Over the next several days, or rather nights, Andrew managed to clean up his chosen room and get most of his personal possessions moved over. He almost didn't bother moving his things, but at the last he couldn't bear to leave his art supplies behind, and if he was going to move the paints and canvasses that he hadn't used in months he might as well move the books and clothing while he was at it. The bed was the hardest part, but he eventually managed to get that as well.

He sat one his bed on the fourth night and sighed.

He hadn't eaten anything at all during the past five days. And he felt it. He felt hunger like he'd never known before. It ate at him, clawing at his stomach, screaming in the back of his mind. He wanted to just keep ignoring it. He had tried to eat something, one night back at his old apartment, but just putting the food in his mouth had made him sick, he had spit it out, uneaten. He knew there was only one source of food he could stomach now. But he didn't know how to begin to go about getting it. He was a deer! An herbivore! How was he supposed to hunt someone? He considered asking Jake to show him how. But since that first night he had avoided the canine. Just thinking about Jake made him inevitably think of being attacked, being bitten, being... being killed. He wanted to curl up in a huddled ball of fear and never come out again. And how could he do that to someone else? And yet he was so hungry...

He drew his legs up and put his arms around his knees. Every thought he had kept coming back to his hunger. He shuddered, his wings folding and refolding nervously. He'd never tasted blood in his life, unless he counted the few times he'd cut himself and unthinkingly sucked on the injury. Just thinking of that made his stomach growl. Blood... how can it seem so wonderful? I hardly know what it tastes like. I've never eaten meat in my life. How can the thought of blood make my mouth water more than the thought of a good meal?

He turned one hand palm up and looked down at his wrist. He put his other hand over it, but he could feel no pulse. Still, he had to have some blood of his own, didn't he? What would happen if he tried to sate the hunger that way?

It probably won't work. But gods... just the thought of it... He could picture it, what it would taste like, how it would be hot and coppery and wonderful. He shuddered again. He lifted his wrist to his mouth. The angle was a little awkward but he could touch one long fang to it. He shivered, feeling the prick of it. His fangs were sharper than they had been. He closed his eyes, hesitating, then bit down. He felt the pain, then he tasted blood and the pain left him entirely. He was aware of nothing but the flavor, hot and rich. He pressed his lips to the wound and sucked at it, and it was wonderful.

But though the taste was as good as he could have imagined, he very quickly began to feel weak and dizzy. He let his wrist drop, swaying. If he had been standing he might have fallen. The hunger, that had gone for those few moments, returned, just as strong as before. The feeling of weakness passed quickly, and he was left feeling exactly as he had before he'd tried to drink his own blood.

He got to his feet, frustration welling up in him. He wanted to throw something, to hit something, to somehow take out the sense of horrible futility that filled him.

Gods! Why did this have to happen to me?! Why couldn't Jake have found some other victim? Or why couldn't I have just died, like a good prey animal?! He had the momentary urge to go find Jake and hit him. He started for the door, then stopped. Attacking the canine would do him no good. He needed to feed. So if he was going to perform an act of violence it might as well be one that would do something about his problem.

Gods help me. I'm going to have to try to hunt. He shivered, pausing for a moment. He could try ignoring it longer... but no. He remembered what Jake had said. It had sounded like the canine had been forced to kill because he didn't feed often enough. If he put it off for too long he might lose control, might actually kill someone. If he could leave people alive... well, people donated blood all the time. They'd just be doing it a little more directly, was all. And I'm a sentient being, not an animal. Just because I don't have the right instincts doesn't mean I can't figure out what to do.

With something approaching determination he made his way through the hotel's halls and down to the street. He saw no one. He'd seen a few of the other vampires, but had always gone out of his way to avoid them.

He set off towards the city center, where he would be more likely to find people at this hour. He walked slowly. He knew this was something he had to do, but he wasn't quite enthusiastic enough to be in any hurry to find someone. The streets were mostly deserted at this hour, it was only a few hours before dawn. But there were a very few people up and about. Some might be fellow predators. A few might perhaps be prey. At first though he encountered no one, so he just kept walking.

Eventually Andrew saw someone. A young man, whose dark muzzle and large, round ears ears marked him as a hyena. A carnivore. Possibly a fellow predator. But to a vampire a carnivore could be prey as easily as anyone else. And somehow attacking a carnivore didn't feel as bad as attacking another herbivore. He couldn't even picture going after a fellow cervine! But the hyena... yes.

Andrew began to follow the hyena, trying to be unobtrusive. After a few blocks the hyena glanced back over his shoulder and apparently noticed Andrew behind him. He started walking faster. Andrew moved to match him. The hyena glanced back again, looking nervous. Andrew felt more than a little nervous himself. I have no idea what I'm doing...

The hyena suddenly turned a corner and broke into a run. Andrew sprinted after him, his long legs flying. When he reached the corner he just caught sight of the hyena turning another corner ahead of him. He increased the pace, amazed at how easily he could run without getting out of breath. He was gaining ground on the hyena, and soon he was close enough that there was no longer any danger of losing his prey. The hyena was breathing hard, and starting to slow. Andrew kept the same easy, rapid pace and soon he was close enough to reach out and grab the hyena by the arm.

The hyena let out a terrified yelp and jerked his arm free. Andrew grimaced and jumped forward, grabbing the man again, more firmly. Then he hesitated. The panting, wide-eyed creature that he held was another sentient, another person. How could he do this? The hyena struggled, fighting and kicking, and suddenly Andrew remembered his own battle, how he'd bitten his attacker and what it had led to. He spun the hyena around and pushed him against the side of the building that ran along the sidewalk, pinning him with his face against the wall. The hyena twisted to look back at Andrew and showed his fangs. His expression was obviously terrified but he was still defiant. “Let me go!”

Andrew sighed. “No,” he said. “I'm sorry, I really am, but I can't.”

He kept the hyena pinned as he leaned in, his muzzle hovering over the hyena's neck. He could see the pulse there, could smell the scent of blood faintly beneath the skin. He wanted it so badly, but it seemed so unnatural. He had to though, he had no choice. But I won't kill. I'll take as little as I can. So when he bit in he didn't bite into the pulsing artery. There was blood enough in the muscle between neck and shoulder, where he was less likely to do real harm.

The hyena let out a helpless whimper as Andrew bit down, and shuddered in his grip. Andrew hardly heard it. He was overwhelmed by the taste of blood. It was good, so very good. Every bit as heady and wonderful as the taste of his own had been. Better, even. And there was no weakness this time. He drank and drank, and instead of growing weaker he felt himself growing stronger, energy and life flooding into him. He drank until he felt giddy with it, until the last traces of hunger were utterly gone, and then at last he lifted his head.

The hyena moaned, a low, terrified sound. Andrew let go of him and stepped back. For a moment he wondered if he might be attacked. His victim was a carnivore, after all, and he was still an herbivore by species, if no longer by diet. But the man just stared at him, shivering, and then slid down the wall to sit huddled on the sidewalk.

“I'm sorry,” said Andrew softly. And he was. The euphoria of feeding was gone and all he felt was guilt. “I really am sorry, I had to do it.” The hyena looked up at him, and whimpered again.

Unable to face the fear he saw in the other man's eyes Andrew turned and fled.