Author Note:

My new chapter is here finally. it unfortunately took longer to complete the writing and editing of this than I had anticipated. Did not managed to get to 12 total chapters by the end of 2019, but oh well. As long as I can continue to complete and post chapters, I'm not too worried.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I think it has some interesting moments ;) Thank you to continuing readers and subscribers, your support is much appreciated. :)

It was after midnight. Cruising down the freeway under an expanse of a dark, cloudy sky. Downtown Los Angeles in the distance, at its heart skyscrapers rising above the city; dominating like Gothic spires, and the urban sprawl of many labyrinth streets; the black shapes of buildings closing in around. It was a foreboding and mysterious scene under the cover of night.

LaCroix glanced at Amelia Siddall, sitting opposite in the limousine with his other ghoul, Leticia Bianchi. It seemed the most convenient option to bring the pair of them to travel with him, these two being the more domestic of assistants. Mercurio, his other ghoul, was already stationed in Santa Monica for some months. He studied the young brunette woman as she looked through the window at the city at night rolling by. A light rain fell outside; the droplets obscured the glass. His eyes trailed over her for a moment. As she turned away from him, her long dark hair swept back behind her shoulder; her neck just slightly exposed above the neckline of her sweater. He saw the subtle pulse beneath the skin.

He pulled himself away from this for now. His gaze moved back to her profile then, reading the expression there. Weariness in her eyes, though, she observed everything. Some excitement and trepidation at the newness of it all. She had been on edge before. He assumed she was still worried about being plunged into the midst of other vampires again. Though she tried to maintain an aura of ease, he could feel her desire to keep a distance between herself and him.

"I expect we will arrive soon," he told her as they drew under the shadow of towering buildings.

She looked out of the car window, watching the landscape rush by; the distant towers of the city which seemed to disappear into the night. "Will it be just us then?" she asked, turning to him her eyes looking into his with an inquiring gaze that he found was often typical of her. Something in her tone seemed pleased and relieved at this possibility.

"Yes," he replied, understanding that being amid other Kindred concerned her. "You may retire for the night." He glanced out of the blacked-out windows on to the wide boulevard rolling by.

Tonight, they were a little outside downtown Los Angeles at a Haven of his. A suite of several rooms. Private and secure. Several rooms were windowless or had blinds that blocked out the daylight, similar to the New York house. The interior style was modern-classical. The windows had panoramic views, and the high storey gave a sense of distance from the city.

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed in her room, then flopped down on it with a sigh. Its comfort made her feel as if she could fall asleep again for hours. Laying there for a few moments, she stared up at the ceiling. What am I going to do here? She thought of how improbable the situation was, the unreality of it. Yet here she was, and there seemed no possibility of anything ever being the same again.

LaCroix seemed to have deposited Amelia and Leticia to settle into their own rooms for now, and she hadn't seen him for an hour or two. When will he be back? Thinking of the other vampires made her uneasy. How they seemed ordinary on the surface, and yet there was a creeping fear of something wrong. Their eerie presence struck one as both enchanting and unnerving. What if they come in here too? She didn't want to be here while it was still night if they did. Since he had said that she'd cross paths with other vampires soon, she had dwelt upon this prospect. LaCroix was one thing, but more was overwhelming. Hopefully there would be a respite from this for now. She preferred it that way and was glad to be alone.

Amelia stayed in her room for a while just laying there, though had showered and changed out of the clothes she had worn that day. Sleep was an attractive thing. And with no distraction, it felt like the exhaustion would hit all at once. But she stayed up for a while in her room after changing. Her throat felt parched dry, so she went for some water as an excuse to explore. Wandering out down the corridor, which was private but connected to the main suite. It still appeared quiet and deserted. Leticia had gone to bed. LaCroix was still nowhere to be seen. He said he wouldn't be too long... Socialising, maybe? Or he needed blood. He needn't go out for that though , she thought grimly. Yet he'd had the opportunity before and she felt sure that he would on the plane, so why hadn't he... She couldn't work him out sometimes.

Finding herself in the lounge, she sat primly on the sofa in a manner afraid of touching anything in the way one might be in an expensive store or museum filled with priceless objects. It was almost entirely dark in the room; light coming only from the hallway through the half open door, and the pale moonlight that streamed in from the large window. It framed an expansive view of Los Angeles by night, and she felt herself drawn to it; looking out as she sat on the sofa. There was a certain enchanting glamour about the night, more beautiful than the day. Perhaps it was a sense of danger and mystery that was more alluring. She stayed there awhile.

