Laheir sat in front of the hearth in his private quarters, the fire casting shifting shadows across his angular face. He gently swirled the contents of the silver goblet in his hand before raising it to his lips. The rim of the cup touched his mouth, and he took a slow sip. When he pulled away, his lips were stained red with thick, freshly drawn blood that was still warm.
Most vampires relished the act of biting into flesh and feeling a pulse beneath their fangs as blood spurted straight into their mouths. It was intimate and primal. But Laheir had always found the practice too personal, too vulgar. He preferred to drink from a goblet, distanced and dignified.
