly against him, trusting him to carry her without fumbling, trusting that he would set her down gently, trusting, perhaps most of all, that she did not have to keep herself carefully upright every second she was around him.
He lowered her onto the sofa with the same care, one hand staying at her back until he was sure she was settled.
She looked impossibly light against the cushions, like something soft and overworked that had finally been convinced to rest.
When a strand of pink hair had fallen across her face, he brushed it aside without thinking.
Lilliana blinked at him, tired green eyes following the movement.
There was no flustered recoil, no hurried return of her teacher-mask, only that quiet, worn softness she seemed to show him more often now when they were alone.
Soren pulled her shawl from the chair and draped it over her before fastening his jacket around his shoulders.
"I'll go get something warm," he said. "I'll probably get it from that place near the square."
Another small nod.
"I'll be back in half an hour, alright?"
This time she caught his sleeve before he fully straightened, fingers barely curling into the fabric, not enough to stop him, only enough to make sure he was paying attention.
Her grip lasted for a second, perhaps two, then loosened.
"Please be careful," she murmured, voice already fading toward sleep.
The words were simple, but something about them made his chest tighten.
He covered her hand lightly with his for a moment, then eased his sleeve free.
"I will."
Her eyes had closed before he reached the door.
He stood there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, looking back.
The room was warm, lamplight soft across the walls, leaves and flowers casting gentle shadows from their pots and vases, and Lilliana, cocooned in her shawl on the sofa, looked nothing like the distant, elegant instructor she presented to the rest of the academy.
To him, she was just Lilliana now.
Just Lilly, tired and trusting and asleep before he had even left the room.
That thought stayed with him as he stepped outside.