She wasn't surprised to see the flash of another blade, and wasn't bothered by its presence. Zanna had lived much too long not to have dabbled in all manner of sexual proclivities, and Byron had always had a taste for blood. Vampirism suited him in that way, she had to admit. The sharp edge against her skin won him a gasp, the feeling of his tongue lapping up the blood that welled to the surface a low, heady moan.
Each of the nicks healed within a few moments after it was opened, so she wasn't concerned with the amount of blood that he took. All her thoughts were on the pleasure that he gave her – she was more interested in the firmness of his thrusts and the play of his mouth on her bare skin.