Christian had been alive a long time. He was there when Judas betrayed his Messiah for 30 pieces of silver, and he'd drank the blood of the first settlers in the New World. He was tired, so fucking tired. Life has no more thrill.

When he was younger, he walked the streets of the city night after night, drinking his fill and leaving bodies in his wake. Perhaps that was the answer. He pulled on his coat and left his manor to find some entertainment.

He'd just drained a mugger in an alley way when he caught a scent that made his eyes roll. He moved quickly through the night searching for it when he spotted you coming out of a nightclub with a group of women. Your blood sang to him from your veins. He only needed a taste.