La Vida Vampire

“Was Marco destroyed?”


“I guess so. He knew I was buried with Normand’s treasure, and he would’ve wanted that, even if he killed me to get it.” I hesitated. “For a while after Maggie found me, I was terrified Marco would come gunning for me. Since he hasn ’t, I have to think he’s dead.”

Saber was quiet for a full minute—had to be a record—and I let the memories fade.

“Two hundred years without feeding? You should have been insane when Maggie found you. You should ’ve torn her to shreds. How did you survive?”

The question wasn’t snide—well, not much. I thought he was reaching out to understand me. I sighed and reached back.

“You know what astral traveling is?” I asked.

“More or less.”

“That’s how I survived. I projected myself to the outside world and fed on energy.”

He looked surprised, then disgusted. “You drained people psychically?”

So much for reaching out, except to smack him. That sounded good. Or dumping hot tea on his head.

“For your information, I never drained anyone. I looked for angry people to feed on because they had energy to burn. A few of them even got nicer afterward.” I paused a beat. “Of course, during World War II, I tried to get to Hitler. He was too far away, so I went for the guys in the U-boats off the coast.”

He shook his head. “I almost bought that.”

“Hey, you asked, I’m answering. Believe what you want.”

I took another swallow of tea and stared him down.

“Why don’t you use your vamp powers?”

“Like what? Vampire speed? Maybe it makes me dizzy.”

“Why do you drive a car and ride a bicycle?”

“Because I like things with wheels?”

“Can you fly?”

“You have Tinkerbell in your pocket with pixie dust handy? I promise you I can think happy little thoughts. Like having you out of my afterlife.” I stood and fisted my hands on my hips. “Why are you so bent, Saber? Why do I have to conform to your narrow-minded view of vampires?”

“Because I—”

He broke off, his cobalt eyes darkening as he rose to face me. He radiated a tumble of anger and frustration and—

Pheromones. I smelled pheromones.

One musky scent was strong and seductive and Saber’s.

Another, that faint scent of musk, the one I’d smelled every time I’d been with him, lay under the strong scent. And if it wasn’t his, it had to be…

Mine?

I inhaled a desperately deep breath and oh my gosh! It was my scent. I had pheromones for Saber!

My little voice screamed, Run, and I backpedaled, forgetting the chair right behind me. My legs hit the seat, my butt hit the chair back, and I fell flat on my back, smacking my head on the hardwood floor for good measure. Stars dotted my vision, distorting the expression on Saber’s face as he stood over me.

“I don’t know what brought that on,” he said, “but it proves one thing.”

“Wh-what?” I asked, still stunned.

“You can’t fly.”



Embarrassing as it was to take a fall for a man like Saber, at least I proved something to him. Not the no -fly thing; the vampires-can-get-hurt thing. I had a bump the size of an egg on the back of my head for a full half hour. Saber even put an ice pack on it after he noticed my eyes weren’t tracking just right.

I’ll give him this. Other than his first crack, he didn’t rub my clumsiness in my face. He merely gave me a hand up, righted the chair, and asked to use my laptop.

Of course, I wasn’t about to let him snoop in my room or my computer files. Not that I had anything to hide —except a giant stuffed dolphin on my bed—but it was the principle of the thing. On the other hand, I wasn’t sitting beside him again, too close for comfort. So, at nearly one in the morning, he sat at the dining table surfing for information on the Fourniers and Millie, while I tried to read the lecture on mid-century modern design I’d printed. I say tried, because my real task was trying to get over scenting my own pheromones.

Me attracted to Saber in more than the most superficial gee-ain’t-he-gorgeous way? How scary is that?

He irritated me—a fly buzzing the picnic of my afterlife just begging to be swatted. Oh, I felt some lust, all right, but I couldn’t imagine being tangled in the sheets with Saber. Heck, if I weren’t vampire enough to make him happy, I sure wouldn’t be woman enough. He’d be ragging me at the first hint of my inexperience.

“You committing that page to memory for life?”

I startled and looked up to find him watching me. I wondered how long—and if I’d been making faces thinking about sex with him.

“Did you find anything online?”

“You were born June 23, 1780, wear a size four, and have an IQ of one sixty-two, based on testing and observation of your learning curve, which—” He squinted at the computer screen. “—the psychological tester called phenomenal.”