Once, a very long time ago, in the act of posing for a painting in the guise of a servant waiting on his master during a hunt, Armand -- or Amadeo -- had held a hawk on his wrist. The bird had been old and past his prime, but Amadeo had still enjoyed the weight of him, the feeling of contained strength in the fragile body, and the idea that he had been allowed to hold and control such a creature.

With Lauralae in his lap, he remembers a little of that old memory. There's the same feeling in holding her, sensing the coiled tension and power in her body. As if she might fly from his wrist down the table if he let her go.

Head tilted, he gazes up at her, enjoying the thrill of excitement in her blood. Idly, he brushes a lock of her hair back and tucks it behind one pointed ear. Small, affectionate gestures. His other hand slides higher up her thigh, rucking up her dress. It's the kind of thing Santiago would do, showing off his girlfriend for the coven; Armand's still a consummate actor, even if he's never been on the stage.

"It is. But we need to be cautious. There are powerful creatures at our table. Like your friend Luci, for instance. You like him, don't you?"