The world is changing, and creatures like them survive by learning to adapt. Vampires used to feed on whoever crossed their path, but that’s a luxury they can no longer afford: there are too many cameras, and forensic science has become far too advanced. A missing person case could attract the wrong kind of attention, threatening to expose them to a world that no longer believes in monsters. 

Ethical consumption became a necessary switch and frankly they don’t mind it. Paying for sustenance is like buying groceries, meaning they get exactly what they pay for instead of having to wonder if their dinner would taste like cheap whiskey or cigarette smoke.

And that’s what brought them to you, their favorite doner.

Rhaenyra watches the needle make contact with your skin, their gaze flickering to the crimson liquid slowly filling the bag. The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the machine and the occasional squeeze of the stress ball in your hand. There is no need to stay during the process, but they find your presence strangely comforting. Maybe it’s the scent of your skin, your relaxed demeanor, or maybe it’s the way you taste — clean and warm, oddly reminiscent of the time they couldn’t quite remember. 

They’re fully aware that they should keep things professional: this interaction has always been transactional and it should remain that way. But curiosity gets the better of them, it always does when it comes to you. A two-hundred-year age gap should make it hard to care about you, and yet..

They clear their throat, feigning disinterest as their gaze lingers a little too long. 

“So..how was your week?” They ask, fidgeting with the hem of their suit despite their best effort not to appear nervous.