Groaning into the feel of the fang penetrating his neck, Byron chuckled. Even while he controlled so many situations, dominated many, he had never been so obsessed with being in direct control as he was in instigating situations. Whether Byron made it out the 'winner' or not did not matter much to him. All he really wanted was to feel the burn of the blade against skin and to watch the strange flutter of emotions in another's face. He dragged others down to his darkness just to see how they would take it in his shoes. Non-immortals never survived the dive.
Byron pushed back after a bet, shoving Kit next to the blade so the knife would cut his shoulder open. With both hands on Kit's shoulders, Byron leaned in and lapped the dripping blood combining with the spray of the showerheads from dripping down his chest. His tongue lingering a moment on the other's nipple before moving up the stream of blood.