Grace Cooper twirled the straw in her half-finished ginger whiskey and tried to ignore the skunk smell wafting through the bar. Rather, the smell of pot, which two kids were smoking in the back corner by the lone pool table, seemingly uncaring that recreational use of marijuana was illegal in bars in Colorado. None of the few folks ambitiously drinking in the place paid them any heed.
She discreetly wiped snow off her jeans from her tumble in the snow right outside the door. Her wrist ached, and she tried to ignore the pain. How bad was the injury? Not that she had time to find a doctor, anyway.
Darkness had descended outside along with a blistering snowstorm, and the wind howled against the few windows in an effort to sneak inside. Mother Nature had decided on a brutal end to January, which might explain why so few patrons had ventured through the storm for cheap booze and a stereo system from the early nineties that only played Bon Jovi songs. Renegade was currently blasting at a slightly slower speed than she remembered.
Why in the world had the vamp wanted to meet in this dump?
The bartender, a sixty-something man wearing a ripped T-shirt, snow pants, and thick boots, tipped back a couple of shots of tequila as he wiped down the bar, ignoring everyone unless they approached him for more alcohol.
This was the closest she would come to Denver, where she’d lived before going into a coma and then becoming an immortal mate. Well, kind of becoming one. She’d promised everyone, especially her sister, that she’d never return to Denver. But persistent questions kept her up at night; she had to know the truth. Flashes of memory and warning. She’d go mad if she didn’t find answers to the swirling vortex of questions in her brain. First, she had to survive for another week.
Grace turned her wrist, the healthy one, and read the time on her sports watch. She’d give Sebastian five more minutes.
The door opened, and wind blasted inside. A male wearing a baseball cap covered with snow kicked the door shut, looked around, and spotted her. He brushed snow off his long overcoat and strode toward her, his boots leaving a wet trail across the sawdust-covered floor. “Grace.”
He was thinner than he’d looked in his picture. “Sebastian.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.” He pulled out the wooden chair across from her small table and sat, his eyes an odd bluish hue. “I can explain.”
She held up her good hand, her temples starting to ache. “It doesn’t matter. Do you have it?” She had to help that little girl lying sick in bed in the nearest hospital. No child should have to fight cancer.
He kicked back. “Yeah, but I thought we could maybe come to another arrangement.” With the hat bill low over his face, and the bar so dark, it was difficult to judge his age. Or rather, what his age appeared to be, considering he’d supplied proof through email that he was over two hundred years old. “What’s the hurry? There’s a storm out there.” He spoke with a very slight lisp.
She tilted her head. The overcoat was odd. “Take off your hat.” Adrenaline started to hum through her veins.
His chest puffed out. “There you go. I knew we’d get along.” With a flourish, he whipped off the cap with black fingernails, revealing thick blond hair—and black eyeliner rimming his eyes.
She blinked once and then again, looking closer. Were those colored contacts? Like the ones kids wore for Halloween? Yep. “You have got to be kidding me.” How in the world had he fooled her? She’d asked for documentation, although records could be falsified. She began to stand.
He grasped her good wrist and tugged her down, leaning toward her. He smelled like cheap beer and even cheaper cologne. This close, he appeared to be in his early twenties. “I promise I’ll give you what you want. My blood is all yours after I take a taste of my own.” He opened his mouth, showing fangs.
Fake ones.
Anger snapped through her. “I can’t believe this.” Yes, she was a complete moron. The risks she’d taken for this meeting had kept her up for nights. She jerked free and started to stand.
The front door burst open, and a mammoth blond male strode inside just as a commotion sounded from the rear exit on the other side of the bar. The kids by the pool table snuffed out the pot, backing away