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TWELVE | THE NAMELESS MUSTANG

It was easier to focus with a drink in my hand. I watched Cyrus keenly as he took his first sip – whiskey, neat – and he swallowed, though with a grimace at the heat in his throat, as easily as any human. Good – I wouldn’t have been able to look myself in the eye again if I’d started to develop a crush on a vampire.

It was quiet in the pub. Only the regulars were in here: old men nursing a beer or cider, and a couple of builders stood by the slot machines. There was a low murmur of sound, the clatter of loose change and the brushing of pages of today’s newspaper. A group of teenagers sat chatting on the far side of the room, picking at their lunches and flicking through their homework.

I took a sip of my cider. Cyrus had been surprised by my choice – he’d been poised to order me a white wine – but I’d grown up in the countryside, and I’d never been a huge fan of wine. It taste

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