

### The Gentle Man

### by Michelle Montague Mogil

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Michelle Montague Mogil

Michelle can be found muttering about things here:

A Place for My Mind

**Smashwords Edition, License Notes**

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is mostly a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the products of the author's fevered imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

**Table of Contents**

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 1

My name is Anastasia Trent and I am _suflet nocturn_ now. Go ahead and Google that; I'll wait... Yeah. Romanian for _night soul_. Becoming that turned out to be just one in a lifetime of foolish decisions on my part. Four scant weeks ago, I was given the choice between an extraordinary existence and a life of mediocrity. I chose the extraordinary, as many would, I'm sure. As a consequence, I am now attempting to justify that decision, explaining to myself and to a number of other people, how I managed to get where I am now.

It must have truly begun as I stared down the length of the empty, dusty barroom on a dead Monday night at the Central Exchange, a local restaurant and pub where I tend bar part time. I laughingly call bartending my stress-relief job: psychological medicine for the unrelenting pressure from my day job. Anyway, the kitchen had closed, the place was cleared out—there are no serious drinkers to speak of anymore—and I had plenty of time to contemplate my bleak future. Resentful thoughts churned in my brain while I mentally kicked myself for turning down a day job offer in Syracuse, an hour's commute away. I wondered if I had made the right decision. I second guess myself on the average of once an hour—I may have been legally blind at the time without my Coke-bottle-bottom glasses, but my hindsight has always been impeccable.

Midnight rolled around. I shook off my thoughts and shuffled about turning out lights to discourage last-minute patrons while I got down to my closing duties: put the stools up on the bar and tables, close out the register, sweep away evidence of the night's debauchery, and, lastly, haul the bucket of food scraps to the compost bins and a bag of trash to the overflowing dumpster at the far end of the parking lot, where maggots and raccoons could have their way. Still deep in my sulk, I trudged across the gravel parking lot and dumped the stuff, stopping then to put a match to a cigarette.

"Mistress, please let me in," came a voice out of the dark, frighteningly close to my left ear.

"JEEzuz!" I squeaked. I jumped back, then spun around, and the lit cigarette dropped from my lips down the front of my blouse. I hopped madly in circles, cursing a blue streak, and frantically shaking the smoldering butt out of my shirt while a fleeting shadow slipped around behind me. I couldn't see who owned that shadow.

Then, in my other ear—more urgent, and a lot more hissy, "Let me in. Please. _Now_."

I whirled the other way, feeling clumsy and stupid. " _Where_? Let you in _where_?" Peering myopically into the dimly lit lot, I tried to fix on the source of the voice. The shadow flitted to my left and quivered next to the body of my black pick-up truck. Silence.

Okay, I'll admit to having a shift-drink—a pint-glass of some rum concoction I splashed together while I moped over my career. Alright, earlier I'd slugged a shot of Jim Beam with the cook who was having a Really Bad Night. I'll even cop to that shot of Jameson bought for me still earlier by this lonely old regular who harbors the fantasy that I will someday leave Ethan, my husband of nearly thirty years, and run off with him. But, dammit, I was _not_ drunk. Not even slightly buzzed. Still, there came that damned voice again.

"Please, Mistress," the _please_ was drawn out into several syllables. "You must let me in. _Quickly_. I beg of you."

A heavy accent. Russian? Czech? It was one of those Eastern European countries where they chew their consonants, I figured. While I puzzled over the voice and tried to figure out what the hell was coming off, the shadow resolved itself into a man, staring fixedly at me from behind a veil of tangled hair. I blinked in surprise at the sudden strong impulse to brush that tangled hair from his pale forehead. Remember what I told you about hindsight?

There I was, on this memorable June night, a fifty-two year-old woman with a husband, a family, and a decent job—with benefits. For more than twenty years I made my living as a computer systems analyst at world-renown Cornell University in the tiny upstate city of Ithaca, New York. I was, at this late stage of life, days away from lay-off status, and I was feeling desperate. Jobs in the IT field were scarce and getting scarcer. I had a huge disadvantage—a woman in my fifties, I couldn't write code with anything resembling competence. I'll tell you, I would rather have been thinking about my retirement years than beginning the long, arduous process of finding another full-time job. But, without a doubt, Ethan and I could not make our mortgage payments solely on the income from my part-time bartending job and his sporadic real estate sales commissions. It was, as it always was between Ethan and me, incumbent on me to find another full-time, salaried position—with benefits.

Ethan and I were having occasional arguments about selling the house. How occasionally? Almost every month—when the mortgage payment fell due and the checking account fell short. We both knew that our house would be a hard sell. Our original home had the audacity to go up in flames one bitter cold April morning—April Fools' Day, as a matter of fact—and the shoddily built hunk of junk that replaced it wouldn't fetch nearly what we were fleeced for in the rebuild. A couple of crooks who called themselves contractors had seen an opportunity to make a quick buck. They'd convinced us they would build our dream house with no hassle and within budget. Three-quarters of the way through the project, we saw clearly that they could no more build a house than I could swoop through the woods under a full moon. Later, as shingles and siding soared off the house during wind storms, we faced the reality that we had spent every last nickel and dime we had plus plenty of nickels and dimes borrowed from friends and family, trying to get restitution for this travesty. No go. I had stood helplessly by, watching my life spiral downwards like shit down a toilet, and those were the thoughts that were bringing me down on this night.

I shook my head as I realized this shadowy guy and I had been standing there, wordlessly staring at each other for some time. He finally nodded toward the two hundred-year-old sway-backed brick building that houses the Central Exchange and whispered with firm insistence, "Please, Mistress. I _beg_ of you." I sighed. _Oh, what the hell_. I really didn't give a crap if this guy mugged me and burned the bar to the ground. What difference did it make?

"Okay," I said, for no sane reason on this Earth. "Fine! If it means that much to you, come in for chrissake." It never occurred to me to protest that the pub was closed and I wanted to go home. That's where it all began, and the entire thing should have been way more than second guessed.

I turned and walked briskly back to the pub and up the stairs to the door, not daring to look over my shoulder and wondering if I'd finally gone round the bend. Pushing through the entrance, I let the screen door bang shut behind me and couldn't bring myself to see if the phantom of the parking lot followed.

The Central Exchange had always had a reputation for harboring ghosts. I've never given much credence to such nonsense. I've never seen, felt, heard, or otherwise experienced paranormal activity, and I am alone in the place many nights from about ten until midnight. If any ghost was going to manifest itself, in whatever fashion, wouldn't that be the time to do it? As I stood there shaking like Jell-O, every hair on my body standing at attention, my scrambled brain worked on a logical explanation for this strange guy, but couldn't really come up with one. I had the presence of mind to lock the door a few moments later, for what it was worth.

"Bless you." The whispered words issued from the dark corner at the other end of the pub.

"What?" I peered down the length of the room, my heart pounding, stomach jumping, and wished I hadn't turned off the lights. Shadows shifted and ran across the walls when cars passed on the highway outside. The neat row of barstools, their legs upturned in surrender atop the long wooden bar, lent a sinister air to the place. The five booths along the wall held more darkness, and I fancied ominous threats under the squat benches. I strained my tired and blurry eyes, trying to locate the source of that seductively quiet voice. And finally, suspicion set in. Creeping stealthily across the floor, I glared into mottled darkness while covertly reaching under the bar for the Louisville Slugger stashed there for just such an occasion.

"Matt? JR?" I said, now hoping this was just another stupid prank the kitchen crew had set up. "If this is your idea of a joke, it's not fucking funny!" I quietly slid the bat out and took one more step forward. I saw him. Hunkered down on the floor, next to the last booth, he looked like a lump of shadow. Trembling, coiled like a rattlesnake, but oddly frightened with one hand raised in supplication, the other clutching knees to chest. _He_ looked scared, but _I_ was the one facing the rattlesnake. Danger vibrated from him, charging the air around us.

"Who _are_ you?" I began, but an uproar swung me around toward the door where a small mob of angry faces peered in, the accompanying fists beating against the door. My brain yelled, _get your damned phone and dial 911_. My body shrieked, _collapse on the floor and pee yourself_. For a change, my brain won: I dropped the bat, heard the wooden clatter as it hit the floor, and fumbled my cell phone out of my pocket. After several shaky stabs at the keypad, I punched those life-saving three digits. In a second, another voice, the voice of salvation, reached out to me.

"Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?"

Yes, panic coursed through my veins, but as people will in emergencies, I ran down my possible responses. _There's a hoard of angry villagers at my door_ or _Help, I'm being attacked by a crazed mob bent on death and destruction_ or even _The zombie apocalypse has begun!_

When the dispatcher repeated herself, I settled on a breathless, but sane, "I'm trying to close the pub here at Central Exchange and there are a bunch of unruly people outside. I think I need help convincing them to move on."

I had long suspected that the sheriff liked to prowl the area looking for unsteady drivers, because it couldn't have been more than thirty seconds before the cruiser glided into the lot—no lights, no siren. What, he figured he'd sneak up on a mob?

Wait, mob? What mob? As the sheriff came up the steps to the door, I saw that the faces and fists had vanished. It was just the sheriff out there now, bending to peer in the window and looking put out. I crossed the room to unlock the door, knowing I wouldn't come out looking great in this scenario.

"You know it's unlawful to falsely report a crime, right?"

"Officer, I'm sorry. I swear to God. There were like ten, twenty people beating on that door two seconds ago." I stared over his shoulder into the empty parking lot. It was just that—empty.

Eyes narrowed, the lawman leaned slightly forward and sniffed. "Mm-hmm. You your own best customer or what?"

