Grigore listened to Greg's attack on the mortal that he'd brought for the newly-turned vampire to eat with a mixture of solemn pride and perverse glee. He couldn't help but grin, his fangs fully extended from the smell of the blood that was thick in the room. He smiled contentedly - or, as contentedly as a constantly hungry creature of eternal desire could be - as he entered Greg's cell. He eyed Greg's neck as it heaved from his laughter hungrily, and licked his lips, but the boy wasn't even halfway to being prepared to deal with Grigore's deviant tastes, and so he would leave the lad alone. He'd already hunted down another vampire, anyway, one that was rogue and not a member of the Moroi family, of course, since acting against a Coven-mate would be tantamount to treason. But the leader of the coven had never said it was against the rules to hunt down an independent vampire for draining, and it was ever so delicious. Every damn time.
Grigore strode confidently to Greg's side and knelt beside him, raising a hand to run it across the boy's bloody chin. He licked his lips again. Frightened human tasted better than regular human, and the sight of the deranged Greg had certainly managed to cause that effect. Undaunted by the possible discomfort he might cause, Grigore ran his hand somewhat affectionately through Greg's hair. The boy had turned nicely. He had the proper pallor, the proper sharpness of fangs. "How are you feeling, lad?" He asked, his voice quiet because he remembered the enhanced senses, the new sensations. "Are you still hungry?" If he said he was, Grigore would allow him to bite him, since he had eaten plenty before coming to check up on him.