The bartender stiffened when she got a glimpse of Ryder’s face. She was fumbling now, hurriedly filling two glasses with red liquid, and she quickly put them in front of two empty seats at the bar. “S-sir . . .”
He nodded his thanks, but then waved her away.
Sabine’s gaze darted around the bar. “Are they all . . . ?”
“They’re just like us.”
There was a snap in his voice.
Not like me. She swallowed back the words. She hadn’t exactly gotten used to the whole I’m-a-vampire bit.
“H-how do they know to come here?” The place was a vamp bar. Got it. But did the vamps all spread some kind of secret code on the Internet? Telling each other where the blood bars were in the United States? “How did they know they could get blood here?” Because vamps were out of their closets—coffins—sure, but she’d never heard of a place like this. It sure hadn’t been featured on any news shows.
“The name told them what it was.”
Bran?
His fingers wrapped around the blood-filled glass, but he didn’t drink. “Don’t know much about Dracula, do you?”
Not exactly her area of expertise, no.
“Some folks believe that Dracula’s castle was originally called Bran’s Castle.” His lips quirked. “And that’s the name of this place, too.”
So he’d named his bar after Dracula’s house. Was that supposed to be some kind of in-vamp joke? No wonder the vamps were flocking inside.
The bartender came back, nervously tucking a long lock of blond hair behind her ears. Her nails, painted a bright red, tapped on the marble bartop. “We thought . . . a lot of us thought you were dead.”
Ryder just stared back at her. “Then I guess word is about to spread that I’m back.”
The blonde looked scared. Of her boss?
Sabine glanced back at Ryder. His handsome face was hard. His fangs were flashing. And his eyes . . . she’d never seen them so cold. Usually, his eyes were bright. Glinting. Not icy.
His grip tightened on the glass, and a faint crack appeared, running up the side.
The blonde’s attention shifted to Sabine. “You don’t want the blood?”
No, actually, the sight of it was making her nauseous. Before she could speak, Ryder snagged her fingers. Brought her hand to his lips. “Sabine drinks from me.”
The chick’s eyes almost doubled then. “Y-you let . . .”
Ryder shoved the glass away. “And I drink from her.” Then he was rising and heading for a narrow, wooden staircase in the back. When Sabine put her foot on the first stair, it gave a long, low groan.
She felt a dozen eyes on her back, but she refused to look over her shoulder. So they had the attention of every vamp in the place. So what? The way she figured it, this was a safe house, of sorts.
She didn’t have to worry about Genesis here. Or about Dante.
The stairs kept creaking as they headed upstairs. Then they entered a small apartment, and Ryder locked the door behind them.
“It won’t be long now,” he said.
She rubbed a hand over her aching forehead. “Until what?”
“Until we see which vamps want to try to kill us.”
Hell. So much for safe.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She hadn’t fed.
Ryder paced the apartment, casting worried glances at Sabine. He’d yanked off his shirt, what was left of it, and tossed the fabric in the trash.
Anger hummed through him, no, rage, but he was doing his best to hold on to his control. For now. For her.
“Promise you won’t leave me again.” The words were an order. He probably should have tried to soften them.
Then she shook her head, and he realized he shouldn’t be going easy at all.
His back teeth snapped together, and he stalked toward her. “You need me.”
She blinked those gorgeous, dark eyes of hers. “How do you know what I need?”
Insane. That was what she wanted him to be.
He put his hands on the wall behind her, caging her between his arms. “You’re a freshly turned vamp, love. You might as well be a newborn.”
Her eyes narrowed at that. “Did you just call me a child?”
No, he’d called her a newborn. Even a child wasn’t totally helpless. “When the bloodlust hits you, you’ll—”
“But the bloodlust hasn’t hit me,” she fired back at him. “It’s been days since my so-called turning, and I’m doing just fine holding on to my control.”
His head tilted as he studied her. He could see the pulse racing at the base of her neck. Drink. He’d been injured, attacked. Lost a lot of blood. Sure, his wounds had closed. He was an ancient vamp, they’d better close, but even though his body had healed, the craving was still within him.