Then he left them, finally, and went back to his career. Though this let him find some solace, he still was very much alone. He perhaps had deluded himself that he was all right. But not happy. Not happy. During that time he'd discovered some of the games that let him stay on an even keel - the sunrise was the best of these. He'd force himself to stay awake, just outside his daytime haven, wearing thick clothing and a broad brimmed hat. He'd wait until the sun had just peeked over the horizon, and he'd expose some skin - someplace it would be covered by his clothing - and watch it burn.... his Fortitude let this game last longer and longer as he built it up. He'd wait til the pain got too intense and the fear of the sun likewise, and he'd race back into the hole and push the rocks into place and sleep the day away. Oh yes, he always felt so much better afterward. Blood wouldn't heal those wounds until days had passed, and he felt them with every movement as he worked.

Racing cars was a lot of fun too, and very good for his professional career. He was a stuntman, as things progressed he coordinated and designed the stunts as well as performing some of them. His were always completely safe for everyone involved, he was meticulous and detail oriented. Drake had a few other escapes, reading was one of them. He liked old science fiction novels, the classics of the forties, fifties and sixties mostly. There was something so clean, so effortless about them. The world they portrayed had problems that were solvable, big philosophical ideas that could be explored.

Then one night, his work brought him to San Fransisco, and San Francisco nearly destroyed him. At first he thought it was healing him - he opened up, grew close to humans and Kindred alike, learned the pleasures of sensuality that he had never suspected existed for Kindred. San Francisco also held much easy prey for him, the men who wanted quick anonymous sex, whether they would admit that to themselves or not. With Drake, they didn't get it, but they didn't always realize that. And they were almost always satisfied with what they got instead.

But San Fransisco had at its darkest heart a pair of Tremere elders, Aucassin and Mishel. Aucassin, the Prince when Drake arrived, a woman of unearthly beauty, who had one black and utterly awe-inspiring night accepted his declaration of love with a passion he had never dreamed could be directed at him. For two weeks she loved him... and he admitted to her a secret - that though he felt with great conviction, and at that time Drake was a man of deep moral convictions still, that all forms of mind control were wrong - domination, that had brought him such pain, in taking away his pain, and presence, the charm of the vampires, and most of all, the blood bond - the forcing of what should be naturally given, such as love. That he himself, intensely and with much self-loathing, desired that bond, to feel what it was like. Aucassin had a ritual, secret to the Tremere, that permitted temporary bonding which exactly mimicked the blood bond. She granted this to Drake, and for a week - he was bonded to her. For the first two nights, this was heady bliss indeed, as she was his constant companion, and his already obsessional love for her became triply so. Then Aucassin's husband returned from wherever he had been for several months, and Drake found himself relegated to second best - though in the throes of the bonding he did not much mind that, as long as he was permitted to be in her presence, to be loved by her was all.

After the bond was removed, though, Drake was still obsessed with Aucassin, and with the remnant feelings it left, the memory of that bliss left him feeling empty inside, though he could not explain why. Aucassin herself withdrew from him bit by bit, leaving him begging for her attention, which only led her to see him less and less. Promise after promise to him was broken, and in time he gave up. During all this time, he had heard rumors of the other Tremere elder, Mishel. Mishel became Prince in place of Aucassin, and Drake found that some of his attention had transfered to the mysterious ancient vampire. While his passion for Aucassin was all to be near her, to be loved by her, to serve her, his passion for Mishel was much darker - for Mishel hated Drake, and Drake in some deep recess of his mind sensed that. He wanted Mishel to hurt him, and he created many opportunities. Drake was Gangrel primogen, and after some time he simply left - too many rejections, too close to wanting to die. He took his ghoul with him, and he and Patrice returned to Wilmington and he buried himself in work again. But the longing, for someone to love him, for someone to hurt him, was growing, not shrinking.

Finally, he met her - Claire. The passions blew the tattered remnants of his scruples away, and he blood bonded her immediately. Now, she had to love him. She could not leave him, as Aucassin had. She could not reject him, as Mishel had. She could, though, exercise her love for him, her hate for him, on him at her will, and she did. He loved it. He did everything she asked, so long as she never asked him to go away. Nothing was too degrading, too painful, too difficult, too time-consuming. He let her ration his pleasures, now, so he didn't have to deny himself anything. If he wanted to watch the sun rise one morning, he begged her permission. She let him beg; if it was one of the nights she loved him, she'd explain she didn't want to risk him; if it was one of the nights she hated him, she'd wait till he worked himself into a complete and utter pleading whimpering thing until she granted him the okay to let the sun take her vengeance on his body. Despite potence she was not strong enough to damage him much; his skin was hard as marble.