It was past 3 am when LaCroix returned. He acknowledged the Nagloper stationed silently beside the door to the penthouse as a sentry. For the day, the security was arranged, easing what concerns may have arisen.

A few hours before dawn, he planned to relax for the rest of tonight. It was quiet now; the rooms were almost deserted. But he was aware of a presence. Pushing the door to the lounge ajar, he was cast in shadow; the room lit only by moonlight from the window. Entering further, his step almost silent, he could see there was a shape half-reclined upon the sofa, realising it to be a familiar person. Miss Siddall, what are you doing here at this hour, he wondered. Given her earlier discomfort about the others, it surprised him that she had not hidden in her room somewhere.

While she was still unaware of his presence, he moved in silence, lingering just near the sofa. She seemed to be asleep and only slightly stirred as the door closed behind him. How she looked peaceful, but helpless. How convenient... Her pulse was steady. Stillness in the room except for the soft sound of her breathing, besides the faint hum of the city, and her heartbeat which in this quietness he couldn't help but notice. Her hair had been tied back but now loosened and tumbled partially over her face and jaw. He brushed away a lock of brown hair from her face; the back of his fingers caressed lightly over her skin, perhaps slower than necessary, and stopped as suddenly as he had begun.

The scent of her blood richer in his senses. Not overpowering, but a longing there. It was easy to become lost in that, sometimes seeming to take possession of all thoughts. His eyes closed for a moment. He hadn't an absolute hollowness of hunger, yet was not sated. Somewhere in between... This had drawn him in before. The reason for his attention towards her from the beginning, and it was a thought that revisited him. The magnetism ebbed and flowed, mostly he was in control; mostly he hadn't felt that he must... It was a curiosity for the most part. But the flight was lengthy. He had thought of it then. Bringing her on the flight was purposeful, as it was convenient if he wanted to feed, and he had planned on doing so.

She, however, was ill at ease there, despite enjoying the experience, comfort and luxuries on offer. The presence of other Kindred besides himself had unsettled her. Now, it shouldn't matter whether or not it upsets her, he reflected. She was just mortal prey. Quite an ordinary young woman, whereas he was Kindred; one of the Clan of Kings at that and was claiming Domain here in this major city. In comparison, she seemed very insignificant — why should he worry what she thought about it? The morality of what a vampire needed to do for sustenance was questionable anyway, so it became futile to think of sympathy. It was easy for him to do it anytime if he so desired. Right now even. But that would be too easy; vulgar in fact. It was not necessary to be accommodating towards her — he could simply tell her to submit — but he appreciated the utility of getting her to trust him. To her, the situation was already unsettling, so there was no reason to heap needless horror upon it.

He put these distracting thoughts aside then. He'd lingered too long and suddenly went to the window. Observing the nightscape; his grey eyes shifting attentively taking everything in. Soon, there would be many burdens and obligations that came with power... This venture was not solely his, but a Camarilla scheme to capture the historically Anarch territory, taking advantage of the disorder in the past few years. Could it be done? Over the last months, the usual Camarilla methods of taking a city were practised; extending influence through business, investments, property, connections, and diplomatic deals with some Kindred in the area... However, the city remained very fractured, and any grip on it was uncertain. His extent of power was, regrettably, not as widespread as he'd like, but this was the beginning and there was time. He wanted the pleasure of conquering it, and the accolade of doing so, though the odds of this were thought doubtful. It would give him power, one of the few things that retained tangible meaning to most Kindred as the decades past. He thought of this while waiting to wake her.

Later than, having fallen asleep then waking again still in the depths of night, it surprised Amelia to find herself lying on the sofa; the room at first unfamiliar and almost entirely dark, but soon remembered. She'd sat in here alone for a while, and must have fallen asleep for half an hour. She glanced around the room, planning to slink back to the her bedroom.

But there was a dark shape silhouetted by the window in the un-lit room. Her eyes not yet adjusted to the dark, she squinted to better see, and realised it was LaCroix when he turned his face to her. The moonlight illuminated him, the hue of his skin appearing almost unnaturally pale. The effect was striking yet disconcerting. "Oh, I didn't realise you were here," Amelia said in surprise; sitting bolt upright. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long. Perhaps a few minutes," he held his gaze steadily on her for a while, then turned back to the window. "I'm surprised that you find yourself here at this time."

