"You guys got any whiskey?" she asked, trailing him through the crowd.
He held up a bottle. "I grabbed this when everyone started panicking."
"Vodka? No way."
He lowered the bottle. She didn't notice how far they'd gone until the blazing bar disappeared around a corner. Only then did her senses register the three men before her, the alley, and the familiar bloodlust in their glowing eyes. This time, there was no mistaking the tattoos on their bodies.
She spun, the action rocking her precarious balance, only to come face-to-face with the American nerd.
"You don't want to do this," she blurted out. "I taste like shit."
One laughed.
"You should be used to it, or you wouldn't wear your dead master's mark."
"Dead? He's not dead," she replied. "In fact, I'm expecting him any minute."
"No one leaves his mate in a place like this. Penniless? Alone? Obviously too long under his keep to know what to do with herself in the real world?"
Mate?
"He's bigger than you," she warned.
"Bigger than this, bitch?" the American nerd demanded, shoving her against a building and riding his erection against her backside.
"I've seen popsicles bigger than you, jackass!" she snapped.
He pulled her away from the wall and backhanded her hard enough for her to feel nauseous. She was too drunk to feel the landing. He licked his hand, where blood from her lip remained.
"Sweet," he whispered, closing his eyes to savor her. "The Ancients always choose the sweetest blood monkeys."
"You can lie there still like you did for your master while we do our thing, or we can tie you and beat you into submission and then do our thing. Either way, we do our thing," another reasoned, kneeling near her.
"Let me think," she said, and rolled her eyes. "Why don't you walk away now before a certain Ancient tears you into pieces."
"Nice try, sweetheart. We've seen your type before. You won't last the night anywhere you go. He made his mark; it draws us to you."
She frowned, wondering when someone would explain the rules of this game to her. Wobbling, she rose, familiar coldness replacing the alcoholic warmth inside her.
"Sweet, little, defenseless, bet you're wet and taste just as sweet," the man who'd tasted her said. His eyes glowed more unnaturally than the others, the taste of her addling his senses. He looked like the rabid dog she'd expected Rhyn to be.