Vladimir Drakov found himself oddly fascinated by the young man, although he seemed in all respects quite ordinary, despite having excellent cheekbones and a rather flashy manner of dress. Of course, in some lights his eyes looked suspiciously yellow and not quite human (and Vladimir, who was not as young as he looked, was quite the expert on not-quite-human eyes), and he was unique in his resistance to the charms of Vladimir and his ladies.
And so he took the young man under his wing, so to speak ("First time in London?" "More or less.") and they visited the theatre, the opera, the circus, and about half the whores in London. Anthony never seemed very enthusiastic; the lightskirts Vladimir visited had a tendency to turn up dead in the Thames.
They kissed for the first time at Midwinter, and Vladimir understood finally what his victims might feel, for he felt like he was drowning in air, and the heart he'd thought long-lifeless and cold ached in his breast.
The next evening, Anthony brought him a walking stick topped with a carved ivory wolfshead. "One of the children of the night," he said, blinking eyes that were momentarily narrow and golden.
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