Til Death

9. Daniel/Blake

DANIEL

Finding Frances sandwiched between a blonde vampire guy and a muscular werewolf woman was not the strangest place Daniel had ever found his friend. In college, he once found Frances sitting in a punch bowl, wearing his grandmother's wedding dress and singing the Canadian national anthem.

Daniel yanked him back to his feet before the orgy started. "Where's Blake?"

"Whoa! Hey, Danny," Frances grinned, and the smell the blood mixed with liquor wafted from his mouth and invaded Daniel's nostrils. At least it wasn't a smell of someone he recognized. "You should've seen your face, Danny when Blake whacked you with that pillow! Your tongue slapped the floor, Danny!"

"I'm gonna kill you," Daniel promised. "Where's Blake? If I have to ask you again-"

Frances' eyes flashed red. "What? Are you going to punish me?"

Daniel grimaced. "You're trashed."

"And you're not my Dad." Frances reached back for his drink, taking another swig. The only way to inebriate a vampire was to let them drink the blood of someone intoxicated, so whoever was trashed, their blood stained Frances' lips.

"Frances. I'm not kidding around, and I'm not asking again."

"Fine," Frances rolled his eyes and waved Daniel away, suddenly tired of the conversation. "I think he went back up to the bar for some water or something." He strolled back to his new friends, draping his lanky arms around them. At least someone was having a good time and they all looked more than pleased to see him.

Now, Daniel stood alone in the crowd.

Daniel loathed places like this.

Too many people he didn't know. Too much unwanted noise. How were people even supposed to talk to each other at places like this? He couldn't figure out why those two chose this club of all places. At least it wasn't the tackiest club he had ever seen. He trudged up the stairs, searching the crowd for Blake's face. He'd never forget a face like that.

Daniel never thought he had a type.

But his type might be droopy eyed guys with curly hair.

"Blake?" Daniel called out. He took a turn around the bar, once and then twice. His chest tightened tighter and tighter as the seconds crept by. He muscled his way through the swarm of people around the bar. "Hey!" He called the bartender. "I'm looking for a guy."

"Aren't we all?" The girl beside him raised her shot and then, like magic, made it disappear.

"No, he's my fiancé. New to town with curly hair and a gray suit."

"I'm sorry," the bartender shook her head. "I see a lot of people."

Daniel cursed under his breath, pushing off the counter. He hurried back to the stairwell, looking down at the huge dance floor and the levels of booths and secret corners he couldn't even see from there. With all these people, Daniel didn't even know where to start.

#

BLAKE

The cold was nice. Nicer than inside the stuffy club.

He took a deep breath, but it wasn't enough to calm the furnace blazing inside his chest. His feet moved down the street on their own, but it got harder to walk the heavier his head grew. Blake collapsed onto the nearest park bench to get his bearing, to keep the street from tipping completely sideways. He glanced up, fighting the fuzzy feeling in his head as he admired the decorations flooding the city.