Fucking vamps, Blake thought. He could actually hear his blood rushing into the bitch’s mouth.

Fighting to retain consciousness, he swiftly broke his beer bottle on the end of the bar and jammed it into the fanged bartender’s thigh. She howled and let him go, and not a moment too soon – black spots had been dancing before his eyes.

He stumbled toward the door, then spun and took stock of the situation.

Things were decidedly worse than he’d thought.

Werner was down, his flesh like the belly of a fish. The perp he’d tried to arrest was standing over him, blood staining his mouth like a particularly whoreish lipstick. The bartender had recovered from her rage and pain and had vaulted over the bar.

And more figures were appearing out of the darkness. Pale, drawn monsters, breathing heavily, catching the copper tang of his blood. And more behind them, eyes glinting hungrily in the darkness.

Blake swore under his breath and reached into his coat for a weapon. He should have seen this one coming.