After biting down old urges that would have gone a pathetic 'ow ow ow' as soon as the other vampire's sharp teeth tore through his skin, he did his best to tune it all out, but it wasn't easy. When other, far more primal urges came pressing on, intent on tearing the man away from his blood, he shrugged those off once more. With considerable effort, he pushed away the beckoning ridges on his forehead and kept a facial transformation at bay. When the burn on his hand finally began to sting with a vengeance, he merely sighed. And even if he was weaker than he'd been in his prime and his body was in conflict, he won the battle.
But despite that, it did feel like he was being drained of his last shreds of strenuous will power. Because a soul didn't make him whole. It didn't squash down that primal lust to go on the chase, that beautiful feeling that made one rage complete when blood finally was exposed to the chilly night air. No, it was because he bloody well rocked. Even after he was inclined to say 'enough', he didn't. Angel would have been proud of him. Well, he would have been. Eventually. Maybe this would have even earned him a new bloody car back in his own world. Or a corner office.