"I had one drink! One!" I covered my eyes with a shaking hand. "Look, I said I'm sorry. They took off, maybe, when they saw me dial my phone."

Heavy annoyed silence while the sheriff's eyes scanned the room.

"Awright. I'll take a look around the lot." He clumped out the door, stomped down the stairs, folded himself back into his cruiser, and pulled out of the parking lot with not even a cursory glance around. And that was that. My tax dollars at work.

"Great, so I'm drunk, a loony, or both," I muttered, then realized I hadn't even mentioned the quivering shadow last seen cowering near the furthest booth.

"Hey, Pal?" I peered into the back of the room and detected no sign of my shadowy stalker. _Where the hell did he..._

"I thank you most sincerely, Mistress," spoken softly into my left ear, so close that his breath stirred my hair. I leaped back.

"Gahh!" The phone went flying and my heel connected with that damned baseball bat. I flailed, desperately trying to avoid the inevitable, but, instead of making tailbone-cracking contact with the hardwood floor, I felt a strong grip on my arms. He set me upright and I stared into the blackest eyes I'd ever seen.

My vision had adjusted finally to what dim light filtered in from the streetlights outside and I could just make out this stranger's features. His pale, deeply lined face was framed by dark tangled hair that hung to slender, almost skinny, shoulders. He wore very faded jeans, and a scuffed tan jacket over a dark-colored flannel shirt. He stood barely an inch taller than me, and probably weighed less. Physically unassuming, yes, but, when his gaze caught mine, I felt my free will scuttle away to some safe corner in my mind. Warning bells sounded in the recesses of my conscience.

Unperturbed by my uneasiness, he swept the room with those mesmerizing eyes. "This is your establishment?"

"Uh, no. No, I don't own it. I'm one of the bartenders."

He looked puzzled at that. "But, how?" He shook his head slightly, and then said "Well, never mind. Suffice it I am safe. And for that, I am in debt to you."

"Ah, yeah." I eased my arms from his grip. "What the hell was that all about? Who were those people?"

"Those people, they wish me dead—once and for all."

"This sort of thing happens every day, doesn't it? And isn't dead usually once and for all?" I smirked at his impossibly pale face floating before me in the gloom. "Okay. Funny joke. Who put you up to this?"

"Joke? No, Mistress." He paced to each window in turn, pulling aside the curtains to stare into the night. "It is most definitely no joke." He turned his eyes on me now, and I felt like he could see my brain. "How would you think this running for my life is a joke?"

"Ha!" I guffawed. " _My_ life is kind of a running joke." Silence. Okay, not funny. "Hey, look. It's getting late, so let's be all done here, right?"

No response. He stared at me, and the silence grew hotly uncomfortable. What was it about those damned black eyes? An eerie, syrupy feeling came stealing into my mind, tugging gently as if I simply _had_ to do, well, to do I had no idea what.

Finally, I said, "Ya know, dude. Whatever your deal is, I'm not in the mood for drama. I need to go home, soon. And you need to leave so I can go home, got it?"

"Yes, I wish to leave." He broke his intense gaze to pace the room again. "But they are there, watching, waiting. They will surely succeed this time."

"Oh, fer fuuuu—" I spluttered before spewing out a diatribe that would have made Archie Bunker shut up and take notice. "I'm about fed up here. I've had a night full of discontented people leaning on my bar, whining about their sad and lonely lives. Before that, a day full of clueless users whining about technology that stopped working after they managed to break it. At my age, I should be dialing it back a bit, right? Taking things a little easy? But, no, I work my ass off just to stay even. Look at this! I'm getting grey hairs, even!" I clutched my thick auburn hair, laced with a few silvery threads.

My nocturnal visitor, unimpressed, continued to prowl the perimeter. I drew myself up to my full five-feet, five-inches and fixed my blue-eyed version of a steely glare at his back. "You know what?" I finished more quietly, feeling done and defeated. "I'm really tired, and I just want to go home. Take yourself and your weird little feud somewhere else. Leave. Now, you pathetic sack of humanity."

He strode back to me and pinned me to the edge of the bar, his hands gripping my arms like steel bands. "Humanity—an admirable quality, yes? Do _you_ possess it?"

"Not at the moment, no!" I spat, twisting futilely in his grip. "Ow! Get your hands off me!"

The angry lines of his face melted to deep regret. He rubbed my arms gently and dropping his hands, moved his glare to the floor. Deep sigh. "Ah, well. I have presumed upon you far too much." His slender frame sagged. "As it happens, I, also, am tired and too weak to run. Truly, I have nowhere to go." So, just like that, he went from dangerous scary crazy guy to pitiful helpless crazy guy.

"Aw, shit. Ok, listen. I really can't let you stay here. I'm sorry," My voice trailed off and his black, black eyes stole into my brain again. I felt that syrupy tug for the second time, a disconcerting shift inside my skull that made me disoriented and dizzy.

"Think on it, Mistress" he said softly, gentle hands stroked down my arms again and his pallid face filled my entire field of vision. "Surely, you know a way. You do. You will help me, of course."

My lips went heavy, as if stung with Novocain, and those traitorous lips began to move of their own accord. I whispered haltingly, "Um...I have a spare room at home." _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ "You are...welcome to use it." _Hello? Am I nuts?_ I blinked. The room oozed back into focus. _What did I just say?_

Why that manipulative little...

He smiled, his lips parting with agonizing slowness, offering tantalizing glimpses of his white teeth glittering in the darkness while his haunting eyes echoed that eerie gleam. "Mistress," he whispered into my soul, "you are most kind. I accept your generous offer."

Chapter 2

A half-hour later—pub closed up, mysterious stranger hustled into my truck—we made it home without further incident, and I was second-guessing again. Hind sight? My life isn't complicated enough. I had to add to it, right?

Walking up the path to the house wasn't easy in spite of the full moon. Both cats slithered out of the darkness to twine themselves around my legs and then offer my house guest the same courtesy. He leaned down, picked up Otis, and held the black feline to his chest. Otis curled up and purred loudly.

"Well. You've got a way with cats, I see. He doesn't like to cuddle."

The stranger smiled at me and buried his nose in Otis's fur, then set him down. "Cats," he said softly, "are most honest creatures. They brook no dissembling. If they will find you worthy, then you are worthy."

"Oh—kay," I turned and continued up the path, stepping carefully around Milo, the orange cat, who was doing his best to trip me up. I unlocked the door and opened it, fiddling with keys and purse, gesturing my guest to enter. He didn't move and I looked up, puzzled, as he stood still at the threshold. "Well?" I said, and held the door a little wider nodding toward the inside.

"You must invite me in," he whispered, toeing the door jam.

I drew a breath, really regretting my impulsive generosity. "Okay, wacko. _Please_ , won't you come in?" He flashed me an embarrassed smile and sidled inside to the foyer.

We were immediately set upon by my neurotic greyhound, Quincy. I tried to shush the foolish dog as he danced around us, whining and waggling himself practically inside out. I was amused; when any stranger enters the house, Quincy barks and growls threateningly, then sulks off to his crate, having said his piece. He especially didn't like strange men but here he was, bouncing up and down, doing his best to lick this particularly strange man's nose, and whining like he had found his long-lost best friend.

"This is?" The man looked at me inquiringly.

"Quincy. Vicious watchdog."

"He is wonderful." The visitor squatted on his heels and gazed eye-to-eye with the animal. To my astonishment, Quincy slathered the fellow's face with his tongue. Rather than cringe and move away, the stranger enjoyed Quincy's ministrations for a moment, and then rose. "If you allow it, a dog will give you love no matter the nature of your own beast," he said, with a sad look and a final pat on Quincy's quivering head.

"Well, anyway. Up here." I started up the staircase to the second-floor bedrooms, but he shot out a hand and grabbed my arm. Again? Damn it! Enough! I turned, jerking my arm away.

"Look," I growled. "I'm going out of my way to help here, when every instinct tells me not to. Stop clutching at me. It's starting to piss me off!"

He raised the offending hand in a gesture of contrition. "I am sorry to have caused you distress, Mistress. However, it would be more comfortable for me to have accommodations of a less—lofty nature."

"And that's another thing! What's with this _mistress_ crap? I'm not your mistress."

"Then, how will I call you?"

"You can call me Anastasia, Annie. That's my name."

"Anastasia," he rolled it around his tongue like someone would a fine wine.

I grimaced, anticipating the usual reaction to my archaic name. "It's kinda awkward, I know. My mother's folks were Russian."

"It is a beautiful name. I shall remember, Mistr—Anastasia. Never this _Annie_." He shook his head and smiled. "Let us go below?"

"Below? You mean the cellar?"

"This home has one, yes?"

"Well, yeah, but," I squinted at him. "It's kinda gloomy down there. There're no windows or doors except for this one," I gestured at the cellar entrance in front of us. "The only way in or out is right here, thanks to the idiots who built this place."

"It seems perfect." He brushed past me to lay a hand on the handle and looked at me, expectantly.

"Um. 'Kay." I squinted at him. "Are you allergic to light or something?"

"Allergic? To light?"

"Yeah, sunlight. What are you, a vampire or something? Because, that would be just about perfect."

He stared blankly at me, and then understanding dawned on his face. "Ah! Yes! Yes, I am that!" He laughed, opened the door, and said, "Let us go below."

What else could I do? I followed.

At the foot of the stairs, with the lights full on, I could finally see him clearly. His face, indeed incredibly pale, was well-lined and framed by rich, chocolate-brown curly hair that brushed his slight shoulders. His head was slightly higher than level with mine, and I figured he must weigh less. He looked so very breakable. It was not easy to determine the color of his eyes. Very thin, light irises rimmed pupils that were almost completely dilated, and the whites looked painfully blood-shot, irritated. He had on well-worn blue jeans, badly stained sneakers, a plaid flannel shirt, and what I decided was a fairly expensive, but fairly old Carhartt jacket—one of the originals, I thought.

