It was always an unusual experience when a vampire’s prey was left standing. When they died, it was simple. They ceased to be, and all of their life became your own. However, when they lived on, the connection between a vampire and her prey could become...complex. On occasion, downright supernatural. It all depended on the strength of the individual bond. There would often be some sort of emotional connection, or fixation that spawned out of the personal feelings of the vampire herself. A mild attraction to a prey could become full-blown infatuation. Such situations usually ended in destruction.

For Kaori, the ugly mass of feelings she harbored toward the hunter took on a new edge. She now had a keen sense for him. His scent, even more prominent than before, could slice through a room of heated mortals like a beacon. His action spurred her to reaction, stoked the vicious flame of her emotion in an antagonistic way.  

So when he condescendingly addressed her as "little lady," it was all she could do not to leap across the room and rip his throat out. These connections, after all, were not typically positive.

"Gray Conover," she repeated. The name rolled across her tongue like an ocean wave, smooth and powerfully possessive, "I've always tried not to name my food." That last line seemed a little too taunting to be delivered in such a pleasing voice. It contrasted in a rather disturbing way. She couldn't help herself. He had recently become the favored mouse to her cat. 

"This city doesn't need a mortal to save it, especially one that doesn't know what he's dealing with," there was nothing teasing about that statement. It was painfully obvious in her red-wine eyes. She gave a small, weary shake of her head against the wall as her eyes flitted towards the hallway where footsteps sounded ahead of not-so-distant conversation. "Don't you realize your own people don't even trust you?" she said, referencing to the comment Beth had made about her interrogation to the group in the other room. "Why would I trust you with my name?"  

By now, the dank room was full of varying supernatural beings. She shifted uneasily under the weight of so many eyes. She felt trapped, as they had intended her to be. Whatever concoction they had injected her with still lingered in her system with an oppressive grip. Slowly, she was healing, with her strength gradually returning. But for now, she was cornered, bound with her back to the wall. Even if she could break the rope in her weakened state, where would she go from there? 

In her scheming, she inhaled the room around her, trying to get an idea of who she was dealing with. Her body instinctually tensed at the scent of lycan, her smooth features wrinkling in distaste, "I didn't realize you kept a house-cat," she dryly remarked. To her, it was akin to the unpleasant smell of wet dog.