Baz lunged for Angie. He locked his arms around the vampire’s waist and attempted to pull her back, but the effort proved futile. There was no way in hell he was going to break this vamp out of her feeding frenzy. She had to be brand-freaking new, her strength was overwhelming. Still, he couldn't leave the two of them in the hallway. He’d already have to swap out the security feeds and pay off the guards to make sure the video didn't wind up on some nut-job's home-brewed blog. And that was assuming none of his other neighbors came into the hall to investigate.
Baz grabbed Stan by the leg, tightened his grip on the over-priced denim jeans, and dragged his friend — and the vampire riding him — over the threshold. Angie looked like a bloody goddess perched on a Mardi Gras float, only she was too consumed with her meal to notice her panicked audience. There was only one good thing about her feeding frenzy — she was latched on so tightly not an ounce of blood escaped her lips. No stains meant no evidence to scrub.
Baz slammed the door closed behind them and locked it tight before re-assessing his new crisis — how to free his friend from the clutches of a young, out-of-control vampire. He charged at Angie a second time, throwing his body against her torso. She broke free of Stan long enough to shove Baz away with a single arm extension that sent him flying across the living room. Baz collided into the dining table and skidded a good two feet before coming to a stop. He grunted at the fresh scuff marks on his bamboo floor. First, his fucking car was totaled and now this. If he wasn't careful, this business trip was going to cost him a shit ton of money.
Baz pushed himself up from the floor and shook off the ache in his side as he scanned the room for a suitable weapon. When he spotted a glimmer of gold on the floor a new panic swelled within him. Shit. His ring. In all the commotion he hadn’t felt the chain securing the ring around his neck break loose. Pure instinct made him step toward the ring. He was vulnerable without it.
Stan groaned from the shadows, pulling Baz’s attention back to the crazed vampire. Stan no longer resisted Angie. His body was limp beneath the vampire and his skin had grown paler than hers. If Baz didn't get Angie away soon, she was going to kill him. He and Stan may have had their issues, but they had known each other since childhood. Baz couldn't stand by and watch his friend be bled dry by a vampire.
He spotted the autographed Gretzky hockey stick mounted on the wall and slowly made his way to the side of the table. He didn't want Angie to know what was coming. Instead, he wanted her to forget his existence and become so consumed by hunger that she'd be caught off guard when he...
Whack.
The flat blade of the hockey stick slammed into Angie’s skull with a satisfying thud and left her head hanging limp against her shoulder. She collapsed on Stan, motionless.
With his force and speed, he'd most likely broken her neck. It would heal, but at least he bought Stan some time. When Angie woke, she'd be free of the feeding frenzy and able to function like a civilized human. Or rather, a vampire pretending to be a civilized human.
Baz dropped the hockey stick and ran to Stan's side. Now that Angie was no longer latched onto him, the bite at his throat was bleeding profusely. Stan may still be alive at the moment, but if Baz didn't get the wound patched up, Stan was going to bleed out all over his apartment.
Baz scooped his friend up and carried him into the bathroom, carefully placing Stan into the large marble tub with hopes of containing the blood in something it might not stain. Then he began a frantic search for supplies. Bandages and antiseptic were at the top of the list. If he could slow the blood flow long enough to keep his friend conscious, he could call Manuel, his Godfather, who also happened to be his go-to physician for supernatural ailments and afflictions. Manuel didn't ask questions. More importantly, he didn't talk.
Baz searched under the bathroom sink, then in the linen closet, then in the hall closet, but with no luck. The first-aid kit he clearly remembered purchasing at his Godfather's urging was gone. Desperate, he swiped a stack of hand towels and a bottle of vodka from the bar and made one quick glance at the floor to check on Angie's still body.
Good. She was still unconscious and not a threat. Thank God for small miracles.
He made his way back to the bathroom and peered over the tub. His friend was slumped down on the marble bottom. Would propping him up slow the blood flow...or increase it? He had no clue and ultimately decided it didn't matter. Plugging up the gaping wound was his number one priority.