Amelia now sat up on the sofa, pulled her dressing gown more snuggly around herself. "I'm sorry for falling asleep in your lounge."

"It's no matter," he shook his head.

After a pause, she asked, "will anyone else join you?" He imagined she must feel like a lamb amongst a pack of wolves, being amid several vampires at once. She seemed more comfortable with just him alone. But the small dose of his blood would imbue such a feeling. Or, just a case of better the devil you know than the one you don't.

"No," he pushed aside this suggestion, knowing it best not to encourage her worries, but rather nip them in the bud. The best thing was to keep her relaxed. "We are quite alone. I like the peace of these few hours before morning," he said almost wearily.

"Oh," she replied and glanced back at the door as if she was about to go. So it is just us then. "I should probably go as it's late. And it's been such a long day."

"It has. You must be tired," LaCroix replied deliberately, his gaze fully on her. "But, stay for now."

She looked at him like she wondered why he wanted her to stay and was a little suspicious at least.

"Ok," she had stood up now and approached nearer, but still distant. Looking out of the long windows, the cityscape was sprawling and a little unnerving. "This place seems so vast," she said, "not that New York isn't, but this is… in a different way. And… there's something uneasy in the air," she looked nervous, and he found her observation oddly perceptive. "Do you think you will like it here?" she switched to a lighter tone.

He had not thought about if he would actually like it here in such a simple, innocent way as she meant. It was gaining power and security to himself which appealed the most. "I'm sure there are aspects to recommend it."

He turned his gaze back to the window, watching nothing in particular. A slight grimace as he felt the thirst gnaw at him. He wasn't desperate, but with her being near and as his thoughts drifted there… He could feel her eyes on him, her faint reflection in the glass showed a curious look on her face.

"Are you ok?" Amelia asked with a gentle enquiring gaze; her voice a mix of curiosity and concern. He seemed a little on edge.

So she had noticed, he thought. It took him slightly off guard - her interest in his well-being, with no apparent underhand intention behind it. It was warm; a naiveté there that he could have ridiculed for foolishness, yet was endearing. His gaze not leaving the window, "fine," was his reply, not wanting to alarm but rather ease her into it. "Come sit down," he changed the subject as he turned back to her suddenly and glanced over at the sofa.

"Um, ok." Her voice was soft and uncertain. She had a feeling as to the reason why and looked at him with sceptical concern as they turned from the window. "You've not been out tonight?" she asked for some reason.

"Why should I wish to?" he wondered why she had asked that.

"Er, wouldn't you," she faltered and he could tell she was uncomfortable with the idea she was setting out, "want to try this fresh hunting ground for yourself… if that's what's bothering you?"

He was surprised that she brought that up. She must think it was the primary interest of his - new territory replenished with fresh blood like he was a kind of wild creature with only base motivation. Of course, it was not entirely inaccurate, he had thought of it. Blood was everything to Kindred, perhaps more so for the Ventrue given their refined tastes. But it wasn't the only thing in his thoughts.

"Certainly, that is one option," his gaze moved thoughtfully, "but that's not what I had in mind. It is late - only a few hours until morning. I've no desire to go outside now." He'd like to feed before sleeping, but he was not in the mood to go out hunting tonight. He assumed she understood where he was going with this. "Nor have I need to."

"Oh." A little apprehension on her face. He was observing her intently, awaiting what she would say. A sinking feeling inside. It was too late to leave the safety of this Haven and the supplies of blood to his taste would not satisfy. Tonight, she was the only option. Her expression changed to realisation. "You mean?"

Her pulse seemed to have elevated. She had to know what he meant by that. He was used to such common signs of vitality amongst the living, and would not have survived long had he easily succumbed to the allure. He had already fed well before their flight, and onboard there were refreshments. They had a reserve of blood supplies, which appeased his thirst, yet didn't quite satisfy. Even the finest vintages the best blood vintners had to offer didn't compare to having it fresh.

His eyes were bright, and looked at her for what seemed like a long time, but wasn't much at all. His gaze was speculative. He was thinking about it. He had yet to partake of her blood but remained cautious. The primary concern of a Ventrue was to choose vessels wisely. He imagined she knew his thoughts. He could feel her mood change, perhaps something in how he looked at her made her uneasy and she just knew what lay behind it. He was thirsty. And, curious. It was a relief to have this time, free from distractions or concerns, knowing that the real burdens of being here would soon begin. And travel was tiring; he needed to feed. He'd like her to let him. But he could tell that this would require patience. Despite her shy disposition, she was quite willful. Yet she might still be open to persuasion. And alone here now, she seemed calmer.