The guy looked to be forty-some years old, but the incredibly tired, care-worn sag of his face was good evidence he had spent those forty-some years on hard work and hard living. _Fantastic_ , _I've brought an aging, high-on-something hippy into our house._ _Again_. _Ethan will be thrilled with me_. _Again_.

In the far corner of the cellar, there was a dusty twin-sized mattress, left over from our squatting days when the house was under construction. I found some old sheets and a sleeping bag stuffed into a box in the same corner.

"I'm afraid I don't have extra pillows," I said, looking around at the scattered boxes of junk.

"None needed, Mistr—Anastasia. I am most content."

"Yeah, okay—great." Finished with catering to the guy, I dismissed the chore and a thought struck me. "Hey, so I told you my name; turn about's fair play, right?"

Making up the mattress, he paused for a moment then offered, "I am called Domn."

"Domn," I repeated. "Domn-what?"

He looked at me, puzzled.

"No last name?" I added. "That's it? Just _Domn_?"

"I think so, yes." His brow furrowed.

"You just made that up, right? Is that your real name?"

"It is real enough."

"Well, it sounds kinda fake." I waited. No response. He had turned back to spreading the bed clothes over the mattress. I shrugged, apparently the conversation was over. "Okay. Domn it is."

Finished feathering his nest, he straightened his slight frame, closed his eyes, and swayed a little, looking, if possible, slightly paler.

"Hey," I said, concerned. "You don't look good. You hungry? I've got some leftovers from the restaurant."

"I am not hungry so much as thirsty. A terrible thirst. And tired." He gazed at me with those red-rimmed eyes as if he could see into places I didn't want anyone to see. I backed toward the stairs, feeling behind me for the railing. I had the oddest sense of needing to be back upstairs, and I said, "Well, let me get you some water, at least."

"Thank you. That is kind of you."

I turned with a feeling of relief and trotted up the stairs to be met at the top by none other than Ethan, my long-suffering husband. Ethan was ten years older than me, and sometimes I felt that gap keenly. I knew guilt lines decorated my face as I braced myself for the inevitable scolding.

"What the hell is going on?" he whispered harshly. "Who are you talking to down there? Who's in the basement?"

For a second or two, I considered concocting some ridiculous story, but figured the bizarre truth might confound Ethan sufficiently to grant me respite before I would actually have to deal with the situation. I plunged in, "There's this guy. He's in some kind of trouble and doesn't have anywhere else to go. I sure couldn't let him stay at the Exchange."

Ethan's eyes went wide and white; he stared at me in complete disbelief.

"You brought home some stray from the bar? Just like that? What kind of trouble is he having? And why is he having it in our basement? What were you thinking? If you _were_ thinking." Like a kid berated by an angry parent, I had heard this kind of rapid-fire grilling so often I almost felt immune.

I squared my shoulders, and fired back, "I don't know what's going on myself, Ethan. But there were a bunch of people trying to get into the pub at him—he says they want to kill him. I had to call the sheriff, even, and well, I was scared."

"Great! You've got some homeless guy in our fire-trap of a cellar—that's highly illegal, by the way—a bunch of people are trying to kill him, and the sheriff did what, exactly?"

"Exactly nothing," I sighed. "He thought I was loony, or drunk. By the time he got there, the mob was gone and—"

"So, why didn't you just hand this guy over to the sheriff?"

"I—don't know." I did know it was not an unreasonable question, but I didn't have an answer. I put a hand to my eyes, suddenly exhausted and sick of the whole situation. "Listen, I have to get him some water, and then I really need to go to bed. Can we just let it be for now and deal with it in the morning? Please?"

No way. "Why do you do this, Ana?" Ethan passed a weary hand over his thick but greying hair, his brown eyes dark with resignation. He tried, apparently, to deal with his huge burden to bear, me. "If it's not one sad story, it's another. We can't afford to feed and house every hobo in the county."

"I'm pretty sure this one isn't from this county," I retorted. "He sounds like he's from freakin' Russia or something."

"Well, fan-tas-tic," Ethan's voice was thick with sarcasm. "You've gone international now?"

I lowered my head and gritted my teeth, knowing the harangue might go on for an hour. Yes, I habitually tried to fix everyone's problems. I did occasionally bring home sad little people who just needed a boost and maybe a cup of soup. Ethan was right; we couldn't afford it, but I couldn't seem to stop doing it. And this particular case, this skinny, shaggy Slavic fellow, appealed to me on a profoundly primal level that I did not understand. I felt pulled to him from somewhere deep inside, every time his eyes made contact with mine and that soft, insistent voice brushed my ears. His touch was oddly cold, but he radiated a heat that drew me like a moth to a candle. He was so alone, so needy; and those people were trying to _kill_ him, for God's sake! I should just stand by and watch it all unravel?

"For the love of God, Ethan!" I finally got a word in edgewise. "Can you just go back to bed? We'll deal with it in the morning? I'm asleep on my feet here."

"This is beyond ridiculous!" His parting shot hit me as he spun on his heel and stomped his way back up the stairs.

I dragged myself to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and took it downstairs to my hapless homeless stranger.

"I trust there is no trouble?" he inquired over the rim of the glass.

"Nooo," I sighed. "None at all. Listen, I'm going to go have a cigarette, and then I'm off to bed. You're okay down here?"

"Yes."

I waited a moment, gazing thoughtfully at him, hoping to see where the attraction was, and then I went upstairs, closed the cellar door, and, after a second's hesitation, clicked the lock on the handle, satisfied at its solid sound. I tiptoed out to the back deck trying not to make any noise. Drawing more attention from Ethan was not on my list of to-do-next things. Lighting up, enjoying the small flare of the flame in the darkness, I drew smoke in, finding that the quiet and solitude set off a small pity party inside me. Fuming, I flung curse-laden questions into the night sky, where I imagined my deceased father hovered. Poor guy, he made a terrific target for my futile inquiries into the pathetic lot of my life.

"Why do I always seem to get more than my fair share of shit thrown at me?" I whispered hoarsely. "I do my god-damnedest for people and what do I get? A load of shit! You're supposed to do unto others, right? So, I do unto others and what do I get? I get done AT. Fucking... shit."

I didn't expect an answer. Was he even up there? Was anyone, anything, even up there? I leaned my arms on the wobbly deck railing and blew an angry cloud of smoke into the yard.

"Anastasia, I beg for your pardon. I am proving an inconvenience." Domn whispered at my shoulder. I leaped about two feet straight up.

"Jesus, dude! You have got to stop sneaking up on me like that!"

How did he get out of the locked cellar?

I put a hand to my chest and took a deep breath, willing my heart to slow down. "Okay, yeah," I agreed. "You are somewhat of an inconvenience. It's alright—so long as it's only a few days, just until you get your feet under you."

He nodded absently, seemingly fascinated by the chicken house dimly visible in the pearly light of the moon.

"You have livestock?" he asked.

_Off topic, much?_ "Yeah, we have a few chickens. We like the fresh eggs."

He nodded, still gazing beyond my line of sight. Abruptly, he turned and bowed slightly, saying "I will leave you to your indulgence and bid you good night."

"Okay. Sleep well. See you in the morning."

"Yes."

And he was gone. I stubbed out the cigarette butt and headed into the house, longing for my bed. Oh, and I checked the cellar door on my way past—it was locked.

*~*~*

Of course, I slept badly that night. Between imagined waves of anger emanating from the lump of Ethan on his side of the bed, and the uneasy feeling that something was just not right downstairs, I slipped from dozing to sharply awake most of the night. No surprise, just as rosy-fingered dawn made her appearance, I fell deeply, dreamlessly asleep.

When I finally woke, that special brand of silence said Ethan was gone from the house and it was much later than I wanted it to be. A glance at my cell phone on the night table proved me right—nearly eleven o'clock. Time to email in "sick". I had a feeling I would let more than one person down today. In the shower, I remembered the sad soul in the cellar.

"Aw, hell." I shut off the water. Still dripping, I wrapped myself in a terry bathrobe, and squished down two flights of stairs to check on him. The form under the rumpled bed clothes reassured me that he must be sound asleep. I breathed a short-lived breath of relief, soon realizing I would have to _do_ something with him today. Considering my husband's reaction last night, I knew Ethan was not up to entertaining a lost waif. I decided I'd finish my shower, get dressed, and deal with whatever came next.

What came next was a text message from Larry, the Tuesday bartender, asking if I could cover for him tonight. Dammit! I did not want to leave this Domn guy to Ethan's brutal brand of rudeness. I sighed. However inconvenient it might be, Domn had to come to work with me. Mulling that over, I had just poured myself a cup of coffee when the cellar door squeaked open and Domn made his appearance.

"Well! Good morning, ah, Domn!"

"Morning it is? Not the best time of day for me, I must confess."

"Well, barely still morning; it's almost noon, as a matter of fact. Want some coffee?"

"Thank you, no. I never drink coffee."

"Suit yourself. Hey, what am I going to do with you now? I have to work tonight; the other bartender's sick."

"Mistr—ah, Anastasia. I am still weak and vulnerable. I fear I must impose upon your gracious hospitality some time more. I beg for your pardon, but I am at a loss."

"Well, if _you're_ at a loss, I'm pretty sure I'm not much better off." I gazed at him quizzically. "What the hell, Domn? Are you some kind of cult escapee or something? Do those people wanna kill you because they're afraid you'll reveal their secret ritual? What's the deal with you?"

