"Did you?" she asks, her grip on his chin increasing, and her spine straightening to a more upright position. "You've been fed on before, my charmingly dissolute rake: did you like it?"

He's a grey area. Perhaps the only grey area in her black-and-white world. She won't feed because of the surrender of it, and moreso because she doesn't trust herself to stop, doesn't trust herself not to kill... but he claims he can't die...