"That's not true. You had blood not two hours ago. Be patient."

The microwave dings and out comes the blood. Joscelin plunks it down in front of her resignedly. He already knows it won't be enough; she'll drink him out of house and home.

He takes a long pull of his blood cocktail, savoring the burn. Alcohol still doesn't quite have the desired effect, given his centuries of vampirism, but it's a comforting vice.