Page 18 of Blood of a Huntsman

“All right," said Luke, stepping in right behind Levi. "The kitchens are bringing refreshments up, and we'll have to open the cellar for wine." He glared at his boss. "You should give me more notice if you want to spare the good stuff. As for the blood, we should have quite enough, but we'll need to place another order of synthetic for—" He cleared his throat. "Our guests."

By that he meant Bash, who was draining their stock.

The older vampire didn't need much blood, a glass every other day; Luke had told Bash that Levi could go an entire week without a drop, quite comfortably. But the newer vampires drank considerably more—perhaps two, three bags a day.

Bash was at ten bags. On good days.

Still, that beat the alternative: taking a bite out of someone.

"Thank you, Luke. Efficient as usual."

"I'll remind you at the end of the year so you can give me a pay raise."

Bash's shoulders stiffened. His attention was pulled away from the easy banter and redirected toward the entrance of the hall.

A minute later, Jack Hunter stepped inside.

Bash's closest friend. Or, at least, he used to be. They hadn't talked in three months. Not once.

Jack abhorred vampires. And unlike everyone else, Bash knew why.

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