Michael
Lowe spins his pint of beer in a circle, his eyes scanning the run-down dive bar and its grizzly patrons. He wrinkles his nose when a duo of rough looking vampires walk by, baring their fangs at our table.
“It stinks here,” he says under his breath before sipping from his glass. “The beer’s not bad, though.”
The tavern, tucked on the far edge of my parents’ kingdom, isn’t somewhere I’d normally hang out, but Deacon insisted we meet him here.
Two days have passed since my vision of what my life could be if Faye pulls through. Two days of torment in the manor, watching her continue to waste away before my eyes while I try and try to tell myself I’m doing the right thing by keeping her alive.
“You didn’t have to come,” I tell Lowe, who shrugs, draining his pint.
“My hands ne
