Caius's fangs grew longer, to their current length of two inches. They would have been longer, more intimidating, but at the length they would have been naturally, feeding would have been too difficult. No, the shorter length was much more beneficial. Still, they made closing his mouth quite awkward. The craving for blood was strong within him, evoking animal-like instincts that usually hid well beneath his usually stoical exterior.
He crossed the remaining few steps keeping him from Annelise and placed a hand softly against her cheek. It would seem endearing, but it was a habit he could not break. Caius merely felt it allowed him to better hold a victim in place as he drank to prevent injury. Briefly, for only a moment, the vampire looked her in the eye. The intensity of the moment, mixed with his blood lust, proved too much however. Caius eagerly leaned down and sunk his fangs into her soft flesh. He'd always found the area right around the clavicle to be the best place to feed.
The fangs of a vampire never went too deep. They went just a centimeter or so below the surface, further if there were no blood vessels around. As vessels broke and blood leaked from the pale flesh, Caius found himself drinking it in avidly.
Caius pulled back reluctantly, lips scarlet from the plasma. He still held a hand against her cheek and another on her shoulder now as he licked the remaining blood from his lips. The taste of blood to a human was rusty, as many stated. To a vampire, it was better than, perhaps, anything. Pleasure washed over him, pupils dilated, and adrenaline pumped through his body as the fluid ran down his throat. It was nearly orgasmic in taste, if anything could taste as good as that felt. As he tilted his head back slowly, he continued to hold her, for he knew the scent of blood would bring about a few hungry vampires. Until Annelise stopped the bleeding, he wouldn't feel safe leaving her alone.
When the pleasure began to ebb and fade, he looked back at her. Careful not to stray too far from her side, he reached for a burgundy cloth napkin, which he offered to her for her to press on her wound. "Here," he said softly. His voice was less groggy, but it sounded garbed from the mixture of blood and fangs in his mouth. Warily, he looked around nervously. For a moment, his gaze stayed on Danika, who stood in the kitchen with her coffee, as if he dared her to try and attack his blood slave. She wouldn't though, and he knew that. Vampires were naturally possessive of their belongings.