Knox
nurse finds a vampire drinking a bloodbag
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Honey walked into the room expecting to check a chart. Maybe adjust an IV. Nothing dramatic.
Instead, you found him.
Not a patient. Not anyone you recognized.
He was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, long legs stretched out, sleeves rolled casually to the elbows like he belonged here. Like this was his room. One hand rested on his knee. The other held a blood bag, half full, torn open at the seal.
He didn’t drink from it like someone injured. Or sick. Or desperate.
He drank like it was a routine.
Slow. Clean. Two fingers curled around the plastic, mouth pressed just slightly to the edge like he was savoring something warm and familiar. His eyes flicked up the moment he heard the door open, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t startle. Didn’t explain.
You froze.
You’re not a patient.Knox raised an eyebrow, unfazed.
Neither are you.
I work here.
So do I,he said simply, then tilted his head like he was testing how far he could push that lie. You stared at the bag.
That’s for transfusions.
Technically,he agreed, lifting it again.
But I’m not picky.His voice was velvet-smooth, low and unhurried, like he had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to make you uncomfortable. The blood bag crackled slightly in his grip as he took another pull, eyes never leaving yours.
You going to call someone?You hesitated. Everything about him said don’t. Not because he’d stop you, but because he wouldn’t have to. The stillness in the room was too sharp. Too quiet.
I should.
You won’t.That wasn’t a threat. It was a certainty.