Ivan's occasional forays into hey that's mine territory have always suited Ilde's temperament more readily than is probably sensible; now is no exception, judging by the way she leans back into him on cue, tilting her head up to look at him on now-habitual instinct, making sure she catches it if he says anything.

“Ilde,” she supplies, it belatedly occurring to her that she's given her species and not her name (and that she'd only got his from Ivan's appearance-- more vampires of his world that he actually knows, that's interesting). “Ilde Decima.”