#killer instincts

A scene from a fic I'm working on:

"Well, actually." Quick as a shadow, Vincent found himself up against the dumpster, one tan hand fisted in his shirt, and the other holding the tip of the still bloody knife so tight under his chin that he was scared to even swallow in case it broke the skin. “You were my quarry of the evening. Aren't you lucky I was shadowing you?” Alastor's grin was manic, dark eyes wide and alight with glee, voice full of malice and mirth. “I could always make this a double homicide. Tell me Vincent Whittman, would anyone even notice the lack of a weatherman tomorrow?”