As he moved through the crowd, Evan felt hands brush over the leather of his trench coat. Most of the people drawn to him were women, entranced by his presence. Vampires weren’t uncommon, but Evan knew damn well he was a rarity even among his own kind. He grinned. Even after four centuries, he had not lost his touch. But, as always, he had his sights set on more masculine prey. As he neared the bar, the crowd parted. His sweet, tender morsel stood there, eyes wide and full lips primed for a thousand kisses.
“Noswaith dda,” Evan whispered.
“Good evening to you as well,” the man replied.
It wasn’t often Evan found someone who knew Welsh, and even less often he found a young one who did. He leaned against the bar. “Beth yw’ch enw chi?”
“Kurt. And you?”
“Evan.” Evan nodded toward the bar.
