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Luke always had good composure. Ever since he was turned, he made a rule for himself: Never drink from those closest to you. He had broken the rule once as a young vampire and every day since, he had to live with that regret.
So he kept his control. Refused to drink from his teammates, even when he began to feel a little anemic. Even when his teammates offered themselves willingly. One in particular seemed to be fantasizing about it as of late. Luke would catch Florian with that glazed over look, only to snap out of it and smile, holding up a wrist for Luke. But Luke wouldn’t give in, no matter how nicely he asked. If his own regrets weren’t enough to hold him back, thinking about what Arber would do to him if he caught Luke draining away his brother’s life was enough to make him think twice. The brothers were so close that he was certain the word ‘torture’ wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. It would only take a little bit of Googling vampire myths to figure out how to hurt him. Would the shaft of a hockey stick count as a stake? Luke didn’t want to find out.