Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

them.
    “Let’s get down to business,” Shipman said. “I don’t see why we can’t go inside the tower walls at least. There’s no one around.”
    Even in the light of such a slender moon Raven had no trouble Sanguinarian 203
    seeing the vein in the other man’s neck, standing out invitingly. Dare he feed from a corpse? If he did it quickly, before the life force ran out completely he might feel somewhat replenished, but it was never good to drink dead blood and if he were not so consumed with the hunger, he would not even think of it.
    “The queen must die, then her children. There is no other course to take. We must wipe out the succession,” Shipman said.
    Raven felt the switchblade knife inside the belt of his trousers.
    “You’re right. Have you formed a plan yet, or shall I help you with that?”
    Shipman grew excited despite the cold—his eyes shone. “I’m told you are excellent at strategy, Raven. I want you to help me come up with one that will succeed the first time with no hitches.”
    Raven slid the knife out of the back of his trousers and flicked out the blade. The small click was hidden by the gusting wind. “How long have you been watching the palace, the security procedures, and so on?”
    “For the last year and a half,” Shipman told him. “I have plans and drawings, but for safety reasons I did not bring them with me. You’ll have to come to London.”
    “Of course.” Raven’s eyes settled on the jugular vein which pulsed in Shipman’s neck. He would slice it and get it over with quickly and painlessly. Shipman would be dead before he knew what had happened. There was no need to torture him, to cause him pain, though if Raven were honest with himself he felt like doing just that after the way the man made up to Evangeline. A little torture would teach him a lesson.
    “I said, when can you come?” Shipman looked confused. He had obviously repeated the question several times and Raven was so desperately intent upon the throbbing vein that he had not heard. All he could think about was the blood that was about to flow and if he would be able to resist drinking it. Perhaps he had better strangle the man instead. “They warned me you were strange,” Shipman said.

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    “People say you’re a vampire, did you know that?”
    Raven heard that clearly. Anger surged through him. “I am not strange,” he said, bringing the knife into view. “And yes, I am a vampire. It’s you who are strange with your beer and your revolution and your smiling at Evangeline, trying to make her like you!” His voice rose with the anger he had been suppressing all through dinner as Evangeline smiled at the man and laughed at his little jokes.
    “What do you mean?” Shipman was confused and suddenly frightened. “You believe in the revolution, don’t you? What do you mean about being a vampire? That’s just something people say about you.” He caught sight of the knife, glinting in the thin moonlight. “Oh God, I’ve been betrayed.”
    If Shipman had not insulted him, he would have been dead by now. His mistake was in making Raven angry. “You told your plan to a government spy, you fool, and he sent you to an assassin!”
    Raven slashed the knife swiftly and cleanly across Shipman’s neck. Blood bubbled from the wound as he tried to breathe. There was a hissing sound followed by a strangled attempt at speech, before he crumpled to the frozen stones of the tower.
    Raven cleaned the knife on the man’s jacket then put it away. He took a step back, refusing to look at the blood. If he could leave quickly and calm the beast within him for a while, then he could come back later and dispose of the body when it was cold and the blood congealed.
    He tried to walk away, but his gaze, as if magnetized, was drawn back to the blood pooling on the stones around Shipman’s head. It steamed in the frozen air before cooling. Shipman’s dead eyes stared up at the black sky.
    “Dear Mother God,” Raven groaned.
    Unable to control himself, he dropped to his knees and began to lap at the fresh, hot blood still flowing directly from the wound. It tasted bitter and metallic, unlike the sweet, luscious taste of Dominica’s blood. Had he not been so hungry, in such desperate Sanguinarian 205
    need, he would have turned away in disgust. Raven sat back on his heels, blood all over his mouth, his breath coming hard and fast. He was disgusted with himself.
    A low whimpering came from