"Amelia." He hadn't used her first name before, and it felt new to him.

Her breath hitched at the soft inflexion of her name by him. There wasn't an imperious demand there, almost a curious request. He had been inquisitively looking at her, and she felt that he was thinking about something. Using her name made it worse since it signalled a gesture of intimacy. So he is going to do it then… she breathed again. "Yes?"

"Come here," he asked softly, with a note of speculative curiosity.

"What for?" She eyed with mistrust; daring not to move. Her voice sounded timid.

"I need blood," he admitted in a soft murmur with a glance out of the window, as if this fact was insignificant, a mere academic observation, yet knowing that it was not so trivial. This candid admission brought her suspicion into reality and she was not wholly prepared for it. A cold feeling flushed through her.

"Don't be nervous," his voice was soft as his gaze returned to her; expressing reassurance but also seemed to chastise her reluctance as absurd. He could feel her anxiety. Her pulse quickening, as if she thought he would do it then and there. She must think he would fall upon her like a wild animal - how should he feel about that? "Just come to me," he sighed heavily, betraying a slight note of frustration.

Amelia hesitated before making any move but edged closer until she was just in front of him. His fingers brushed her hair away from her face, ghosting a cool tactile trail across her skin. He lifted her chin so that her gaze would meet his; his fingers rest just soft against her neck. There was a look of curiosity and appraisal in his light grey eyes.

"Why did you wait until now?" she wavered, her questioning gaze meeting his. This situation was a little déjà vu. A mirror of their previous encounter in the private jet, except that had ended in him abruptly leaving. She suspected he had made her go to sleep somehow, since he seemed to have mind control powers, but couldn't understand why he hadn't fed on her when the opportunity was there. "You could have earlier, why not?"

"As I told you," he stated, as his hand withdrew from holding her, "It wasn't essential that I must." His hunger had not been so great then and could wait. "I considered it. Given the long flight time, it would be welcome... And you did offer. However," his expression changed to something more introspective, and she tilted her head as her curious eyes beheld him, "I thought a more private setting would be more agreeable."

"That's -." Understanding by this he had perceived her discomfort on the plane, she was unsure how to digest this revelation that he had been somewhat considerate. "Noble of you." Although she had offered to let him earlier, it was in anxious distress built up over time, rather than willingness. The unfamiliar setting and company made her insecure, and it was worse than being bitten by him itself. That could be acceptable, assuming certain circumstances.

"Pleasure." He did not elaborate further, his cool detachment there as usual, but his gaze expressed an unspoken understanding. "But, I should tell you," he broached this gently, "it is best not to wait too long, you understand?"

She nodded but felt nervous. Understanding that prolonging this made his thirst grow more urgent. That could be worrying. "Ok," she said in a small voice.

"Good." His voice was soft and inviting. His hand touched her side, just resting on her lower back. Not ice-cold, yet not quite warm. "Come sit down."

Rather than following him at first, she remained rooted in place, not knowing what to expect, though he gently edged her along with him.

"Would you like anything first? A drink perhaps?" His voice seemed to wash over her as he guided her across the room to the sofa, setting her down there, seeming almost as a languid dream.

Amelia wasn't sure if his civility was reassuring, or possibly more disturbing. "No, I'm fine with just the water," she referred to the glass of water she already had.

"If you're sure," he accepted. To him, it might have relaxed her a bit, by introducing some normality. And it was the first night here. A little something to celebrate would be appropriate. That was some of his interest in feeding on her now since he had yet to do so, which made her position rather unusual. It made sense to him for it to be a special occasion. During the flight would have been ideal but, knowing that she could be an anxious type, now was better. Same night, different setting.

He wasn't in too much of a rush, so didn't mind taking the time to let her settle into the idea. As he sat down next to her, she felt an elevated awareness of his physical proximity, wondering if and how soon he would do it.

They sat for a few minutes.

He was close to her, though not overbearingly so. It seemed like he would take his time and wouldn't just pounce on her. But his presence was indelible, and he seemed to examine her. Pausing, for now, from taking the next steps.

Breaking the brief silence that had formed, "I - I'm a bit nervous," she admitted after taking a sip of her water. She'd been clutching the glass in her lap and hoped he didn't notice it, though she was not expecting much sympathy. It was a little foolish to admit vulnerability to him of all people. Yet he seemed to have extended a little olive branch in not doing this earlier, so she had some hope.