He directed his perplexed gaze just over my head, making me suddenly worry that a spider dangled there. I glanced quickly up, brushing the top of my own head with a nervous hand.

He spoke again. "I am unsure what you will believe of me."

"Oh. Okay, sure. I've seen movies like this. You're a time traveler from the past or the future? You're a ghost? An alien from another planet? Or you're just a loony escaped from the asylum? With a name like Domn...I'm gonna go with the alien from another planet."

He looked at me, brow furrowed, pupils still pretty dilated, though not quite as badly. I could detect a little more light iris. _What is this guy on_?

"I am not from the future, nor am I a ghost. I am certainly of this world." He drew a breath to say something else. Suddenly I didn't want to hear it.

"Look," I said. "To be honest, my husband is pretty pissed off about your being here, so I guess it's best you come to the pub with me tonight. Stay away from him for now. Could you just sit in a corner and not cause any trouble while I work my shift?"

He pulled a wry face and replied, "I am most delighted to accompany you, Anastasia. I shall endeavor to mind my manners."

A faint hint of sarcasm from this earnest fellow? _Jesus Christ,_ I thought. _Why am I being made to feel like a bitch? All I want is to get through tonight without another 911 call._

*~*~*

Tuesday night is wing night at the Exchange—two dozen for the price of one. We do make the best chicken wings outside Buffalo, so it's usually busy, but I always thought the main attraction was Larry, everybody's love muffin. When the regulars saw me behind the bar, all I saw was a sea of disappointed faces. It got old fast, but I did my best to be witty and engaging, which is all people who come out drinking really want from their bartender—that, and a constantly refilled drink.

At one point, I glanced up to see Domn deep in conversation with one of the regulars, a Ms. Alexis White, who was a very lonely lady, having recently divorced, and who, I suspected, had an enormous crush on Larry. Ms. White seemed to have no problem transferring her affections to Domn. She leaned in close—very close—to say something in his ear. When he turned and smiled into her eyes, I was astonished to feel a sharp jealous pang in my gut.

_Hey, Lady. He's my homeless guy, dammit. I found him first._ Or, rather, he found me _,_ I guess.

The next time I thought to look that way, both Domn and Alexis were gone. Another stab of jealousy, but I mentally shook myself. _What the hell, Annie. You're not only married, you've known the guy less than a day. He's exacerbated the problems between you and Ethan quite nicely, and he doesn't seem like much of a prospect, anyway. Do you even want a prospect? You're better off with him gone._

Still, I felt strangely downcast that he seemed to have already found another hostess. Or mistress. _Whatever._

The night dragged on; people demanded too much of me, and it was hard to keep a smile on my face, crack jokes, and tend to their every request. The last beer-soaked patron drifted out the door around eleven-thirty and I grabbed the compost bucket to dump what must have been thirty pounds of chicken bones. When I turned to head back from the bins, and paused to light a cigarette, I saw Domn. He sat on the retaining wall behind my truck, smiling faintly, gazing into space.

"Hey—" I hurried over to study his face in the glow of the streetlight above. He looked much better, less worn out. Since his pupils, still slightly dilated by the darkness, had shrunk to a more reasonable size, I could finally see what color his eyes were. White irises? No, very, very light blue, like the blue of glacier ice. _Mmmm, interesting_.

"Where did you go?" I blurted. "Aren't you worried about those people coming after you?"

"I apologize, Anastasia, for causing you alarm. I went for a stroll with a lovely lady, and I have regained much of my strength. She was more than accommodating."

I smirked and sat beside him. "Accommodating, eh? Great. Domn got some. Good for you." _Go away, stupid little jealous twinge_.

He smiled. "Oh, yes, I got some. I was so—" Suddenly realizing what I meant, he opened his eyes wide. "Oh. Anastasia, no. I would not take advantage in that way."

"Well, too much information. Never mind. You still need a place to stay? Or is your lovely accommodating lady putting you up?" Even to me, I sounded shrewish.

He looked troubled and I felt guilty. Did I have some claim on him, a reason to feel possessive?

"I have done nothing for you but to cause you grief—you, who have been nothing but kind to me." He moved close and studied my face. "I wish to make amends," he added softly, almost inaudibly. He took my hand, a gentle thumb stroked my palm. "I think you want this. I think you are the _one_."

My mind, my whole head filled with the reflections in his eyes, and I felt my body go heavy; my heart thumped in my chest. _Wait, what? What did I want? I'm the one what?_ _Is he coming on to me?_

"I want this. Yes, I want.... I need...." My voice vibrated in my own ears, sounding thready, breathless. "Yess— Oh, yes, please—"

"As you wish." He stood and pulled me to my feet.

The next instant, I found myself in the throes of a passionate embrace. When he buried his face in my neck, I moved eagerly toward the heat, like that moth, and was shocked by a sharp pain striking at my shoulder, where my pulse thrummed just behind my collarbone. The burning pain coursed through my body, making me gasp and tighten. Then every muscle melted into molten liquid while I watched trees and stars spin at the edges of my vision. I was falling into a deep hole lined with the softest down.

"Aahh," I breathed into the dark, wheeling sky. Something primal gripped me, controlled me. _To hell with marriage, house, job._ Engulfed in heavy weightlessness, I teetered on the edge of now. Domn's soft lips pulled at my skin and a musky incense filled my nostrils, like nitrous oxide. And, like nitrous oxide's effects, I was ready to let _everything_ go—everyone, everything.

_Just go. Let me be. Leave me alone_. _Sweet release. Blessed comfort_. _I'm dying, I feel like I must be dying_.

I sank into it, gratefully. Long, delicious moments passed until guilt nagged me. _Ethan_ , I remembered thinking. _The house, our girls, my job_. My conscience battled my pleasure. I struggled back to the surface from the bottom of a warm, deep pond.

"Wait, Domn. Stop. Mmmm, wait. I can't—"

I pushed him, hard, and my eyes refocused on his face—wet, dark lips, then obsidian eyes reflecting my pale, terrified face.

"I _can't_!" I said, my voice catching.

"But, I am so very sure of you," he said, eyes locking with mine. He searched my face and I felt completely, undeniably transparent. I'm sure he saw the regret there, but it didn't upset him; rather, it seemed to settle his mind.

"Yes," he said after a moment. I saw sadness in his eyes as he relinquished his hold on me. "Of course. As you say."

"No," I shook my head, pleading, "you don't understand. I want to. Oh, yes, I want to. It's just not a good idea for me now." Overactive libido notwithstanding, I was astonished at my utter lack of control.

My dangerous new friend sat down again, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes studying the gravel at his feet.

"Perhaps I am misunderstanding," he said after a moment. "I see in you a strong need, Anastasia." He looked at me, his head to one side. "Is there not such a need in you? You do not feel it?"

I took a seat beside him again, feeling shaky and deprived somehow. "Oh, my God yes. Yes there is. _Quite_ a need." I licked my suddenly dry lips and became completely aware of how hot and damp that need felt. "Usually, I'll just, umm, take care of it. I've—" I ducked my head, embarrassed, "I've been known to stray once or twice." I raised my pleading eyes to his now. "Don't judge me. I do love my husband! But I have a strong, err, sex drive, and it's just that his drove off a few years ago. It's been so damned long since I felt what you just made me feel."

At this point, Domn's face was a picture of confusion "I am—" he halted, then tried again, "I do not understand. What is this sex drive?"

"You're kidding, right? Look," Raising my hands in supplication, I stood and began walking back toward the pub. "It's tempting, very tempting," I said over my shoulder, "but I should probably not risk it right now, that's all."

"Anastasia, do not leave." Domn slipped in front of me, and gazed earnestly into my eyes, his hands on my shoulders. "Please enlighten me. What is it you are telling me?"

"I was—um—I thought you wanted to have an affair," I fumbled. "A love affair." _Oh Lord could this get any more awkward?_ My face flamed hot and glowed red. "What were _you_ talking about?"

"Ohh." He went quiet for a long moment and I watched his face, sure I would see some sign of mockery or mirth. "I was thinking the same, of sorts." He flashed a grin then covered it with his hand. "I am sorry. I do not wish to make light of something with such importance to you." He sobered, straightening to his full height of maybe five-foot-six. "I am begging for your pardon, Anastasia. I, perhaps, ask of you too much and too quickly. I can wait—until such a time as you are ready."

_God, his eyes are spellbinding—and those lips_....

Feeling a twinge of regret, I almost weakened then hurriedly, purposefully, brushed past him, intent on finishing my closing duties. I flew through the routine and walked briskly to my truck, knowing he would follow. Once home, with Domn safely in his cellar lair, I trudged upstairs to the master bathroom to undress for bed, and found what looked to be dried blood on the shoulder of my once pristine white work blouse.

"What?" I turned, seeing the mirror reflecting a deep cut near my collarbone. "What the hell," I said out loud. "The bastard bit me!"

That explained the stab of pain; it wasn't passion, after all.

Disgusted, and feeling thoroughly naïve, I carefully washed the wound, applied Neosporin— _Ouch ouch ouch! This stuff never stung before—_ and covered it with two or three Band-Aids. Then I scrubbed the blouse with hand soap and stuffed it in the hamper, hoping the stain would come out in the wash.

