Chapter 8
The convenience store clerk was out. Though he was far enough off the Strip to keep onlookers to a minimum, Mathias wasn’t in the mood for a quick suck. Whomever he drank from wouldn’t survive, not with the need Darby aroused bubbling in his gut. If feeding meant a kill, he had few options if he didn’t want to bring undue attention on himself. He couldn’t afford that, not yet, not until he knew what the fuck was going on.
Behind the wheel of the beat-up Ford he’d bought for a song in Tucson, Mathias crept along the back roads, his eyes constantly moving as he evaluated a couple here, a shadow there, anything that looked remotely edible. The problem was, in his current worked-up state, that included everybody and everything—like the hooker on the corner he could tell at a glance was high on some kind of drug—and the farther he drove, the worse it got.