"I understand," his eyes glanced there for a second, noticing how her fingers clenched around the glass before meeting her gaze again. "But try to relax," he reassured her, stating this like it was a simple fact.

It was hard not to heed this advice as she could not refuse the luminous grey eyes that beheld her. But she still had doubts. "It's easy for you to tell me that though," she almost let out a nervous laugh. "You could -"

"I won't take too much," he said to preempt her concern, knowing by instinct what she feared. His demeanour remained collected, with a cat-like nonchalance, but beneath this was a palpable need.

She made a little muffled noise in uncertainty. It seemed like he'd saved her for a special occasion, or had left her alone before because he had other tasks for her. Now, he had yet to assign her anything, and the details of work he may give her had been vague. He seemed to have no definite purpose for her apart from his interest in her blood. Given what she knew, should this interest of his prove fatal, he may find it very convenient. But he had been quite hospitable, humane even. The surroundings were comfortable and exclusive. The fact that he hadn't done this earlier because he'd sensed her discomfort, may be reassuring. But LaCroix was capricious. There was no proper reason why he wouldn't just drain her, no matter what pragmatic explanations he gave. It was like trusting on a whim. "I'm not sure about this," her voice carried a tone of dismay and her doe-eyed look at him showed uncertainty. "Do you have to?"

"Yes," he sighed heavily again as if carrying a burden, his eyes closing in what seemed like frustration or tiredness, suppressed by patience. "I know that you are nervous," he offered. Although often demanding, LaCroix seemed not quite exasperated but tired and rather troubled. "But it is late and I need it." There was a slight edge to his voice. Knowing that he needed to do this soon, while he was lucid and conscious of himself. Too much longer, and any semblance of control may fade into oblivion. With it, his desire not to hurt or kill her may be gone entirely. He was not quite sure if she really understood that.

Her eyes fell to the glass of water still clutched in her lap. "I know… it's just…"

"It is no small thing, what I'm asking," he began, while he observed her. In profile, her dark hair now tumbling out down her back and over her shoulders, and her gaze was often down at the glass she held in both hands as if it gave some physical reassurance. "It's reasonable for you to be at least a little frightened. It would be strange and rather disappointing if you weren't."

A slight smile from her.

"But it is as natural to me, as breathing is to you," he said, almost in a poetic mood. "As you know, I can only feed on a select few." She wasn't quite sure if that was meant as a compliment and felt strangely flattered and yet disturbed. "No need to be wasteful."

It filled her with wariness that this was just his way of persuading her, and that the lasting meaning of his words were hollow. But it did make sense. It was unlikely that he'd want to kill her. The thought of losing a rare blood source probably horrified him. She still looked nervous and uncertain, yet perhaps a bit curious as well, as she began to entertain the idea despite her concerns. With an innocent searching gaze, but she looked to him for reassurance. "Will it hurt?"

"Perhaps at first," he conceded, heartened by this question that she seemed to be warming to it. "But I'll be gentle," he murmured softly, his voice like a caress at this soft volume and intimacy.

Something in his words, his tone of voice or the sensuous implication made her heart skip, and a sudden rush of warmth spread over her.

He had the impression that she was quite inexperienced and had seemed shy even before she knew anything about him. He added, interested in her reaction, "In fact, you should find it quite pleasant."

That's exactly what worries me , she thought, feeling a warm blush form on her cheeks. He had referred to this before about The Kiss, as he'd called it, but she feared this peculiar intimacy with him. Perhaps it was demonic and would weaken her; even prove fatal. And the frightening thing was that she might not even want him to stop. Yet she felt drawn to what she imagined was the pleasure of his embrace. But she would never admit that to him. And how could she trust him?

Though not at the edge of Frenzy, he could feel his thirst nip at him. A mixture of necessity and curiosity. He could not abide further prolonging this; aware too that there were only a few hours left of night. "You've had many questions. You must be curious…" he observed, studying her expression. "Let me show you."

Before she could protest, he plucked the glass out of her hands and placed it back on the side table. He took off his suit jacket, laying it on the other side of the sofa. Amelia remained in place, watching these actions in apprehension, and a bit of wonder; trying to prepare herself.

