Zesiro was out inexplicably early. The sun had only set an hour ago and already he escaped the damp dark of the cathedral catacombs into the thrumming heat and light of the city.

He had not killed anyone. He felt no lust to feed at the moment, but he also had refrained from senseless murder. Maybe it was the elder vampire's warning, maybe the realization finally settled in that killing mortals would not resurect his brother. Maybe he just got tired of it. In any event, since the break in the murders, people were growing more bold. This at least increased hunting grounds for food purposes.

He rested a pale fist on the table top and studied the flawless skin from behind blue tinted lenses. He wore his old spiked collar, his old thigh-length black jacket, loose pants, a grey shirt. He made no order at the bar, curious to see how long he might go before being accused of loitering.

Perchance he might sit the night away here, simply listening, absorbing the talking and movements of the living around him. Drink in the simple pleasure of having beating hearts near his body.

He could...