utter perplexity. Not all humans, of course, were amenable to being vamped. Not every human could be controlled by the Voice. But this one … She believed him. He had been so certain that she would get mad, believe he was telling another lie, or just forget he’d even said it.
Now what the hell was he going to do? And how was it possible she believed so readily what almost no one else in the modern world believed anymore?
He racked his brains, wondering what he had done that had convinced her. Her comments about the food really amounted to nothing. His avoidance of her had been countered by his truthful insistence that he didn’t find her repulsive at all.
He happened to glance toward a glassfronted bookcase and then he knew: his eyes had gone as black as night.
Sighing, he retreated to the far end of the living room and wondered how best to handle this so that whenever Jude cleared her apartment she could go on with her life.
He watched her sitting there all curled in on herself and wondered why people always wanted the truth when the truth so often appalled them. Why couldn’t they just be happy with polite social fictions?
Well, he admitted, most people probably were. But not this one. She’d clearly sensed something, and hadn’t been willing to let it go.
Which left them here and now. He cleared his throat. Slowly she lifted her head and looked at him. She still hadn’t recovered from the shock, and he missed the usual spark in her green eyes.
“I hope,” he said, “that you won’t share my secret.”
“Who would believe me?”
Good question. He chose not to answer directly. “You believed me.”
“After what’s been going on in my condo for a week, I’m ready to believe in almost anything. Why the hell wouldn’t I believe in a vampire?”
“Because almost nobody believes in us anymore.”
She gave a short laugh, absolutely humorless. “Your secret is safe with me. I wouldn’t want to get myself committed. Or wind up on your menu.”
“I told you I won’t hurt you.”
“No? Don’t vampires survive by killing?”
“Not me. Not Jude.”
Her head jerked sharply at that. “Why should you be any different?”
“I guess I still have some human hang-ups.”
Her eyes widened, and he saw with relief that a hint of the spark had returned.
He let her have some silence, some space to think whatever she needed to think about this. Finally she looked at him again. “Jude, too?”
He nodded.
“Terri?”
He shook his head.
“But she’s his wife. How can she not be?”
“He won’t change her. Says he wants to be absolutely certain she knows what she’s getting into.”
Her brow knit. “Are you telling me it’s awful?”
“That depends on what you focus on, and what you’re willing to give up. I didn’t choose this. It was forced on me and cost me every damn thing I cared about. So whether you want to believe it or not, I would never do this to anyone else.”
“Never is a long time.”
“I have a lot of never ahead of me.”
She looked down again, and he let her be. The questions would come when the questions came, and at some point she was going to decide he must have lied. And that thought pained him. Odd that after a century he still needed acceptance for who and what he was, just as he was. He ought to be used to the mess he called his life by now.
“So,” she said finally, looking at him. “Why did you tell me, especially when it could be dangerous to you?”
“Because I get sick of the lies. I hate lying.”
“And you were sure you could make me forget.” Her tone was accusatory.
“Not sure. It doesn’t always work.” He waited, the night minutes ticking by, minutes he hated to waste because he couldn’t extend them by much. But she needed the time to adjust, and he was smart enough to know it.
Little by little she seemed to be relaxing. Adapting. Accepting. He had no idea where that would lead, but it was a vast improvement over the edginess he’d felt in her since he’d awakened this evening.
For the first time since shock had caused her to sag onto the couch, she did more than glance at him. Her gaze met his directly, steadily. Her tone took on an edge of tartness. “This is so very cool. In one day I learn there are demons and vampires both. I am just thrilled.”
Her tone prevented him from taking offense. Indeed, he wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d turned hysterical or accused him of being lying scum. By comparison, this was a mild reaction. “I know it’s hard.”
“Hard?” A short laugh escaped her. “Somehow I think it ought to be harder. But after the past week, I’d probably believe in werewolves, too.”
“Um …” He drew the sound out and hesitated. Her eyes grew big again.
“No,” she said.
“Afraid so.”
“Oh, my God.” She closed her eyes, but only a second or two passed before they snapped open again, intent now. “How much of the myth is true? Are you immortal?”
“Near enough. I die every morning and resurrect every night.”
“Why do you keep backing away from me?”
“Because you smell so good to me. Regardless of how I choose to live, Yvonne, I’m still a predator. Nothing will ever change that.”
“You want to kill me?” She looked appalled.
“I want to drink from you. There’s a difference. I wouldn’t kill you. That’s not necessary, and certainly not desirable. But yes, I want you in ways you can’t imagine.”
She caught her breath, and stared at him wide-eyed. “Do you feel that way about every human?”
“Not quite. There are some who are more enticing than others. You’re the most enticing morsel I’ve ever met.”
“Oh.” She twisted her fingers together. “As a meal?”
“In every way.”
Her eyes widened, and then that maddening blush came to her cheeks. It called to him, to his hunger and his lust, as little had. He closed his eyes, seeking self-control even as his body hummed with need. She would never begin to imagine how hard it was, nor did he ever want her to.
But
