I sipped my meal of lamb’s blood stiffly, feeling the burning at the back of my throat lessen with each reluctant gulp. The stuff tasted horrible, but I preferred it to a human’s neck any day. Though apparently not everyone shared my views.
Recently there had been a series of killings, and all of them had been murdered in the same way; a cut throat. Any Vampire with brain cells could put two and two together and realise the killer was a Vampire. The police thought the bodies were moved, which explained the lack of blood, but not the fact that they showed no signs of struggle or handling. A glamour did.
I leaned back on the sofa and switched the TV off. The first few victims had been beggars, which was still unacceptable, but not as alarming, but now the killer was feeding indiscriminately, and even in greater numbers than needed to survive. The guardians had been trying to find the Rogue since the first kill, but had been unsuccessful so far, and had no more clues as to who it was. That was strange. As usually young Vampires didn’t care about leaving evidence or being quiet about their kills, whereas this killer was subtle, quiet and clean.
My grip on the bottle increased until it shattered in my hand and I cursed silently. There wasn’t any blood left, but the glass cut into my hand deeply. I spread my hand and watched the red ooze forth, and then the skin knitted itself back together slowly, not even leaving a mark.