"He'd better not have rabies," still muttering to myself. "What kind of a pervert—" _Oh, boy. He's one of those_. _Not so much an aging hippy as an aging Goth harboring a fetish for biting people and drinking their blood. Ick, ick, ick._ Though the vampire myth is one of my favorites, I found the reality more than a little distasteful. _Wait. What did he say last night? When I questioned his preference for the cellar? When I asked him if he was, what, a vampire?_

"Yes, I am!" he had said, and I thought he was joking. _What the hell? Vampires do not exist._ I felt nauseated and leaned against the sink, breathing deeply, slowly. What had I gotten myself into? I raised my head and stared into my mirror at the reflection of my pale face—my incredibly pale face, with sunken eyes and pupils enlarged, bottomless.

"I'm scared," I whispered.

But anger and disbelief set in, and then righteous indignation. "You bite me again, pal, and I might have to perform some home dentistry on you." You could say I was just a little conflicted.

Chapter 3

I was utterly exhausted when an annoyingly cheerful sun shoved her blazing face between the window curtains the next morning. I had slept deeply, probably snoring to beat the band. Ethan's side of the bed was empty, which meant he decided he'd get better rest on the couch downstairs. Still, I felt—drained. Yeah, drained and faded. Less substantial. I guess the excitement of last night and the trauma to my shoulder affected me more than I had thought. Groaning, I rolled over and peered at my cell phone for the time—a reasonable seven-thirty. That should've been plenty of sleep; but, no matter how deep, the sleep was obviously not enough. Surely another "sick day" was in order.

From my phone, I composed a brief, "Still not feeling well, won't be in today," email to my team, then rolled out of bed to gather some clothes, take a shower and try to become more human. More or less.

Staring in the mirror, I peeled back the Band-Aids to discover, not the deep bloody cut I was expecting, but only a mildly angry red line in the hollow of my shoulder. There should have at least been a scab.

_Damn, I'm a quick healer_.

When I trudged downstairs, I found Ethan having breakfast in the sunroom. I got myself a cup of coffee and, squinting in the bright light, joined him.

"Going to work today?" He managed to tear his eyes away from the newspaper to glance up at me. My charming husband did a double-take and stared. "Wow. You look like hell."

"Thanks very much," I growled. "I feel like hell, so it's appropriate. No. I'm not going into the office today. What's the point?"

"Well. It might be wise to keep some good will there in case you need a reference for another job. You _are_ planning on getting another job, right?"

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of forcing you to actually try and make a living." Ugh, as soon as the words jumped off my tongue, I wished I could have grabbed them and stuffed them back in my mouth.

Ethan's eyes narrowed, and he stabbed his egg with unnecessary force. "I think I've been doing pretty good lately."

"Yes, I know. You are. I'm sorry. I don't know what made me say that." I frowned, reconsidered, and couldn't stop my damned tongue. I went for his jugular, "No. I know damned well what made me say that. You haven't brought in a single dime in months and, once again, we're short on the mortgage payment! Aren't you tired of it? I know I am."

"Yeah I'm pretty tired of it. But what do you want me to do? I can't get another job at my age. No-one's going to hire a sixty year-old man. And I told you, things are getting better..."

"You've told me that I don't know how many times. Always it's getting better. _Getting._ That's the operative word. It never fucking _gets_ better."

"You're tired of me," he said suddenly. "Aren't you?"

I drew a breath, not sure I wanted to answer. For a second, I thought, _He's right. I'm tired of him._ But, I gazed across the table at his bowed head. His strong hands, positioned on either side of his breakfast plate, gave me the urge to reach out and cover them with my own to reassure him somehow. The moment passed.

He drew his hands back, as if he knew what I was thinking, and picked up his fork.

"No," I said finally. "Not tired of _you_. Tired of all this, this crap we have to deal with. Tired of worrying about it. And tired of working sixty-hour weeks and getting nowhere."

Silence as he finished his eggs and toast. Ethan got up abruptly, took plate and coffee cup into the kitchen, and went outside to begin his day with yard work, something that soothed his troubled soul. Minutes later, he was at the screen door, his face tight and angry.

"That raccoon is back." Ethan spat the words and cast an accusing glare that clearly said I had something to do with this new trauma.

_What are you pissed at me for?_ I _didn't invite the damned thing in._ Out loud, I said, "Well, hell, honey, I'll set the trap. How many chickens did he get?"

"Just the one. I'll let you deal with it." He turned away and got back to his garden, having, as usual, passed a problem to me.

"Thanks," I said to the screen door. God knew Ethan wasn't listening

Out in the chicken house, I found the unfortunate hen with her neck ripped out and pretty much drained of blood. Raccoons and weasels operate this way: They only eat the heads and crop and leave the rest of the body to rot. What a waste. I'd respect the damned things a little more if they would at least eat the whole chicken. The poor old girl was stiff with rigor mortis. She'd been out here for a while.

Disgusted with the raccoon and with Ethan, I grabbed the dead hen by her feet and trudged out to the yard where I could toss her over the hedgerow for the coyotes. I found my path strewn with dead squirrels and rabbits.

"What the hell?" I said out loud. "Hey, Ethan?"

"What?"

"Where's Quincy?"

He looked up absently from his gardening, clearly over his little burst of temper. "In the house. Why?"

"Did you see all this?" I gestured at the trail of dead rodents; this was not the work of a raccoon or a weasel.

He frowned impatiently and with less than the interest I'd have expected, he concluded, "Coyote." Then, an after-thought, "Or the neighbor's dog. Get rid of that mess, too, will you?"

_What coyote kills its prey and doesn't eat it?_ I wondered, but said "Yeah, sure," and trudged off to get shovel and bucket.

After cleaning up the carnage, I considered my options. Let's see, I could lie around stupidly, maybe do a job search, or clean up the kitchen. I opted for lying around stupidly, watching lame movies, and drinking cup after cup of coffee. It was that kind of day, and I didn't even budge when, somewhat later, Ethan passed by. He had showered, changed, and taken himself off to his office with a terse, "See you later," flung at me as he swept out the front door. There was really no need for that final slam of the door; I was well aware that he resented my down time.

Sometime after noon it occurred to me I hadn't had a thing to eat. I went to the refrigerator and, staring into its depths, spotted a dish of hamburger. Perfect. I could almost taste the delicious sandwich I would make for myself, maybe put some of that Pepper Jack cheese on top, with a little hot sauce. Before I could act on my desire, I realized I had been idly pinching off pieces of burger and popping them into my mouth. Raw. _Oog_. I do like my beef rare, but this was kind of extreme. I took the dish out of the 'fridge and set about making a proper sandwich. Cooked. It was just as satisfying as I'd imagined—thick, juicy, and very rare—the blood dribbling down my chin, and no husband sitting across from me, trying not to gag. I unabashedly licked the plate clean, then set it in the sink and wandered over to my soft, comfortable recliner. As I stretched out luxuriously, I sighed in contentment, and just a tiny trace of guilt, and clicked on the television.

During the second movie, Domn emerged silently from his cellar lair, stopping behind my recliner to touch my shoulder. I leaped up to face him, and thought again how much I needed him to quit with the stealth maneuvers. "What!?" I snapped.

He stepped back deferentially, "I beg for your pardon. Would it be much trouble if I should bathe and ask of you some clothing? I am," he glanced down at himself, "in need of cleansing."

_At least he's got a sense of personal hygiene_ , I thought.

"No trouble at all," I hurriedly led him upstairs, showed him the shower and towels, and fetched what seemed to be his preference: a pair of old jeans along with a flannel shirt. The jeans were Ethan's. H _e won't mind,_ I told myself without much conviction. The shirt was one of Dad's old favorites that I had snapped up when Mom was cleaning out his closet after his funeral. _Dad definitely won't mind._ Well, he really had nothing to say about it anyway, did he?

"I do thank you." He stood too close to me and searched my eyes with his suddenly more human eyes—the pupils had shrunk to a normal size for the brightly lit bathroom, exposing glacier-blue irises, and the whites were actually white now. With an effort, I pulled my gaze from his and focused on the tile at our feet, my hands shaking, stomach jumping. "Anastasia," he went on, softly, caressing my name with his voice and my body with his eyes, "Please." His hand cupped my elbow; he leaned in closer. I could feel a jolting, electric energy crackle between us, raising the delicate hairs along my arms and sending a shiver down my back.

"No," I breathed as I pulled back. I scurried from the bathroom back down the stairs to my recliner and my stupid movies.

How was this weird little Slav getting under my skin like this? Was it the self-assured commanding arrogance that abruptly morphed into humble pleading? The eyes that went from blood-thirsty snake to sad puppy dog in a second? I usually defended my personal space with vigor, but this guy was plowing right into it like he had every right to grab, stroke, and _bite—_ yes _, bite_ me—with impunity. I resolved to tell him off—right away—as soon as he finished with his shower. Bath. Whatever he was doing up there. But, when I heard him come down the stairs, my nerves prickled and my resolve quivered and curled up in the pit of my stomach. I pretended to ignore his undeniably disturbing presence as I concentrated on the movie.

While I sat staring at a TV screen I didn't even see, Domn moved around the end of the couch, and I felt the tiniest trickle of sweat between my breasts. I tensed. He settled some distance from me, _oh thank God_ , and seemed content to watch quietly. I could not have told you what images flickered across that screen. As the tense atmosphere grew thick and then thicker, until I thought I would suffocate, I stopped the movie, steeled my spine, and faced him.

"Domn." It pleased me that my voice hardly quivered at all. He looked at me expectantly. _God, those eyes ._ "So, um, last night..."

"Yes?" He nodded, waited.

"Well. Did you," I cleared my throat and sat up a little, "did you—bite me?"

His lips moved in an upward arc, just a bit, and he quickly covered his mouth with a hand, his eyes lighting up with what I could only describe as sheer delight.

"Yes! I most certainly did!"

"Don't you think that's kinda weird?"

