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“Why? Am I so disgusting that you can’t imagine me doing something like this?” The man looked like he was skewering the girl right there in the middle of a throng of dancers.

Janna had barely indicated the presence of others in the club around them, but they were there. Maybe watching, the way Janna had been.

A flush crept over her skin. “No. You already described your life as being pretty sparse. It sounds lonely. And it would suck to get all horny or whatever and not have anybody to do anything about it with.” She pulled the sketch away and placed it inside a folio which she snapped shut. Her skin was still flushed when she turned back toward the window and the fan.

“I have to feed,” I announced. “You might not want to watch.”

“Feed?” Her face was a blank mask of fear when she looked over her shoulder. “You mean, on me?”

“Would that be a problem?”

“Of course!”

“I’m not going to feed on you,” I assured her.

I shouldn’t have taunted her like that. She had been through so much. But the temptation to soften that sarcastic edge of hers was too great.

“I have a store of blood with me. Provided by your birth mother.”

She turned her face toward the window. The rising sun’s first rays played over her delicate features, so much like Isobel’s. Her chest rose and fell in time with her deep breaths.

“Well. That’s… creepy. That’s very creepy for me to hear. I don’t know what to think about that.”

“I’m sure it is. But you don’t need to worry about hurting my feelings. I don’t care either way.”

She winced but didn’t reply.

“I’ll take a shower and give you some privacy.” Her eyes were low, focused on the floor, as she hurried past me.

The bathroom door closed a little louder than it needed to.