[ The Countess has been the proverbial devil in enough deals to read the meaning. She too demands loyalty when she decides to share her particular gifts, and she understands the risk.

But she also understands that he's the one with all the cards. Unless she wants to go back home and doom herself to a truly eternal existence, complete with all the people who've given her the most grief in life.

This would have been easier, she thinks as she takes hold of the glass, that this would have been easier if he had taken up residence in LA. Fucking neon wasteland, Vegas.

The drink she takes is long and slow, and as much as she wants to literally bathe in this blood, she refuses to drop her aplomb. The most reaction she gives is her eyes closing while she takes a deep breath through her nose.

It's like drinking the most delicious acid she can think of. Something that she knows is deadly, can sense it in a base human way, but it's so sweet and she always does what she shouldn't. So she smiles when she lowers the glass again. ]

I suppose there's a reason they always list the elderly as most susceptible to the flu. You should know that I always stay in the penthouse when I travel, Randall.