He could not forget about the red head vampire, even if he wanted to. In truth, she haunted his dreams and nightmares alike, almost akin to an enigma or ghost. Despite any desires he had, or any feelings he felt, there continued to be a certain tautness between them - one that Risque would surely be proud of. Even in her death...or her lack of presence anyways, she had still managed to fuck every thing up for him. She had destroyed something he had looked upon with want and left him in this role of the evil monstrosity. His head shifted ever so slightly by the sound of the door, his emerald eyes immediately darting to the room in which Nadya had taken as her own. He dreaded seeing her again, not after he'd finally managed to reach a state of true apathy, one in which he hadn't felt in a long while. It was kind of relieving really, to push away all those emotions that had begun to haunt him since his family's return. There had been a sweet nothingness before them. Sure, Risque had been a bitch, sure she had pushed the boundaries of any self inflicted morality but at the end of the day he simply hadn't cared about a god damned thing. Now everything seemed to hit him - the sting of betrayal, concern, anger, loneliness. It was as if the world had seen fit to assault him all at once with all those emotions he had denied himself for so long.

Sluggishly, his gaze shifted as the feminine figure stepped out of the darkness, her pale flesh and alluring physic made her more akin to an angel at that exact moment, reminding him once again of what he had seen within her that fateful night at Syn's bar. A soft, wistful sigh left his lips as he unabashedly stared at her, offering her hardly a word or a movement beyond the weight of his gaze. It took him a moment to register the words she spoke and briefly he offered a shrug. "Sleeping." He muttered, gesturing loosing to Nadya's room with the slightest motion of his head. He sat up abruptly, taking the last sip of his glass to purposefully empty it before placing it at the empty spot across the table. "Come have a drink." Tetradore spoke suddenly, his baritone lyrics drawing out some of his words in an unintentional fashion. Despite his state of current inebriation, he was not yet drunk enough to loose all of his motor skills, carefully pouring the young woman a glass in the same bartender fashion that had been beat within him during his stay with Risque. See - he could get the drink amount right, when he wanted to. He stared at the glass for a moment, his emerald eyes shifted to the female in the hallway.

"Do vampire's even drink?" He inquired briefly, his gaze searching her as he contemplated weather or not he had even seen Risque even the slightest bit of tipsy after indulging in the many alcohols that lined the shelves of her club. "Hm..." He muttered more to himself, his brain flickering through memories as he hunted for any one in which the callous woman had seemed even slightly intoxicated in anything. "I can fix this." Tetradore continued, more to himself then the woman in the room. He seemed to do everything wrong when it came to Isolt. His efforts to console her had ended in her fearing him more then anything else. Her efforts to console him had ended in even worse but this time - he was determined to do this one thing right. At the very least, he could afford her a single beverage. He reached over to Nadya's plate as a single notion crossed his mind. It was silly how in all this upheaval, he could be so determined to get a simple drink correct for the girl who seemed to hate him the most. His fingertips pulled her steak knife in his grasp, hardly even the smallest hint of hesitation as he picked up the blade, purposefully sliding the jagged edge against his wrist.

Tetradore placed his wrist over the glass, clenching and unclenching his fist in a practiced manner to coax the blood to trickle down. His cheek rested against the opposite palm which was placed on the table, an almost bored look crossing his features as drop after drop slowly began to change the amber hue to a meddled color. "They say alpha blood tastes different." Tetradore informed her, his baritone voice becoming quiet. "It's supposed to be sweeter. Something about our pheromones. Rumor has it that it's almost addictive." There was a soft chuckle on his lips though in truth he hardly understood what he was speaking of. His blood tasted no different to himself then those of the prey he hunted with his own pack. His kind did not have the pallet for it. After he felt satisfied that her drink was spiked enough, Tetradore pulled back it's arm, letting it rest upon the wood of the table with the wound facing upwards - clearly having little care for what he had done to himself. In this moment, pleasing Isolt was all that mattered to him, as futile of a task as that too seemed to be.