In the time it takes for Methos to draw his sword - crap, he has a sword, but you're faster than that, Shane, don't doubt yourself - and to walk past him, away from him, putting his back to the vampire, Shane succumbs to the feeling. It's been five months. It's one person. No one has to know. Not even Levi.

Just the way Levi taught him, Shane inches closer in the dark, the same way meant to give just enough of a hint of a lurking presence to stir the anxiety. Blood tastes the best that way.

Then in a silent flash, Shane advances from behind, fangs bared and eyes shock white with bloodlust. He's going straight for the takedown, straight for the neck.

Welcome to Taxon, Methos. Land of fake stuff and, inevitably, vampires.