He tried to distract himself that night. His willpower was not proving strong enough to keep himself put. He went to a pub. He considered calling Marcus, even Miriam, but his mind was too preoccupied to deal with chatter. If only he could call up Hamish.

But, he was in London, and though he might come, the act of calling would signify something.

And it was this something, Matthew was desperately trying to avoid.

A pub invited all sorts of distractions. Other scents. Other women. At the very least, noise.

He chose randomly. A pub he sometimes stopped at with a colleague, but not one he frequented. It was crowded tonight. It seemed the students were trickling back - the air was thick the sense of new energy and almost cloying with optimism.

A few coeds caught his eye, and a fellow professor who he'd considered a tryst with before.

Sex as a vampire was much the same as the human variety but with marked differences. He was not as controlled by his desire as humans were. He could pick and choose what temptations he'd indulge in. The only time a vampire totally lost control was when mating.

He froze where he stood. A long forgotten feeling of dread shimmying up his spine.

No. That wasn't possible. Not for him. He'd had Blanca and that was all there was for him.

And she was a—

"Witches..."

He heard her speak and every hair on his neck stood on end.

She was here. The smell was unmistakable. Even amidst a hundred other scents. How had it taken him this long to pick it up?

He stopped thinking and followed his instinct, immediately slipping into a dark corner and canting his body exactly the right way to remain anonymous but be able to see all.

She was with the desk clerk, his aggravating smirk softened into an adoring smile.

And suddenly there was no mistaking or ignoring the feeling in his chest.

It was ravenous and hungry for blood. The clerk's blood, not hers. And only to splash it against the floor, to watch it drain from his body, as he told him exactly why he was doing it.

Mine.

The thought rang through his head, as clearly as if he'd spoke it aloud.

It took everything he had not to intervene. He turned his focus to the faces of the children around him. Everyone of them a witness, an innocent. But still his muscles tensed.

Mine.

He looked at her face now. The one that seemed emblazoned behind his eyelids. Her smile was gracious but it held no deep interest, no intensity, no fire. Not like with him.

This helped him a little. He eased himself away from the wall and looked toward the door.

He should go.

But then she laughed. The sound pierced through the crowd and seemed to echo within him.

He wasn't leaving. But then he wouldn't do something while he was here to kill that laugh. He wanted to, needed to, hear it again.

"No really, you have a fan club," the boy was saying, "They've all been trying to get out that book you just had. The Ashmole manuscipt."

Diana's face fell at this.

"Have you given it to anyone?" She questioned.

"No," he replied, "some asshole don came looking for it right after you and it was missing."

Matthew bristled at this, but was too focused on her reply to react much more.

"You know, Chris," she said, "It was really old. Maybe the trust took it for preservation."

Matthew frowned at this. She had said nothing about a trust this morning.

"Maybe," the boy replied, "but usually they tell us..."

Matthew tuned him out.

The desire in him rankled with distrust. This witch was smart. Smarter than she let on. If she knew more about the book, he was not going to get that information from her mouth.

He immediately stopped himself thinking about her mouth.

He would have to smoke her out. He recalled that feeling he'd had when he first locked eyes with her. The clarity. The light. But he was a creature of darkness, and as he made his plan, he found comfort in the retreating back into the shadows.

The first thing he did was walk all over the desk clerk. Just to make his morning awful.

Then he did exactly the thing he'd decided not to do. He confronted her in the library again. He truly did enjoy the teasing this time. Relishing in the flush and the fire as she fled.

Perfect.

Now he had exactly what he'd wanted since the moment he'd smelled her. She was on the run.

He felt a clarity of focus he hadn't in days. He was back in his own skin, the predator on the scent. The hunter tracking his prey. He could take his time, make his move when he wanted to. First he followed her about her day, keen to any action that seemed out of the ordinary.

It wasn't easy. With the clarity of focus, every little nuance of her existence was brought to technicolor. And he learned new things that only added to the feelings. The way she'd get caught in a book, her adorable confusion at the thoughtlessness of humans, her sensitivity to his presence even at a careful distance. That knowledge stayed in his gut.

