he tried to kiss Wesley Smith Garcia. Except, as it turned out, impulse and alcohol had equal potential to create and destroy. Instead of meeting Wes’s lips with his own, he found the man’s nose with the tip of a fang. Wes jerked back, cursing. “Ah fuck, was that you? Ah—” And he sneezed. Vincent bolted to his feet. “Sorry, god, I’m sorry! Are you bleeding, should I—”