He looked troubled, puzzled. "I misunderstand. I thought you were inviting me."

"Inviting you? To bite me?"

"You asked me to help you. From your troubles."

"What troubles?"

"Soon, you will lose a job. Soon, you will lose your marriage. And soon, you will lose your home. All of this worry wears on you and makes of you an old woman. I know you wish to be done with this life and begin anew, yes? In this, I am eager to help."

"Whoa, whoa! First of all, _how_ do you know all that? And second, how does _biting_ me help my troubles?"

He sat back, his expression earnest and pleading, and said, "I would be blind to not see the misery in your eyes, and then I hear talk between yourself and your husband. I did not mean to pry, but I was given to hope that here was a path on which I could lead you away from your worry and trouble."

He leaned forward then, his face intensely eager. "There is a way one can exist at the edge of humanity, beholden to no-one, free from society and its demands. You have been so very good and helping me. I wish to repay your kindness in this."

I sat dumbfounded as I realized what he implied—incredible implications more suited to a late-night movie than to my life. _Well, Ana. What the hell have you stepped in this time?_

I narrowed my eyes and shook my head to clear some really creepy cobwebs. "Whoa again," I said. "Just hang the fuck on."

Lucky for him, the front doorbell rang at that precise moment. I was just about to let loose one of my tirades on him; instead, I rose to answer the door. Domn rose with me and, so lightly that I barely felt his touch, he laid a hand on my arm. He whispered, "I know who is there. Please, for a while longer, keep me safe."

"Look, I..." His eyes pleaded. I felt caution whoosh out of me as though I had deflated. I nodded. "Fine. Okay."

His fingers brushed my face, feather light, before he smiled slightly and turning, descended into the cellar. I closed my eyes and waited for the shivers to subside, then steeled myself to answer the bell.

A gaunt crow of a man draped in a threadbare, black trench coat and sporting a defeated-looking fedora, stood on the porch, his eyes hidden behind thick black glasses. His hollow, tired face stirred a memory in the back of my mind.

"Madam, allow me to introduce myself," he said, echoing Domn's chewy accent. "I am Dr. Rikard Cruciat (it sounded something like _crew-chat_ ). I wonder if I could take a moment of your time?" _What the hell was that accent? Hungarian? Russian?_

"What's this about?" I asked, stepping out onto the front porch and closing the door behind me.

The doctor glanced around, looking extremely uncomfortable, then jerked his chin toward the door. "Could we not speak of this inside, please? The matter is of a somewhat sensitive nature."

"I'm not in the habit of inviting strangers into my home. As a matter of fact..." He cut me off and my irritation rose—another man who thought to manipulate me?

"Oh, are you not?" he said. "I beg to differ. For you have quite the stranger in your home at this moment."

That did it. I glared and drew myself up again, needing my entire five-feet-five-inches to bolster me. "Okay, look. What is it with you people and your weird accents? Where the hell are you from? Russia?"

"And who are these _people_ of which you speak who have these _accents_?" he asked, looking exactly like a cop who had cornered a criminal.

_Aw, shit._ Unwilling to say more, I tried, and failed, to stare him down.

"We should speak of this inside. I mean you no harm, please believe me. In fact, I wish to keep you from harm. Let me in?"

"Suddenly, I am surrounded by freaks and weirdos," I grumbled, but once again, I found myself unable to figure out why I turned and opened the door to admit yet another freaky weirdo into my house. "Fine. Come in."

We sat in the living room—he perched on the sofa, hat and glasses in hand, his slate grey eyes pinned their gaze on me. I sat tensely on the edge of the recliner waiting for him to continue, and he did.

"Madam, I must inform you—you've been harboring a dangerously disturbed man. I suggest you relinquish him to my care before he causes harm to you or your loved ones."

My hand involuntarily stole up to the cut on my collarbone, but I quickly lowered it to my lap as I defended, "He would never hurt us. Me. Anyone."

"It is only a matter of time, Madam. He probably wouldn't mean to, I agree, but something could set him off and he'd be helpless to stop himself."

"Okay, you're starting to freak me out a little here. Why don't you tell me what's wrong with him?"

"Well, it is, er, a delicate matter, as I said. He is victim to a dreadful disease. He is, um, of the delusion that he must...must drink blood, preferably human blood, to survive."

"He thinks he's a vampire." I twitched.

Dr. Cruciat coughed and fluttered his hands. "Yes. So, you see..."

"You do agree, doctor, that there's no such thing?" I think I was trying to convince myself more than convincing him.

He smiled indulgently. "Of course, there is no such creature as the folklore would have us believe. But my patient believes there is, and he thinks he is one. Therefore, it's rather imperative that I take him into my care. He will be dangerous to you and to himself. Realize that he will starve in the throes of his fetish to exist on blood, and only blood."

I stood up, unsure whether it was anger or fear—or a little of both—that drove me to my feet. "Okay. I've had about enough of this crap. Domn drinks _water_ ; a hell of a lot of water. But I've yet to serve him a big ol' glass of human blood," I hesitated, then realized I hadn't seen him really _eat_ anything. In fact, he politely but firmly refused solid food. And there was that cut which I found myself fingering again. I dropped my hand. "I don't think...well, he's a little off, I admit. But, surely he's harmless. Nobody in their right mind goes around feeding on blood."

Dr. Cruciat stood also, reaching out a hand as if he could seize what I said before I ran away. He scored his point, "But you see! No-one in their right mind _would_ go around feeding on blood! And he is not in his right mind!

"I beg of you, Madam." Dr. Cruciat leaned forward urgently, getting way too close for my comfort level. "Heed me. He is a cunning hypnotist as well as a psychopath. Clearly, he has worked his will on you."

"No-one has worked their will on me," I snapped, with more bravado than I felt, and backed a step or two away. "And, speaking of psychopaths, weren't you one of those crazies in the mob at the pub the other night? Yeah, now I know where I've seen your face—at the door that night."

"Mob? There were but us two, myself and my assistant, ah, my nurse Popândău. I apologize if we frightened you, but we were desperate to retrieve our patient. For his own good, you understand."

I frowned and backed a little more. "I swear I saw about twenty people."

It was his turn to step— toward me, his eyes focused like lasers on mine. "It was dark. You were startled," his voice gentled, rising and falling in a vaguely familiar cadence. "I apologize for frightening you, but the matter was, still is, urgent. I need to take custody of my patient and be on my way. You'll agree."

"You cannot have me, _Cruciat_."

Gah! I crashed back to reality and Domn stood at my shoulder, staring daggers at the doctor. Clutching my chest, I whirled to face my guest. "Jesus, Domn! Once again, you violate the _do not sneak up on Annie_ rule." He ignored me.

"I have been given sanctuary in this home! Sanctuary!" he hissed at the other man, eyes burning like icy fire. "You dare not defy sanctuary. Not even you." Neither paid me the slightest attention as they faced off, glaring into each other's eyes. _Which head will explode first_ , I found myself wondering, and a crazy laugh echoed in my head.

"Fiend," Dr. Cruciat snarled. "Cease this charade. Come with me so we can help you."

"Help me? By imposing the slow death upon me?" Domn hurled the words, matching drama for drama. "I reject that manner of help!"

Though by far the shorter man, Domn, with his intense fierceness, actually appeared to loom over the doctor. They reverted to their native language, whatever the hell it was, and burbled and hissed at each other, eyes blazing, fingers curled into claws. It looked precisely like a real live role-playing game being acted out in my living room, and I might have been amused if my nerves weren't so jangled and my brain completely in knots. What happened to my lazy day of stupid movies?

"Okay!" I yelled finally, "Break. It. Up. Dr. Cruckshack, I need you to leave. Now." I bit off every word; how much can a woman take?

" _Cruciat_ ," he spat at me, then waved a hand at Domn. "This man claims sanctuary," the doctor turned back to Domn and glared fiercely. "As if you are some poor, persecuted soul! Sanctuary is for those who require and deserve respite! Not for an unholy demon of darkness and death, like you!"

"Jesus" I pushed my way between them and, vaguely amazed at my bravery, glared up into Dr. Cruciat's flushed face and mad, red eyes. "What the hell kind of doctor calls his patient a demon, for God's sake?"

"For God's sake? For God's sake, you should heed me."

"And who the hell talks like you two, anyway? You're making my brain hurt!"

Domn touched my shoulder; icy cold seeped through the fabric of my shirt. "Anastasia. I beg you. Tell this doctor you wish me to stay. Enforce your offer of sanctuary!"

Turning my head to meet his eyes, I saw the pupils were dilated again and the whites looked badly bloodshot. _Oh, Christ. Why am I such a weirdo magnet?_ But my mouth betrayed me. "You can stay," I found myself saying. "Of course. You must stay." I turned back to Dr. Cruciat. "I think it'd be wise for you to leave."

The doctor still looked defiant, but turned toward the front door. Putting his glasses and hat back on, he said, "A word alone, if you will, Madam."

I sighed, but followed him to the porch.

"I warn you, I _will_ persist in this," he said, so softly that I felt, rather than heard, his words. "There is nothing I can do for now, but rest assured, I will have my patient back."

"We'll see." I turned to go back in, but he stopped me with a raised hand.

"At the very least, come see me in my office." He handed me a business card pulled from his inside pocket. "Please. And soon." Then he spun around and, like some giant crow, flapped his way down the steps and walkway to get in the passenger side of a battered late model car waiting in our driveway. The vehicle was, I assumed, chauffeured by nurse Popândău. What had he almost called him? His assistant. _Minion,_ I thought as I closed my front door. Domn waited near the cellar door, his face looking terribly anxious. He said urgently, "Mistress, it is clear to me now. I must finish making you!"

