Clark POV:
I had resigned myself to it.
I had given in to the horror of my situation, no longer struggling against it, no longer hoping for a way out. I knew what they were, what they did, and what I had become—a creature torn between terror and lust. I knew what would happen each time they came to me, and I didn't fight it anymore. I didn't want to. I was too weak to resist, too addicted to their touch, their fangs, their cruelty. The bite, the bliss—it was the only thing that made me feel alive anymore.
I had accepted it.
And I had come to crave it.
That wasn't to say I wanted this life—hell no. But I'd grown used to the rhythm of it. The cycles. The torment. The bite. The pleasure. The blackouts. The food.
It became a routine, a twisted comfort I'd learned to crave. The blood-pounding ecstasy of their bites—his and hers—kept me tangled in the haze. They drained me, but I didn't mind anymore.
