He saw a grey streak dart down the stairs from the corner of his eye then Doyle was there, curling himself around Beatrice’s combat boots and looking longingly at Giovanni with copper colored eyes.

“Oh, hi.  Hi, Cat.”  Beatrice seemed more than a bit taken aback by the large feline investigating her.  Doyle sniffed her boots for a few moments before he jumped on the couch next to Giovanni.

“You’re not getting any cheese from me, Doyle.  I’m told it’s not good for you.”

“That is a very large cat.”

“He is.”  Doyle chirped and shoved his head under Giovanni’s hand.  Beatrice grinned at them both.  “He’s very smart.  But spoiled.  That is Caspar’s doing, I’m afraid.  He keeps trying to buy his love through extravagant meals.”

“It’s going to work one of these days,” Caspar muttered as he came in to lift Doyle from Giovanni’s lap.  “Come now, Doyle.  I have some lovely tuna for you in the kitchen.”

Caspar tucked the cat under his arm and walked back to the kitchen, winking at Beatrice as he left the room.

“So when can I see your library?”  She was practically bouncing in her seat.

He smirked.  “So forward, Beatrice.  Just jump right in and ask to see a vampire’s library, why don’t you?  Not even dinner first?”

Her mouth dropped open and she flushed bright red.  “What?  That’s not part of the job, is it?”

He could stop the laughter that burst out.  “No!  I was teasing you.  I don’t expect—no, definitely not.  That’s not part of—no.  No.”

She curled her lip.  “Well, now I’m almost offended.  I can’t smell that bad.”

His gaze suddenly focused on her neck and the slight flush that lingered there.  He felt the raw hunger in his throat, and he knew he had waited too long.  He needed to feed.  And soon.

“No,” he said hoarsely.  The tender skin on her neck began to pulse slightly as her heart rate picked up.  “You smell…”

She must have felt the energy that suddenly charged the room, because she stiffened in her chair, staring at him.  He heard her heart race, and the scent of adrenaline began to perfume the air.

“Gio,” Caspar called as he walked briskly into the living room.  “Do you and B need a refreshment on your drinks?”  The older man came to stand between Giovanni and the girl, breaking his concentration and snapping him out of the sudden bloodlust that had taken him by surprise.

“No.”  Giovanni cleared his throat.  “Beatrice was just leaving.”  He stood and went to offer Beatrice a hand as she rose from her chair.  She eyed him cautiously, glancing between him and Caspar as she stood.

“I apologize.  I do need to go out this evening.  We’ll have to see the library another time,” he spoke quietly, hoping she couldn’t detect the fangs lengthening in his mouth as he approached.

From the way she stared at his lips, he suspected they were not as hidden as he hoped.

“Sure,” she said.  “I need to get home, anyway.  My grandmother is probably waiting up.”

“Of course.”

Caspar took Beatrice by the arm and walked her toward the kitchen door.  She glanced over her shoulder, and Giovanni tried to temper his hungry stare as she walked away.  From the sound of her heart, and the scent of her blood, he wasn’t very successful.

Still, she did not look away.

He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring at the deliciously rich scent of her blood slowly dissipated in the air around him.  He walked over to the chair where she sat, bending down to run his face along the back much as the cat had scented her legs earlier.

His eyes narrowed and his throat burned.  He quickly walked upstairs to grab his coat before the hunger overtook him.  Taking a deep breath as he stepped outside, feeling his skin burn as he wrestled down the instincts he had battled for five hundred years.

“Why is she here?”

“For you.  My blood is gone from your system and you need sustenance.”

“I don’t want—”

“You will not drain her.  That only exhibits a lack of control.  Though you are young, you must never be without self-control, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now feed.”

After he was sure his control was intact, he headed for the nightclubs which would already be packed on Friday night.

Brushing against the bouncer at the door to one of his favorite clubs, he quickly found a table only occupied by a few college boys.  He held out his hand to introduce himself and, with a quick use of amnis, convinced them he was an acquaintance they had invited out for the evening.  As the night progressed, college girls passed by drawn to his looks, but put off by his manner when he brushed them aside.  Finally, he spotted a pair of women who appeared to be in their late twenties eyeing him from across the club.

He observed them for a few minutes, noting their provocative clothing and the body language indicating they were looking for sex.  Abandoning his oblivious companions at the table, he approached the women, leaning down and trying to ignore the stale scent of fruit body wash and forget the smell of honeysuckle.

“Hi, I’m John,” he said with a flat American accent, holding out his hand to shake first one, then the other’s hand.  Their minds were weak and would be easy to manipulate.  And though the prospect of sex with the two women surprisingly distasteful to him that evening, he sensed both of them were in good health and would not suffer any ill effects when he took their blood.  He could easily manipulate them into thinking they’d had a very enjoyable time.