" _Anastasia_! And finish making me _what_?"

He came forward and took both my hands in his which were so cold that I nearly pulled away. There it was again, that hypnotic stare, deep into my eyes, and I was mesmerized by the bottomless pupils ringed in fiery red.

"I feel I would be the stronger should you be fully made," he said, his gaze softening, but whether in humility or pride, I couldn't tell. "And, fully mine."

"Fully your what, exactly?"

"My...lady. My _pereche sufletul._ " He shook his head and murmured, "English," in frustration. He backed up a step and I barely heard the next words, "My mate. My soul mate."

For a moment, I wondered if I were paralyzed by shock, but I managed a deep breath. "Domn. Do you have any idea what you're asking me to do?"

"I have given a great deal of thought for this, yes."

"No! No, I don't think you have! Not from my point-of-view. If I understand you correctly, you want me to just take off with you?"

"'Take off'? I am not familiar..."

"Just leave? Leave with you? And go where? You're kind of a lost soul yourself. Aren't you asking me to drop everything and follow you? Who do you think you are? Jesus Christ?"

"No," he laughed shortly. "Not him."

I barely noticed his response. "I've got a husband! A family! I have a mortgage! Bills! A job. No, two jobs. No, actually, only one job soon..." My voice got weaker with each obstacle I named, and I began to feel creeping doubt about what these things were worth.

"Oh, Anastasia. You may still have these things, if you wish. Though I think you truly no longer wish to carry such burdens. I would give you a new life, one free of worries. You will be stronger in some ways, more vulnerable in others. But only think of it! You would gain a new world, and I, a strong and worthy soul mate. And, for that, I must finish you."

I sucked in more air, feeling light-headed and other-worldly. "Domn," I said, with what I hoped was no-nonsense firmness, "I think that doctor's right. You really are ill. I'm worried about you."

"I do not feel ill." He was shaking his head and his face was set in determination.

"But, your eyes are so bloodshot, and your hands are freezing. I don't know what you've got, but it looks nasty. And, I gotta tell you, seeing this, I am truly pissed that you went ahead and bit me last night. God knows what viruses or crap are running around in your system. God knows what crap is running around in _my_ system now."

He gazed at me in consternation and I watched him struggle to understand my rant. "It is surely not crap!" He drew back, offended.

"I wish you'd see a doctor. You're not well."

"I am well enough." He moved in, carefully, slowly, and encircled me with his arms, all the while holding me with his gaze. "I would be so much better if I finished what I have begun."

Deep in the recess of my mind, the part he had not quite gotten to, I began to giggle hysterically. What in the hell was I letting this guy get away with? And why? The rational part of me, the part that should have controlled this situation, gleefully urged me on. _Where the hell was my conscience?_

Deliberately shoving that thought aside, I went willingly limp, allowing the embrace, welcoming it for long, long moments. A steady buzzing filled my head, growing not exactly louder, but more insistent while the room around me went coolly white like when I stand up too quickly and my blood pressure plummets.

Wait. _Like when my blood pressure plummets. Oh, no._

I opened my eyes and found myself lying on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, at the fan turning lazily a long way off. I felt curiously peaceful, sated, like after a good meal. Or good sex. _Oh, god._

The room rocked violently when I sat up. Clutching the edge of the couch cushions, I looked around to see Domn seated on the coffee table nearby, watching me.

"What. The fuck. Just. Happened." I looked down at myself. Still dressed.

"You are very nearly mine!" Domn leaned forward and grinned widely, foregoing his usual habit of covering his mouth. My eyes popped open. There, in his mouth, where a normal person would have canine teeth, were two razor-sharp, impossibly white shark-like fangs. I scrambled away from him and fetched up against the arm of the couch.

He raised a hand. "Please, do not be afraid. I mean no harm. Truly."

"What the hell." The room spun again, refusing to remain still. "I don't...I don't feel...real well." In a flash, he stood at my side with a bowl he'd snatched off the kitchen counter. I heaved. And heaved. And heaved. Until I thought my insides were coming up. "Oh, god," I moaned, and leaned against the back of the sofa. "What did you do to me?"

"I have done nothing you did not wish, Anastasia. You are wanting this. Of that, I am certain."

"Christ." I leaned forward, elbows on knees, my stomach quite unsettled. "I really don't know what you think I wanted. But, whatever you gave me, I'm sure I would have taken a pass if you'd asked." I stayed as still as I could and silently begged the room to stop rocking.

Domn got on his knees next to me and tried to catch my gaze. "We are so very close to finishing. You are nearly mine." He took my hands, squeezing urgently. "You are nearly made."

"I feel pretty much UN-made. God, Domn. Seriously. What did you give me?"

"Life," he said, as if it were blindingly obvious and I was being deliberately obtuse. "I am bringing you back to life."

"On the contrary," I groaned. "You're killing me." I staggered to my feet and lurched for the stairs; he didn't stop me. Glancing back, I saw a face of infinite sadness and felt a pang of regret. I made my way to my bathroom and stood staring into the mirror. Sure enough, another small gash on my shoulder, near the left side of my neck. Not much blood, though. I swore quietly and swabbed it out, laid down another line of Neosporin, hissed when the pain came, and covered the spot with a gauze pad. Then I sat on the edge of the bathtub to think.

This was just beyond bizarre. This guy really believed he was a vampire and had no problem turning me into one so I could be his companion through eternity. I decided he absolutely must have some kind of really weird disease, and that disease was not only affecting him psychologically, but physically as well. I had witnessed those _teeth_. I knew those eyes intimately. Okay, _no more crap._

Decision made, I fished in my pocket for Dr. Cruciat's card, stood up and marched downstairs, slowing only to grab keys and handbag. I headed out before Domn, or any doubt inside my soul, could stop me.

All the way to the doctor's office, I argued with myself, alternating between the conviction that Dr. Cruciat was right and an unsettling, guilty feeling that I would betray a trusting soul who needed me. One thing was certain, Domn threatened my status quo.

And, oh my God, my chickens. _Man!_ I forced down another wave of nausea when it occurred to me that Domn must have killed that poor hen and all those rodents in his desperate need to feed his disease. That sealed the deal.

At Dr. Cruciat's office in the psychiatric ward of Tompkins County Hospital, doubt crept in again. I studied his face as I sat across from him, and decided he looked a bit deranged himself. He expounded on his theory of Domn's affliction, but my churning thoughts effectively drowned out anything he said. I tuned back in, finally.

"...and so bring him here to me, to the hospital," he concluded, and waited for my response. I blinked, sitting up straighter.

"I'm sorry, doctor. I was distracted. Repeat that?"

"Distracted you are, indeed, Madam. I see he has gained much influence over you in this short time. Tell me honestly, please, how many times has he fed of you thus far?"

"Fed of me?"

"Yes. Yes," he waved a hand impatiently. "let us not dance around the truth. I told you, a significant aspect of his disease compels him to break his victim's skin and drink their blood."

I swallowed, felt my face grow hot. It was like confessing a shameful sex act. _Bless me father for I have sinned._ I spoke again _,_ "Two times, I guess. Twice."

"The third time, as they say, is the charm. I fear for your safety. I insist you fetch him at once. By hook or crook, you must bring him here before you come to further harm. Now, be warned. His psychosis lends him enormous strength."

He rummaged about in his desk drawer and pulled out a syringe with a cap on the needle, which he held out to me. "This will render him weak and helpless—quite easy to handle. Inject him anywhere, and quickly. It's strong and acts fast."

"But what is it? Will it hurt him?"

"Merely a tranquilizer. It won't do him lasting harm. In fact, it will keep him, and everyone else, _from_ harm."

I took it, still feeling guilty, and scanned Dr. Cruciat's graveyard face. "God," I breathed, handling the syringe gingerly. "This might take time. I have no idea how I'm going to do such a thing."

"I am asking a great deal of you, but you seem brave and capable. I shall endeavor to be patient, and I shall make myself available when the time comes."

I had to go straight from Dr. Cruciat to the Exchange in time to open the pub, hoping Domn and Ethan would stay out of each other's way. I focused on filling people with food and drink, assuaging my own need with plenty of sly sips from the speed-rail vodka bottle. It didn't quench the thirst rising in me. I couldn't seem to get enough to drink, even when I began guzzling water. I never drank water. I found myself staring at bar patrons who each seemed outlined with a dim, pulsing, orange-red aura. _Shit no,_ _not a migraine. Not in the middle of a shift._

I hurried for my usual quick cure—a cup of coffee and a cigarette—and sat a moment on the pub steps, my eyes closed. When I returned to the barroom, the orange-red auras persisted, though I didn't feel other on-coming migraine symptoms: neon amoebas or sparks flashing in my peripheral vision. It was just odd that everyone at the bar and in the booths or milling around were vaguely outlined. Tremendously disconcerting, but I managed to ignore most of it. I felt huge relief when the patrons disbursed for the night, taking their orangey outlines with them. I did my clean up in record time, climbed into my truck, and peeled out of the lot. When I got home, the living room was empty, and I assumed Domn was in the cellar.

I went straight for the wine box in the cupboard. Two hours and an untold number of glasses later, I finally got my brain slowed down enough to sleep. I took myself off to bed. _Orange auras, my ass._

Chapter 4

A jolly, candy-like sun leapt over the horizon the next morning to find me bound and determined to try for a normal day. I actually rolled out of bed before Ethan and made it into the shower first. But it seemed I couldn't get the water hot enough to burn off the night's chill. Watching the luxurious steam roll over the top of the shower doors, I heard the bathroom door open to admit Ethan.

