From The Dhampir's Kiss, in Bites: Ten Tales of Vampires:
Lord Dhampir Raul perched atop Ritual Rock. Mystical energy and wisps of all ilk of magick circulated around the granite slab in a remote corner of the park, but he was concerned with only one thing.
The White Witch's ivory blouse topped off her mocha complexion like a dollop of whipped cream. That clingy skirt showcased a lovely round ass, toned legs—too perfect a beverage to be sipped by just anyone.
No ordinary Bronx girl, though naïve and unaware of the vast power she possessed, Taina Aponte wasn't desperate enough to offer her loyalty, her neck, or any other part of her body, to him in exchange for a hit of heroin, cocaine, or crystal meth.
Down boy. The desire to leap from his perch and take her, too compelling for even the most lovely of his harem to satisfy, must be restrained. His aura threatened to flare like a candle flame too close to gasoline. Raul suppressed his demon's halo lest she become suspicious of his intent. Claiming The White Witch required more effort than he was accustomed to. Much more.
Taina bound a circle in the witches' area. Sun glimmered through the trees, speckling the grass with flecks of gold. Brighter than he liked, but private. The multitude of castings over the years kept mundanes away. Poor bastards weren't even aware of bumping into the transparent curtain of energy that snaked off in the other direction like a magickal path to the noisy playground.
No sign of her defacto bodyguard Arnaldo. Good. This evening he could get Taina dhamp drunk and willing, scratch a fang across her throat, penetrate her. It only took one encounter to inoculate with the virus and begin the change, to absorb the elixir of life, to transfer the soul, the body, and the mind to his service. To advance the evolution of his kind.