ROMAN. LARK.

Taking tiny sips of the specially formulated wine for vampire's, which he had made himself for vampire's like him who didn't feast on human blood, Roman dwelt on the recent incident.

The vampire's wine in his hands tasted differently today, and he blamed it on the woman in his guest bedroom. Now that he had caught on to fresh blood, he was afraid his desires would never die down until he once again had a taste of real blood.

"Dammit!" He swore out loudly, causing a few of his subordinates to look in his direction, "Why did she have to drop that glass?"

"You don't look okay," His best friend and partner, Lark, looked at him curiously. "Why are you pissed?"

"Nothing." Roman shrugged, "I just feel that I have a lot of problems going on around me that I can't find a solution to."

Lark nodded in understanding. It was a problem when you were below class. It also became a problem when you belonged to class, especially for a sourdre de sang.

Lark wondered how Roman had done it though. Being a