BRAN
He would go to the horses, but he was too miserable to get himself to move. And that was saying a lot.
Bran was a vampire. All he ate or drank, was blood, but sometimes, when he was pushed to it or when the occasion called for it, he drank wine. It was something only the oldest of vampires could do.
He grabbed the bottle of whiskey, refilling his glass as he stared at the rich brown liquid absently. Filled with the feeling of helplessness, he had resorted to drinking himself into a stupor. It was the only option that had seemed the most pleasing at the time. One of those options was going down to the cells to have another round of questioning with Maria.
All of them had proved futile so far. What was the point in going?
She was intent on keeping her secret. Keeping hi
