It turned out that Dane either lied about Theresa losing the craving for coke or that he just didn't know she wouldn't, because she'd been a vampire for four years and she still wanted the high. It might have been just psychosomatic, the way other vampires drank alcohol despite the fact that they could barely taste it, but the fact remained, she was still a user of the white powder. Just through a filter now that her heart was no longer beating.
The brunette was currently parked in the lounge of one of the Strip's higher-end hotels, scoping the bar area and nursing a margarita. She'd had a fake ID made back in California when she was alive, and now that she was in Las Vegas there was no one to recognize her and say that she was presumably only eighteen. She'd only been in Sin City for a few months, having packed up what she could comfortably carry and get the hell out of Hollywood after Dane got torched.
Fucking vigilantes. Dane hadn't been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he'd been her sire and he'd promised to take care of her. Theresa resented having to start all over, if only because it had meant she'd had to go back to turning tricks. She had no other skills except for theft, and she wanted to lay very low for a while, just in case one of those bright boys from Hollyweird managed to track her here.
( That School Girl Look )