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Summary
Sypha reached out to take his hand, their fingers tangling together. “There’s no need to be so formal, Alucard,” she said softly, her eyes sparkling. “Of course we would allow you to—you are our...” She trailed off.
Friend? Even Trevor knew that that wasn’t the right word. Ally was too distant. Maybe ‘friend’ would have been all right until that night, but after what he’d felt even before Alucard had drunk his blood—that wasn’t exactly a sentiment observed in an innocent friendship.
“Your what?” Alucard asked softly, looking up at her through his curtains of pale hair, and Sypha tilted her chin up, leaning forward. “Ours,” she said, and her voice was firm and sure, and steady as her eyes. Her fingers gently brushed his hair out of his face as she leaned towards him. “You are ours.”