The Dark Arts of Blood by Freda Warrington

golden-bronze hair… all too useful in snaring her victims.
    Movement behind her made her freeze. This time she was very careful to make sure that the new arrival was Karl.
    He’d been hunting, returning so discreetly that she hadn’t sensed him until he appeared from the Crystal Ring. She smiled at his reflection, experiencing a rush of sheer delight at seeing him. Most vampires were attractive – useful bait for their prey – but Karl had the loveliest male face she’d ever seen: coolly intelligent, serene and humorous. A face to make the angels fall in love. Strong bone structure, softened by full dark hair that took on a crimson sheen in any touch of light. And his eyes – such eyes should be illegal, she thought. Seductive, bewitching, they were amber-golden windows on to another world.
    He took her off guard every time, as if she’d never seen him before. Karl simply had a dark allure that she could drink in forever and never be sated. Every time was like the first, and even more intense for all their precious shared experiences. A glimpse of him was enough to take away her breath, to ignite a sphere of heat that began below her heart and spread all through her. Her desire to wrap her arms around him and taste his mouth was as powerful as hunger.
    “Have we been introduced?” he said.
    Charlotte laughed. “Do you make a habit of surprising women in a state of undress?”
    “This is an unprecedented delight.” He slid his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You look like Venus rising from the waves.”
    He tangled his fingers in her hair with such obvious pleasure that she caught her breath. Her body softened with the sensual intimacy of his touch, and frustration at the layers of fabric between them.
    “I don’t make a habit of admiring myself when you’re not here, I swear.”
    “No one would blame you.” He ran a fingertip along the knife-scar. His touch made her gasp, not entirely with pleasure. “Does it still hurt?”
    “Only slight soreness… but look, the wound’s healed. Sometimes I think it’s a shame our scars don’t stay.”
    “For what purpose?” he said, surprised. “As a badge of… dishonour?”
    “In a way, but more than that. Scars would be a map of our existence. Our history, engraved on our flesh.”
    “Battle scars,” Karl said thoughtfully. “If that were the case, some vampires would be truly horrifying to behold.” He touched his throat. Charlotte’s brother David had once hacked him there with a bayonet in a bold but hopeless attempt to protect her. “After all the fights I had with Kristian and others… I would not be a handsome sight.”
    “I’d love you anyway. No one could scar your soul. Well, I suppose they already have, but I love you, scars and all.” She leaned into him, her head resting back in the crook of his shoulder. “Instead, we’re all more beautiful than we deserve, as if we’re melted and poured into a fresh mould every night by the Crystal Ring.”
    “Charlotte? Where is this train of thought leading?”
    “I was remembering my hallucinations. The lamia. I’m reassuring myself that it’s only me in the looking-glass, and not a separate blood-crazed demon with staring eyes.”
    “And what do you see?”
    “I think the demon is me,” she said softly. “But I feel as if the knife cut her out of me, so she’s floating about, no longer attached. I know that sounds ridiculous, but Raqia plays games, leaving us to interpret what’s real and what isn’t. Like Violette, thinking she’s Lilith. Or our premonitions, when the three of us… when we saw all those visions together. The unearthly marvels we see every day in the Crystal Ring. They’re real, yet not real. I mean that although they’re visions, they point us towards reality.”
    “Riddles,” said Karl. “It’s possible that the knife is an artefact affected by the Crystal Ring. The question is how.”
    “You’ve been in Raqia more