The tension around her made her hungry; she wanted to hunt. But she had to focus on the dark-haired man in front of her, convince him she was small and vulnerable and in love. And human.
"John, I'm scared." She reached a hand toward him, straining but not moving, feigning a kind of petrified terror. "He--" Her head didn't move but everyone knew she meant Van Helsing, "--wants to kill me. I don't want to die, John."