“Looky here, sugar.”
“What you got?”
“This belonged to that infamous devil, Brandy Watts. My brother grabbed it when the posse gunned her down in Dregger Canyon.” He laid a long, coal-black whip on the bar. “Tasted so much blood they say it got stronger with every kill, like it was feedin’ on ’em. Wild, huh? Another drink, miss?”
His fingers barely brushed the bottle when there was a thunderous crack, and his hands flew to his throat. Dark coils tightened, his eyes bulged, and with a cry, he hit the floor hard.
“Still got it. Thanks, mister,” said Brandy.
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alt="Denied by J.B. Corso"
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alt="Winter Feast by Pauline Yates"
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