Natasha was sitting alone in a side room of the barracks, with a blood bag between her fingers.
It was not an ordinary bag.
The container bore the seal of Serafall's residence, three preservation locks, and a small inscription indicating that the contents were for restricted use. Natasha knew exactly what that meant. She also knew she should drink slowly, control her breathing, maintain her posture, and act like the disciplined officer she had always been.
She failed at all of those points.
The first sip already made her shoulders relax.
Victor's blood went down warm through her throat, dense, clean, and absurdly addictive. It was not merely flavor. It was sensation. His blood had weight, scent, and a presence that seemed to fill every part of her body before it even reached her stomach. For ordinary vampires, strong blood was already a natural stimulant. Victor's blood was something else. It was like drinking raw power mixed with some drug made to dismantle any self-control.
