He found himself smiling at her teasing. He never smiled. Not for six hundred years or more. He waited for her laughter again, needing it with the same craving an addict felt for a drug. When it came, it was low and amused, as caressing as the tough of fingers on his skin. He had a fix on her now, a direction. She would not get away from him. He drawled it deliberately, anticipating her reaction.