To follow, or not to follow? That is the question.
To follow, that is the answer.

He pushed his hair away from his eye patch, clearing his throat loudly as he neared her. As soon as he was sure he had her attention, Kraig took her by the waist with a strong hand, and led her back to the stairs. He downed her drink in one gulp, and, as soon as her stare was strangling him, he said:
"My name is Kraig. Don't ever call me "Mister Abby" again, or I'll have to rip your throat out of that cute little neck of yours."
He grabbed a lock of her hair, yanking her down to his seated level on the stairs. He took a whiff of her neck-- her life source, and released her.

"Answer me. Why are we here?" he asked, standing up. He knew she was freaked out-- maybe even scared. Her heart was beating rapidly and he could hear it. There was something infatuating about this mortal; she had him smelling and following and stuttering. Something about her was... right, for lack of better terminology.