Alba
In the vampire bite, hardened by the moon, he sees that she is there because some need can make her clutch at any willing body. But within the hour, the white turns grey; and in the maze of shadows on her face, the convictions held at night appear for what they are, simplified. And her hands have crept under the pillow, or up toward her breast.
As the moon fades to translucency, the slow dawn comes to light the towers of the city: smog-wreathed, foreign, momentarily clear.
— It's morning?
Lilah blinks, sounding surprised that she has slept all night.
— Yes.