Some day, once he got a little older and learned to control himself better, he would be just fine. But that was still off aways. No one became a true killing machine overnight - unless they were her. She'd been born to be Kindred, she was certain. And a few swallows were a good place to start until he could trust himself not to drain his victim dry. That he could pull away at all was a good sign.
Mab stood as he brought the poor dear over. She laid the girl out on the bench, carefully curling her legs and arms, hands under her head like a pillow. If anyone looked hard enough, she had just laid down to sleep oh so naturally. "Did you remember to lick the wound shut? Can't have little fang marks."
Mab pierced her own thumb with a fang and crouched down, drawing on the underside of the bench in blood, neglecting to explain what she was doing for now.