It is abundantly clear that he would not understand. To feed on blood, and feel another's life seep through her veins, that is, by itself, pleasurable. But to do it with the intent to kill is another thing entirely, and if the struggle is subdued so as to not risk a fang, there is no greater exhilaration than to feast on the moment of death. It is glorious, it is indescribable – it is as though she is alive again. It is as though she has become a god in her own right.

"Mayhaps." Yes, a resounding yes in her heart of hearts, but she is basking in the radiant light of his living, on the secondhand heat of him, and the inherent humanity he carries. He smells of life, and the details of him are intoxicating, too: where she is cold most all the time that she has not freshly fed, he is dressed to defend himself from the weather, and his skin shows traces of it, and she wants him more than she has wanted that woman. "If it has been too long, there is no stopping."

That is the truth, in the end. She does not like to think what it would be like to lose her senses to the hunger.