Page 60 of Searching for the Prince
He couldn’t stay in the house, everywhere he looked something reminded him of Hyax. He’d tried working, but it was the same issue, most, if not all of his current cases had been touched by Hyax in some way, even if it had just been a discussion on a path forward. He fed Midnight, grabbed his keys and headed out into the London night, to Lambeth where there was a bar he could drink himself stupid in and people would keep their distance. The owner would pour him into a cab and tomorrow Gwil could nurse his hangover and pretend nothing had happened.
He’d first discovered Gilmont’s in the 1940s. It had started after the owner of the original bar had returned from the Second World War longer in the fangs than he’d left. He’d found a niche amongst a subset of London vampires who weren’t well connected enough to grace the glitzy lounges or stately homes where warm bodies were available on a whim but weren’t so low down they were picking off the booming homeless population.
At street level, Gilmont’s gave the impression it was a boarded-up hardware shop, posters and graffiti had added to the décor, and it meant that ninety-nine percent of the people who walked passed ignored it. The actual entrance was partway down the alley at the side and as he descended underground Gwil forced all thoughts of what Hyax would be up into a part of his brain labelleddo not poke until morning.
In absolute terms, Gilmont’s hadn’t changed much over the years—a low-ceilinged main bar with booths around the edges and other smaller areas where a patron could be seen as much or as little as they wanted. He intended to sit in a corner, drown his sorrows in a bottle of whisky and leave, doing so in public would mean he wouldn’t go too far, and he could probably find someone to talk to as a distraction.
Stu, the eponymous Gilmont, clocked him the minute he entered. “Gwil, my friend. It’s been a while.”
Stu also hadn’t changed, the style of his suits had been updated, though he still had the same slicked-back hair and waxed moustache Gwil remembered from the early days. “I needed a place to not think, or maybe overthink, but where no one will give a fuck.”
He took a stool at the bar and Stu collected a bottle of Macallan’s. He put it down in front of Gwil along with a glass. “Let’s start you on the decent stuff. Once you’re shitfaced I’ll move you onto Bell’s. Will you be wanting something more robust?”
Another thing about Gilmont’s was it had never moved over to bottled blood, and catered for those wanting to live feed. Gwil hesitated, but in his current mood, the temptation was too great to turn down. “Yeah. Probably.”
“I’ll let you know what I’ve got available, I had to switch out earlier.”
He knocked back two large measures of whisky in quick succession. Alcohol still worked, although it took more and longer to do the trick. His old drug habits had some effect but generally white powders left him listless after a short high these days and he’d steered clear as the benefits didn’t add up.
It was still early, but there were a few others in. This wasn’t the sort of place he’d take Hyax, hell, this wasn’t somewhere he’d go with anyone else.
“You been busy?” Stu asked. “Must have been the best part of two years since you’ve been in.”
“Work mainly, and I don’t feed as often as I used to.”
“I guess dating a prince means you get to have your pick of the good stuff.”
He’d not transitioned over to the single vintage bloods. Hyax had made a comment about it and, while he’d like to know what it was he was drinking, he’d not had the chance to bring it up in conversation again. “You’d be surprised, I don’t get the perks you’d expect I would.”
“I would think, now especially, you could demand whatever the fuck you wanted. Surely the Prince’s Beloved should want for nothing.” Stu refilled his glass. “You’re too nice, Gwil. You should put your foot down and get what you deserve.”
“Does everyone know I’ve been booted down the pecking order to walking sex toy?” He knew that wasn’t his actual position but to the outside world, he wasn’t going to be as perceived as important to Hyax in the same way.
“Come on, Gwil. It’s fresh juice, give it a few days and no one will care. It’s debatable anyone cares now.”
He sipped his whisky this time. “I don’t know if that’s worse.”
“I have to ask, did you really expect to marry him?”
Someone like Gwil marrying Hyax must seem far-fetched to most, but he’d believed Hyax had been sincere in his proposal, even though the way he’d asked hadn’t been romantic. “I had hoped, and hope springs eternal, it’s not like I have a timeline to beat.”
Stu handed him a sheet of paper and moved to serve other customers. It was the menu, and it only had limited hand-written options:two males (Scottish), two local females, Liverpudlian NB. All aged between 20 and 40, with consent paperwork and certification.
He guessed Hyax would probably want him to choose the woman, although he’d explained he wasn’t the type, unlike some of his peers, to shag his food, there was always a thrill associated with feeding. While he had dated women in the past, he was deep in cock territory now so feeding from a bloke might be a touchy subject. He and Hyax had enough to contend with without a bout of irrational jealousy. Then again, this wasn’t Hyax’s call, and Gwil preferred the taste of men’s blood over women’s. Hyax was the one off becoming Metra’s future husband so why should he allow Hyax’s feelings to dictate his dinner?
“What you having?” Stu asked.
“The Scot and another whisky.” He handed over his credit card. “I should start a tab.”
“I take it you’d prefer a booth. Never known you to feed in the open.”
He’d pay extra for privacy. “Yeah.”
“Follow me. Blond or ginger?”
“Ginger.”
He grabbed the whisky bottle and followed Stu to one of the booths at the side where there was a two-seater sofa and a low table. This was not a swanky corner to wine and dine a date, but more a comfortable nook which was heavy on the sandalwood air freshener to cover lingering wafts of stale blood.
