“We’ll manage ourselves,” Marc added.
Adrien bowed his head and led Ramaro away.
Chapter 18
“Are we sure he’s going to come back with all his blood?” I asked my companion.
“His blood is too cold to satisfy Adrien’s tastes,” Marc assured me as he studied my face. “You’re familiar with dravenkin.”
I jerked my thumb in the direction the other two had gone. “You mean the vampire?” The lack of recognition in his eyes made me sigh. “Adrien drinks blood and doesn’t like sunlight, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes, I’ve heard of a dravenkin, though my world has a different name for them. Kind of like you have a different name here.”
We slid into the booth, and the candlelight danced across our faces. “I like to keep things interesting.”
“And keep the authorities guessing?” I wondered.
“That, as well.”
“So do a lot of people call you Seastorm?”
He grinned. “Only here, and only the Syndicate.”
I snorted. “That’s a very cute name.”
“Do you think so? I thought it up.”
“It makes them sound mysterious, much better than ‘Manager’ or ‘Admiralty.’”
“They may appear to be just a bunch of kids, but most of them have been on the streets all their lives. They’re tough and they know their way around the maze of Cathair better than anyone.”
“And know what happens to people,” I added as I thought back to our conversation with Henry. “But aren’t they a little young to be messing with the Managers and others? I mean, you said so yourself that what you were asking Henry to do wasn’t safe.”
“I wouldn’t have asked him to do it if I didn’t believe they were up for the task,” he countered as he picked up a spoon and twirled the tip of the bowl in a circle on the table. “Perhaps you’d be surprised how little a young boy is noticed, even in the pubs.”
I swept my eyes over the room. “I think he’d be noticed in here. There aren’t many people dining right now.”
Marc smiled. “The Sanguine Club is very exclusive.”
“And not very nice from the outside,” I mused as I readjusted my butt on the plush seat. “Is that on purpose?”
“Nothing leads the mind astray more than an ugly appearance.”
“So what makes this place exclusive? The owner or the cuisine?”
“Both. Dravenkin are even less common than fangrels, at least when it comes to the cities. Dravenkin prefer a nice, secluded manor in the country where they can live out their long lives in peace.”
My ears perked up. “Then they live a long time? And need to suck blood to continue living?”
“Blood is their primary nourishment, but they can handle a few morsels of mortal food now and again. Enough to keep up appearances, if they need to,” he told me as he held his spoon above the flickering flame. “As for their lives, they’re not immortal. Nothing is permanent but the gods.”
I shuddered. “You mean those things that tried to grab me in the water?”
He lifted the spoon and admired the untouched bottom. “Those are the more primitive ones.”
There was something about the way he phrased that that caught my attention. “Then you’ve met a god who was less primitive?”
