Stacey blinked open her eyes, only to be startled by Conor's strikingly handsome face and refined elegance visage.
Seeing the panic flash in her dewy eyes, Conor's lips curled into a devilish smirk, "Morning."
Stacey was taken aback.
Conor was unsure whether things had changed because of the blood she had given him.
He felt an increasing sense of compatibility with Stacey.
His fascination for her was growing.
As he held onto her wrist, he was gentle. Yet, Stacey's brow furrowed ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly.
"An injury on the wrist?" Conor mused, his face impassive. But her wrist bore no wound.
What was going on?
Thinking about the skin mask Stacey wore on her face, he wondered if a similar strategy was used to conceal the wound on her wrist.
"It's flawless," he thought
