A/N: This is short, I know. It's a very short chapter in something that I have plans for eventually. It'll probably be a long time coming, so don't hold your breath, but tell me what you think. Same rules apply: please be honest, but not cruel, and I shall do my best to return the favor.

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Doran opened his eyes to a strange ceiling. Feeling dawn drawing near, he quickly flicked his eyes to examine each wall of the small room in which he found himself. Windowless. At least something is going my way. If he hurried, he could make it back before the first rays of sun appeared. He moved to sit up and winced as he felt the soreness widely arrayed over his person. Doran gingerly lifted the hem of his torn and bloody shirt to poke at the tender spots he could feel throbbing. Someone had bandaged his wounds--unnecessarily of course, since they had already healed over, leaving only angry-looking purplish bruising behind--and Doran was abruptly brought back to the current situation at hand.

Once more, his gaze swept the room, pausing on what he had previously thought to be a pile of blankets heaped on the threadbare armchair thrust into the corner. It appeared to be breathing. Ah, yes. The girl. He should have remembered her existence before. Soundlessly, Doran levered himself up from what could only be the girl’s own bed and crossed the short distance to stand over the sleeping form of his would-be savior. She looked so soft and human.

He was so thirsty.

Losing so much blood had taken its toll on Doran’s usually steely resolve and he felt his control waver and his pupils dilate. It would be so easy. She wouldn’t even feel anything. He could see the pulse beating strongly beneath the skin in her neck. His lips parted as he leaned closer, his mouth as dry as sandpaper.

No.

Doran clenched a fist and straightened up, wrenching his thoughts away from the girl’s blood and trying to focus on her face instead. He noted her long dark hair, mussed with sleep; her straight brows and her long lashes. The corners of her mouth were turned down, as though with worry. Doran had seen prettier faces, but there was something about the way she frowned in her sleep that made him wish that he could glimpse her dreams, discover what it was that bothered her slumber. All in all, her expression was intriguing. And her throat…

Doran grimaced at his lapse in concentration. Don’t go there. Almost as if sensing the direction of his rebellious thoughts, the girl curled herself into a tighter ball, tucking her head down between her shoulders and balling her hands into fists beneath her chin, effectively hiding from sight the appealing curve of her neck. She released a tiny sigh, and the frown creasing her brow deepened.

Taking a few cautious steps back, Doran concentrated on breathing through his mouth--no need to aggravate his thirst by tempting himself with the girl’s smell. He felt some small triumph as, very slowly, his pupils began to contract. There. You’re not a complete animal after all. But it was more than just satisfaction at gaining mastery over his baser impulses to feed; Doran felt a strong aversion to hurting this girl in particular.

She had obviously done her best to help him (as evidenced by the superfluous bandages still wrapped around his ribs and also the fact that she had given up her bed), though given the circumstances surrounding his injuries, it may have been in her best interest to leave him lying in the street. Doran retained enough humanity to realize that he owed her for that. For what she had tried to do.

So with a last glance at her frowning visage, he slipped away into the predawn darkness and left her undisturbed and unaware of how close she had come to dying in her sleep.