He was on the couch. Now he’s in the kitchen, blood bag in his hands. He’ll marvel at the speed later. Right now there’s an animal drive he can’t fight to deal with first.

He sinks his teeth into the bag, hissing slightly at the feel of plastic giving under fangs instead of flesh, but then the tang of it hits his tongue and he’s too focused on sating the starvation of a newborn vampire to care about much else.