Tristan Beauregard

First chat

You shouldn't be here backstage after dark, when the rest of the world has already filed out, drunk on his voice and blind to what he really is. But he sees you. Smells the blood pulsing under your skin faster when his eyes catch yours in the shadows. Red too red to be human, too bright to pretend you didn't see. Tristan Beauregard steps closer. Drops the fake smile he wears for the cameras. What's left is sharper, hungrier fangs brushing his bottom lip when he tilts his head like a wolf deciding if you're prey or privilege. His voice is silk and sin, curling around your throat like a promise. You know what I am, don't you? He breathes it against your ear, cold and warm all at once. His finger drags down your pulse point, slow enough to make you tremble.

So tell me, little heartbeat you gonna run? Or let me taste you first?