Conor snorted and picked up the knife. "Stipulations conspire to ruin my fun," he said dryly. Light glinted off the blade, and he touched his finger lightly to the point. Wickedly sharp, but then, he hadn't really expected anything else. Conor had always had a problem with touching things he shouldn't, though. Or falling in with people who weren't good for him.
The hilt was warm in his hand, and he had a flash in his minds eye of blood everywhere, all that pretty skin ruined, if only for a little while. His pulse quickened slightly. There was darkness in Conor, as in all beings, he just worked rather harder than some to keep his locked away and out of sight. Embracing that darkness was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place.