Eventually he'd abandoned her, after he'd tracked her to the river. The smell of her sweat was too tantalizing and the opportunity was too ripe. He'd finally get to see her rooms. He increased his speed in a way that would make Miriam spit. He could smell her scent the minute he entered the courtyard. He followed it, not bothering to ask for directions, to a shabby little set in the back.

He couldn't resist the urge to run his hand along the door as he opened it. Should any vampire come near, they would instantly sense him. The roaring thing in his chest crowed at this.

The book. He was here for the book.

The distrust curled within him again and had a cooling effect on his fervor.

Witches couldn't be trusted. Witches shouldn't be trusted.

He ignored the urge to explore her personal effects as she searched. The half finished cup of tea, the slight indent on the righthand pillow, the picture frame lying flat on the bedside table.

Who was she? What did she like? What did she hide?

The questions pulsed through him as he methodically searched. Of course, coming up with nothing. The light was dimming as the sun dipped below the buildings. Where was she?

Surely, she would be home soon. He could wait for her footsteps and then vault onto the roof. Perhaps she'd say something to someone on the phone, start doing some spells, anything.

But, she didn't come. Even as it grew dark. Even as the cold, damp of night settled in.

And Matthew was furious.

What in the nine hells was she thinking, staying on the river that late? As he raced across town, heedless of the possibility of human passersby, he wondered if he was wrong. Perhaps, she'd gone to a friend's. Maybe she was out with the desk clerk again.

But, he somehow knew he would find her. There. Back on the river. This time paddling toward him. No where to run, no one to see.

Mine.

He stalked her. There was no other word for it. Seething with a set of roiling emotions. Rage, his ever present shadow, chief among them.

"Do you really think it's safe down here in the dark, Dr. Bishop?" He said her title in a clipped tone, implying in a way she would certainly pick up on that she should be so much smarter.

"Are you stalking me?" Her words, plucked from his head, only spurred on his temper. Who was this creature? How could she see into him? Why was she creating this tumult inside?

He did what he always did when he felt cornered. Intimidated, bore down upon. Matthew could be a frightening creature, and with a slight bit of effort could have most beings trembling. Diana did not seem to be one of them.

Even as they fought - oh the relief to speak plainly - he catalogued every new detail he learned about her. And all of a sudden, without any warning, she became real. She became a full, living, breathing being with a mind and a - a - a heart that he couldn't unsee.

And as she left, striding confidently away from him, he knew he had to end this. The book wasn't worth it. The book didn't even seem to matter anymore. This was survival. Whether it was hers or his own, he wasn't sure. But, he knew he had to get away from her.

He walked through the fire - passing through her scent, past her person, leaving her in the dust. He was almost free. Almost to the moment he could think clearly when—

So innocent. An article of clothing. Dropped in his path, like a handkerchief from days of old.

It was drenched in sweat. He could smell it from here. He had seen it clinging to her as a second skin when she'd put her boat into the river. It had touched her skin.

Instinct took over, and he felt himself crouch down to retrieve it. Warning. So the prey knows they are about to be chosen.

In a rush he lifted the garment to his nose and pulled in a deep breath. There they were: the scents he couldn't bring himself to name before. Somehow a combination of every scent he'd ever cherished, any that had ever touched him.

He craved her.

The knowledge set into his bones, melting into him like the original curse that had made him.

It wasn't her blood he wanted. It was her heartvein.

All of the parts of him clicked into place, the hunger, the curiosity, the fascination, the desire, the rage. He would feed from her heartvein, turn her into a vampire, then make her his mate.

It was the last thought that stopped him. Not because it was wrong. Not because he didn't want it with every fiber of his being. But because of the clear, ancient knowledge that she had to choose him.

And she would never if he turned her. He shook at the remembrance of his own rage at being sired.

Her eyes were locked on him, knowledge having firmly taken hold of them as if she'd heard his every thought. Oddly, she moved toward him rather than away. The lion indeed.

But her heart beat fast as a kitten's, begging him to bite, making his own heart strain with the effort to match her rhythm.

Only the thought of her rage kept him in place. The unbearable thought of her hatred.

He only wanted one thing from Diana Bishop. His Diana.

And that was her love.