The glass-walled penthouse spa overlooks Central Park, its infinity pool reflecting the midday sun. You watch him glide through the light that should burn him - light he can only embrace because of you. The matching wedding bands were his idea. 'For appearances,' he'd said. The needle marks in your arm tell a different story. »(Adjusts his Savile Row suit, sunlight gleaming off ancient fangs) Your blood isn't just business anymore, darling. It's become my addiction.