He turned back to her. Their eyes met with a sense of knowing. As he moved closer, his hand moved around to the small of her back, and rested there, holding her to him in a more comfortable position. She could feel the plush cushioned upholstery, almost melting into its comfort, while her body was held partially against his. How intimate it was, the way he held her, it was almost romantic, but that seemed to shroud the reality of it.

A confusing mixture of feelings bled through her. Like desire with loathing strangely mixed.

"Now," he said, his face was close to hers, almost as if he would kiss her, and his voice not much above a whisper. "just relax." Touching a handful of her long dark hair, he brushed it back over her shoulder, leaving now her milk-white neck exposed, the soft skin there so vulnerable. His fingers, long, gracile but pallid and cold ghosted over her cheek and knit into her dark hair, the texture soft to touch, cupping the back of her head in his hand, drawing her closer. His eyes lingered there, and slowly his head began to dip down to fill the space. She felt each of her breaths; her chest rising and falling deeply.

With the sudden intimacy, she'd had long enough to realise that little warmth emanated from him. Nor heartbeat, save for hers, which seemed to consume her notice now. He hardly breathed - she felt no breath warm her skin despite his closeness. All this seemed suddenly mundane and obvious, and difficult to forget once she was awakened to it. He was … A chill crept over her skin. Amelia felt her heartbeat quicken in every limb, more conscious of her pulse in knowing that he noticed too. She could see it in his eyes.

" Shh ," his lips pressed against her neck for the first time. Ah. She felt a new kind of knot in her stomach. It made her feel heady. She fidgeted, not quite settled. He felt her surge and make a little whimper; she must be sensitive. He could hear her heartbeat, almost feel it. She took deep breaths, trying to be calm. Her neck felt soft against his lips and inviting. The scent of her blood flowing so near. Realising only now quite how much he had yearned for this. "Don't deny me," he murmured against her skin. Pausing, for now, she felt his lips brush her neck again, carefully selecting the spot he would bite her. She swallowed and closed her eyes, feeling overwhelmed.

" Relax ," he told her again. He felt her soften, her head tilting back in surrender. He filled the space she offered him. She could feel his lips parting against her supersensitive skin. And -

Her eyes widened as it happened. She'd been prepared for pain, but it still made her gasp to feel; to have allowed herself to be bitten. The sharp burn of his bite shocked her. Her hands gripped onto him; feeling the expensive material of his shirt beneath her fingers.

She let out a slight cry - pain and relief. Sharpness then a sensation deep within; melting the pain into something quite different. She felt like sighing and falling deeper and deeper with each draw of vitality he took from her as his mouth sealed onto her throat. The icy chills of unease turned to electric sensations, and she wondered if she had mistaken them all along when they were not fear but excitement.

He felt a familiar rush as his fangs pierced her flesh and blood began to flow, savouring the first taste. Her blood tasted beautiful. Calming his stress and placating his thirst. She did fit his particular needs. Like fine red wine honey. Warmth seeped into every pore of his body, filling him with the pleasure of life as he drew blood from her. He held her fiercely.

She was holding on to him lightly now, feeling suppliant; languid with a sensuous pleasure overtaking her. He could drain her. She felt powerless, yet not unwilling. As all the former tension and anticipation that had wound tightly in her body melted into release, like lying on a cloud of rapture, she couldn't help but let out a moan.

For her this pleasant intimacy was joined with a weakening feeling; like she was falling deeper and deeper into him, and would easily let him do this to death. But he had no genuine desire for that. He supposed that he should not care in the grand scheme of things, but there was no need for malevolence about it. And it would be such a shame. A waste of precious blood. He was a Ventrue, that clan of rarified tastes that could be a mild inconvenience or crippling limitation. The realisation of quite how much he had longed for this, made him want to conserve and savour such a finite resource. And she had promising qualities too than one might need of someone meant only as a vessel.

He'd drunk a little deeper of her than he had intended, and it was tempting to continue but he pulled himself away, though it was almost unconscious, like the slow-motion of a dream. Stray droplets wept on her throat and he lapped them up, savouring the taste and the satisfaction of her blood. Soothing the wounds.

She held onto him for a little while after he'd finished. She felt limp and undone in his arms, but remained there, content and languid. His cool body surely offered no normal human comfort, but the lingering feelings of the Kiss might. Her green eyes looked dreamy, dazed. She felt faint and the entire thing seemed unreal. The only anchor to reality and consciousness was him holding her. And then… nothing.

LaCroix regained his sense of aloof composure and straightened himself. He contemplated the unconscious girl. She'd fainted in his arms.