As a member of the sacred society We Who Serve Humanity, she had overcome any tendencies toward squeamishness years ago. “This is the fiftieth of our soldiers who has died by his hand. For centuries we have hunted Cyprian Augustus and he has slipped through our fingers like smoke from Vulcan’s fire. We thought Aurelia would have taken him but he somehow used his enchantments to muddle her thoughts and sway her loyalties.” Julius, leader of her faction, stared at Leotine as he spoke. The uncharacteristically desperate look in his eyes should have made her nervous but didn’t. She found that men in general were given to overreacting, especially when blood-drinkers were involved. The corpse, nearly as white as the slab on which it rested, bore no marks on the face or neck. Strange for one supposedly killed by a blood-drinker. Leotine lifted the sheet covering the dead woman’s torso and noted the gaping wound above her heart. “He changed her then staked her?” Julius shook his head and sighed.
