"Ah. And not in the conventional sense, I daresay."

She was starving. He could sense it. Feel the bones of her shoulders and spine under her jacket even more than usual. And there wasn't really anything about with which to feed her. He vaguely remembered Nyssa--so long ago--in a similar predicament. But the artificial blood substitute she'd devised hadn't worked at all, she'd told him later. She and Clair were two very different kinds of vampires--the haemoglobin substitute might work for Clair, but it would take days to brew.

There wasn't anything else for it, really.

"You need to drink, don't you?" he asked quietly.