Breno managed a few healthy mouthfuls before passing out. Blaize could only hope that it was enough. He remained quiet as he sat there, the coat room still hidden from those outside. If Blaize had a heart it’d probably be in his throat by now; fear was a certainty in this place where he knew death was possible. True death, real death that he could not come back from. He used one of the fallen coats to wipe the blood from his wrist and whatever had smeared over Breno’s lips.
All he could do was wait. For all he knew, Breno could be dead. The blood might not have taken; it might have been too late. A vampire’s body will feel and look dead regardless, so whether or not the change had taken was something that Blaize would have to wait for. And he would have wait for the authorities, for this hubbub to die down. Outside, he could hear sobbing and a man and woman speaking in a language he could not understand.
It was only an hour later that the noise escalated again, properly; doors slamming, more gunshots. But these were precise, they were not scattered. The police, finally. Finally they’d be able to get out of the cloak room. But, to get away from the ambulances who’d want to take away a corpse…
That was another problem entirely.