Chapter 3043: Blood‑Stained Addiction 19

Jin Chen's fingertip lingered at the side of Saiyin's neck for a moment; he slowly raised his brow, the palm gripping his neck gradually tightened, catching just as he heard a faint crack from the throat bone, yet he absolutely did not truly injure this beautiful body.

"Uh..." A short sound was squeezed from Saiyin's throat; his blood‑red pupils dilated from this sudden restraint, uncontrollably flicking upward slightly, revealing a sliver of fragile sclera.

Vampires naturally don't need to breathe, but Jin Chen exerted a bit of magic; the subtle pain made the Count like a moth pinned to a spider's web, under the control of that palm he briefly lost all strength to resist, leaving only a bodily startle tremor, his fingers sliding off the back of Jin Chen's hand.

Just as his consciousness was about to be swallowed by this wave of dizziness, the hand gripping his throat loosened a bit, as if merely trying it out casually, then lost interest and let him go.

Saiyin went limp in Jin Chen's embrace, his blood‑red eyes unfocused; the hand that had just been controlling him turned to knead his cold earlobe, while the other hand resting at his waist also stayed busy, its palm pressing gently against the curve of his waist, the kneading pressure soft, even a bit lax.

Jin Chen lowered his head; his silver hair slid down, a few strands brushing over Saiyin's sweat‑damp forehead. He leaned close to Saiyin's lips, his azure eyes reflecting the Count's disheveled, dazed look, and whispered, "…Can't you bear it, Count?"

The tingling from his earlobe and waist soothed the startle from being choked, but Jin Chen's teasing tone reminded him of his predicament—disheveled, out of control, craving whatever the other would give, whether pain or caress.

For over six hundred years, every blood‑moon night he had endured in pain, so he actually feared losing this brief comfort, feared returning to that boundless agony of tearing.

Thus, his body also betrayed his will, completely following instinct.

Under the blood moon, tangled hair, ambiguous blood‑stained damp traces.

In Jin Chen's teasing, Saiyin lightly brushed his nose tip and still‑extended fangs against Jin Chen's neck, unsure whether it was the alluring scent of blood or something else; his eyes were a blur, his consciousness wavering between clarity and Dazed, as if possessed he abandoned resistance and obediently surrendered full control of his body to Jin Chen.

Saiyin, disheveled from what had been done to him, Jin Chen finally softened, cupping Saiyin's cheek slightly turned to one side, his thumb wiping away the cold tear hanging at the corner of his eye, about to fall.

Saiyin's eyelashes twitched.

All the chaos, ambiguity, and unbearable tension reached a subtle climax at this moment; in the brief warmth‑tinged chaos, it grew ever more uncanny and heart‑pounding.

Saiyin's face still bore tear tracks, his lips stained with blood; under Jin Chen's unexpected gentleness, his scattered consciousness gathered, and he lifted his gaze toward Jin Chen, not entirely clear.

Yet he saw Jin Chen leisurely wiping the dried dark‑red blood from his fingertip, a few strands of his silver hair slipping down to sway gently beside his calm profile, the corners of his lips holding a faint smile as he looked back.

His white robe was merely a bit more disheveled, its hem tangled with Saiyin's purple robe; otherwise, his expression was Calmness and composed, as if the chaos he had just staged were nothing more than idly toying with a somewhat unruly pretty pet, and he lazily tidied his slightly ruffled cuffs.

In a Dazed moment, Saiyin actually felt a ridiculous sense of inverted dislocation.

He was Count Sitelande, lord of this castle, an ancient pureblood whose violent might terrified countless beings, while the one who ought to have humbly knelt, offered his blood, and endured everything—a blood servant—was instead disheveled yet composed, seated embracing him.

The Count was thoroughly displeased, not wanting to see Jin Chen remain so calm after that; he lowered his head, took hold of Jin Chen's hand that had been wiping the blood, rubbed it back and forth, seeing Jin Chen show no reaction, only his smile widening, Saiyin narrowed his eyes, grabbed the blood‑stained white robe collar of Jin Chen, and yanked him sharply toward himself.

Using that pull, Saiyin leaned in and bit his lower lip, causing Jin Chen's invariably Calm eyes to inevitably darken, making him altogether more dangerous.

He certainly wasn't angry.

After Saiyin had drunk his blood and endured that recent tangle of chaos, his gaunt, desiccated state gradually returned to its former shape, even hinting at a bit more fullness; his eye sockets were no longer so sunken, his cheekbones no longer so prominent, his lips regained their soft moisture.

Very handsome.

Even… a bit delicious.

Jin Chen felt appetite in an exceedingly rare way.

Thus, he turned that bite, which began as venting frustration, into a true kiss—perhaps calling it a kiss would be too tender; it was more like a naked desire to taste, an occupying and grinding.

Saiyin's body went rigid, his blood‑red eyes widened to the limit, passively receiving this contact that surpassed blood‑drinking, pain, control, and soothing—soothing the agitation that had risen from his dissatisfaction.

Saiyin finally realized that the problem was himself.

But even so, in this dangerous entanglement intimate enough to transcend all limits, this corpse clinging to life, desiccated for hundreds of years, still felt an almost depraved, unbearable pleasure and sinking.

It seemed he had struggled, suffered, been violent for so long, and what he ultimately awaited was to completely immerse himself in this moment—an embrace dangerous to the extreme yet also sweetly bone‑melting.

He did not want to return to the past.

——

Saiyin closed his eyes, leaning in Jin Chen's embrace; after a long while, Jin Chen finally released him.

Jin Chen's lower lip continued to bleed, the bitten spot darker, making his lips look as if coated with a thin layer of rouge; he let that bead of blood congeal on his lip and slowly trail down the lip line.

Saiyin watched that bead of blood, his throat twitching again.

"Enough." Jin Chen's voice carried a hint of hoarseness, his thumb pressing on Saiyin's lips, "Sir, you've had enough to drink today."

Saiyin glared at him, his lips held by Jin Chen's thumb, only able to emit a muffled sound of displeasure.

Jin Chen curled the corner of his mouth slightly, released his hand—the Count's appearance really was rather cute, teasing him was too much fun.

Saiyin finally came to from that long kiss, belatedly feeling ashamed, he grabbed Jin Chen and together they toppled into the nearby coffin carved with intricate thorns.

The two fell into the coffin; its interior space was indeed very limited, enough only for one to lie comfortably.

Saiyin practically lay flat on Jin Chen's body, propping himself up slightly, glaring down at Jin Chen from above—even though that stare really lacked any intimidation.

"Stay with me, sleep here—I order you."