Ilya was up the stairs and out the door of the ramshackle house before Rurik had taken hold. His body had, for all intents and purposes, died in Kai's arms. He'd been drained of his blood, the blood Kai had given him. The give and take of the exchange had not weakened the blood, but perhaps made it stronger, as it passes from vampire to witch and back again, and now back to the witch.
Still, Rurik was slow to react, a generous amount of the precious blood missing his mouth entirely before instinct kicked in and he began to drink, nursing as a child to a bottle.
All the while, Ilya hunted a pair of unsuspecting young hooligans, out late causing mischief, the humble beginnings of a career in bastardry. Really, then, Ilya was doing the city a favor ridding the streets of the two. He lured them to himself, posing as a homeless ruffian, ripe for rolling in the dark of night. When they came in close, unable to resist the temptation, Ilya bashed their heads together to knock them our, and heaved them each over a shoulder to carry back to his father and the witch like two sacks of potatoes.