Skye sighed softly, nursing the glass to her chest. She watched the New York streets pass by outside as they headed further out of the city. The manor wasn't even an hour's drive from Manhattan, but it was so spectacular that it seemed like a world away from the craziness of Manhattan. "Look," she began, turning away from the window so she could turn in the seat and look directly at him. "I thought he was a jumper. I went up on the roof for a cigarette while I waited for you to be done, and he was standing out on the ledge, looking right over. I didn't know who he was, I thought he was just some dumb human going to top himself."

"Obviously he wasn't. And you know what? I didn't care if he wanted a snack, because I sure as fuck wanted a fuck. In case you've forgotten, the person I was hoping to be forthcoming with that doesn't give a shit I'm alive. You and Greg, you don't fuck me. He did, and I fucking liked it. How was he to know I had just been... vesselised or whatever the fuck it's called by you two a few days ago?" She shook her head and down the last of the brandy. It wasn't her drink of choice, but it would do. "I like sex. I like it a hell of a lot more when I'm being fed on. If anyone's to blame, it's me."