Four hundred and fifty odd years of savage instinct rose to Grigore's eyes in a flash. The first attempt at a blow sailed cleanly over his head, and the leg swipe flew under Grigore's legs as he hopped to his feet. He let out a low hiss, fangs barred, and lunged at Greg. He had centuries of experience and strength behind him, and there was no chance that he could be bested by a new vampire, no matter how strong Greg had been while he was still alive. "If you want to kill, I can bring you things to kill." Grigore murmured, and began to circle Greg, his entire body poised in preparation to deal with another attack. "If you mean to attack me-" He smiled blandly, "You have no chance, child." Once more his voice lowered to a soothing, cooing whisper, "Come now, Greggory. Are you hungry? I know you are." He was impossibly smug and frustratingly condescending, but this was how one talked to a child. "You can drink from me, if you please."