His heart skipped far too often whenever he was near the vampire.
Maybe, once they returned to Forschel, he could ask Grandma how to treat it. Now that he worked for Sir Melchior, it wouldn't do to keep suffering from this strange condition—especially when he had to remain close to him.
Like now.
Sylene sighed quietly.
He hoped it was nothing serious.
A fever, maybe? But only around Sir Melchior?
He'd never been like this before.
Had Rosencraft made him defective?
Well… he was the Seventh. A final prototype.
Not perfect.
But how was he supposed to sleep now?
His eyes peeked toward the figure beside him.
The main lamp was off, but the bedside lamp on Melchior's side was still lit. The vampire was reading, glasses perched neatly on his nose.
…So cool.
Sylene buried himself deeper into the blanket.
Vampires were usually cold—cool to the touch. That was normal.
So why did Sir Melchior feel warm?
Sylene squeezed his eyes shut.
It had to be his imagination.
