Bill's relief was painfully obvious. His brain was already racing to memorize the nearest location: The Roadhouse. Half a mile up the road. Hell, he could run that in a matter of seconds. And if they were out? Fifteen miles was little more than a jog for a vampire.
He cringed a little at the mention of fangbangers. Some vampires found them amusing. But Bill? Bill thought they were sad, silly, little people. Especially the ones that were hooked on V. He despised dealers and users of vamp blood. Call him old fashioned, but he adhered to the age-old belief that sharing one's blood was a personal experience meant only for loved ones and potential progenies. He hated the idea of strangers drinking his blood for a high.
He nodded.
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
He pressed a pair of fingers to his temple and rubbed the skin. Then he looked at the vehicle.
"That's an expensive car to be driving around for errands."