"What the hell are you doing in there?" He flipped on the exhaust fan and took a towel to the steamed mirror over his sink.

"Well. I could swear I was taking a shower."

"Looks like you're trying to strip the paint off the walls. Leave the water on, will you? I'm going to hop in right after you." So I did. In he hopped and, with a roar of pain, came hopping right back out.

"What the hell? It's fucking scalding!"

"Sorry. I like it hot."

"Hot is one thing. Boiling's another." He cranked it down some and gingerly stepped in again. "Jesus, that's better."

I quietly finished my toilette and left for the office, hoping and praying that Domn would behave and Ethan would leave him alone. Around noon, my cell phone rang: Johnny, the Thursday bartender.

"Hey, I know this is really short notice, but is there any chance you can cover my shift tonight?" he asked. "I forgot I had a meeting."

"A meeting?"

"Yeah," he paused, "a—meeting."

"Oof." This would make it four straight nights of pub work in addition to my day job. I felt so, so tired. Ever the rescuer, I couldn't refuse. "Yeah," I sighed, "sure, Johnny. Okay."

"Hey, I appreciate it." Another pause. "Okay, look. I'm going to an AA meeting."

"Um, alright."

Awkward silence.

"Yeah, so—thank you."

"No problem, John. Best of luck."

I grumbled; now I had to sneak out early so I could stop home and change. Well, so what? What're they going to do, fire me? After all, Layoff Day was just a week away. At three o'clock, I casually shut down my workstation and meandered out the door, getting a definite vibe of "Enh, what does it matter at this point?" from those co-workers who noticed. At home, I raced upstairs and changed into the pub uniform of jeans and white blouse, brushed my hair, stared in the mirror a moment at my sunken eyes and thought about Johnny's AA confession.

"Probably not a bad idea in _your_ case, Honey," I muttered at my worn-out reflection. The drinking was, indeed, beginning to take its toll; that, and late nights coupled with early mornings. My eyes were bloodshot. My skin looked sallow. "Why can't I be one of those lucky Publisher's Clearing House or lottery winners? Why not me? I am so sick and tired of being sick and tired!" I trudged back downstairs and left for the pub.

The night was positively blissful. No crazy homeless vampire guy, no sulky husband, no annoying co-workers invading my space. I relaxed and enjoyed the job of getting people food and drink, I could almost see it as doing God's Work. Then, too, I helped myself frequently and generously from the vodka bottle in the speed-rail.

During a lull, I noticed a text message had come in on my phone. It was Karen, our younger daughter, mother of our two grandchildren, asking if I could watch her boys after work the next day.

"Sure, Hon," I sent back, put it on my calendar, then thought nothing further about it. I would remember this casual dismissal later, with utter shame.

A momentary twinge of unease ended my quiet night. After closing, as I was dropping my take from the bar into the second-story office safe, I happened to glance out the window and saw a battered car limp up to the entrance. A familiar crow-like figure emerged, ran up the steps, and rattled the locked door. I stayed in my second-story refuge until the crow flapped back to his car and drove into the night.

"This has got to stop," I muttered, suddenly angry at Domn for drawing me into his carnival side-show world. I thought about the syringe hidden in my bag and shuddered away from the thought. _But no, I have to do something. I have to. And soon_.

My heart beat faster than usual as I crept down the stairs and peered into the pub. Empty. I sighed with relief and finished closing up, glancing nervously at the door now and then, fearing the crow's return. Another couple quick gulps of vodka braced me for the dash from pub door to truck, and off I went.

I arrived back home to find Domn on the living room sofa, punching random numbers into the TV remote and smiling with delight as the picture changed from late night talk show, to old movie, to infomercial. He looked up as I came in, his expression one of mild chagrin.

"Forgive me, I find this this television fascinating. I have always, like a child, you see?"

I swallowed and smiled weakly, then sat carefully down near him. _Oof_ , I was fairly buzzed, and fairly buzzed, given the absence of inhibition, meant receptive to just about anything. He immediately set the remote down. Turning to me, he took hold of my hands. His touch was not nearly as cold as it had been, and his eyes were almost normal-looking, his face less care-worn. He looked...gorgeous. And I swear it wasn't the vodka-goggles I was peering through.

"Where's Ethan?" I asked.

"Ethan? He advised me to 'keep it down' and then he went to his bed rest, I assume."

"Okay." Silence. Then I said, "So! You're looking a little better."

"I feel better. So much better." He brought one of my hands up to his lips and kissed the back then turned it over and ran his lips softly across the palm. A shiver travelled up my spine.

"Anastasia," his voice caressed my name. "My Anastasia. You very nearly _are_ my lady." His eyes dove deeply into mine, and I groped around unsuccessfully for my conscience. "You are nearly ready for me, are you not?"

"I really don't think we should," I whispered, mindful of Ethan above. "I mean—this is kind of blatant, isn't it?" To underscore my deep loyalty to my husband, I leaned forward, eyes wide and lips softly smiling.

Domn opened his eyes wider, too, and drew back in surprise. "You misunderstand me. This is not for the sex drive. I have had of you now two times. This will be three. Soon, you will have of me. In this, will our souls be joined."

My forehead puckered in confusion as I tried to make sense of that impassioned speech. It meant something, something important and final. I really should try to understand, but he moved to wrap strong arms around me, kissing me so deeply I felt he could easily pull my very soul from my throat. My muscles went soft and mushy; my free will yawned and curled up for a nap. Warning bells clanged distantly in deep recesses of my mind, but I possessed no desire to struggle. I melted into the embrace, felt the now-familiar pain of his bite, and every cell stretched and opened, filling with a hot liquid that set my heart pounding.

_The third time is the charm—_ I heard Dr. Crutciat's voice far away. _Third time—oh, no. No._ I felt myself drift off into the distance, as I had before. Hissings in my ears. Muted glow of white mist around me. Then, finally, the room went dark and silent.

Sometime later, I came to in my own bed, in my own bedroom, in the dark. It took a minute for me to get oriented, then I fumbled for my phone. Nearly three AM. I sank back against the pillow, feeling oddly disconnected from my body as if I were watching from the ceiling—like one of those near-death experiences. My muscles tightened around my bones as the blood rushed too quickly through my veins and arteries. I wanted to leap from the bed and run, but where? Somewhere. Anywhere. Just not here.

Silently, I wrestled with my conscience. _Where did your sense of propriety go, Ana?_ I scolded. _Once upon a time, you had morals and an abiding love for the man lying next to you. Suddenly, an intriguing stranger shows up and you're ready to drop your husband, your children, your home, and your_ life _for him._

I rolled over and could just make out Ethan's features dim and distant. My husband lay sound asleep, snoring lightly. I felt a need to reach for him, and I moved my hand to touch his face, but stopped before I connected. A void opened somewhere in my gut. What had happened to us while we lived our lives, while we raised our two daughters and let days slide swiftly into years? Once upon a time we couldn't keep our hands or eyes off each other; passion coursed through us and love filled our days. Once we were in sync, on the same page, the same wavelength. We knew each other's thoughts, finished each other's sentences, communicated with a look between us. Now we exchanged glares and terse accusations. We hadn't touched each other in ages, and, for me with my elevated hormones, that was a travesty—enormously frustrating. Can't we put this back together? Could it all be so lost, so far gone? _Ah, what was the use?_ We were headed for the exit soon, anyway.

Was it any surprise I was receptive to a stranger's attention? This one seemed infatuated with me, blind to my faults. This guy wanted me with certainty and passion I hadn't known in years. The biting thing was getting to me, true, but then everyone has his kinks, right? I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes, managing to slip into a light doze.

Chapter 5

The sun peered between the bedroom curtains and nudged my eyelids. I woke to an empty bed again and, rising, trudged to the shower to begin my routine, determined to experience a completely normal day's work. I sighed as I cleaned and re-dressed the now undeniable shoulder wound. Domn had to be truly messed up in his head to keep doing this stuff. Hell, _I_ had to be truly messed up to keep letting him do it. _You must want it,_ I lectured myself. _In some deep recess of your battered psyche, you want this. Frickin' sicko._

Pulling my shirt over my head, I glimpsed my body in the mirror and paused to study it. Two pregnancies with their accompanying major weight gain and loss had done a number on my body. I had never been obsessive about my figure. I was used to the deep stretch marks that furrowed my torso, down my sides to the tops of my thighs, making me self-conscious about undressing even in front of my husband. I looked closer, surprised that these familiar silvery tracings looked markedly faded—the skin tighter, and smoother. I ran a hand over my belly, then shook my head, finished dressing, and headed downstairs. Thankfully, I saw there was coffee and poured myself a cup, then flipped open my laptop on the kitchen island to check my email. I heard a chair squeak from the sunroom, and looked up to see Ethan, sour lines etched firmly around his mouth and eyes, stalk through the kitchen. I gave an inaudible sigh and squared my shoulders, diving into the day with, "Okay, what the hell did I do now?"

"Nothing," he muttered at the coffee pot.

"Oh, Ethan, please. Couldja just tell me, for God's sake?"

He turned, hand gripping the counter edge, lower teeth bared—that look that always makes me want to smash something over his head.

"Okay, you wanna know what I'm angry about? You were so God damned drunk last night, I practically had to carry you up to bed."

"I was...drunk?"

"You don't even remember being _drunk_?"

"I... no."

"I came downstairs wondering where you were, and you're there sprawled on the couch, snoring like an old wino. Limp as a wet towel and about as useful. Pretty incoherent, too. You kept mumbling about a charm and someone taking your soul. Begged me to call a priest."

"Maybe I was feeling sinful." I waggled my eyebrows. No response. I cleared my throat. "I didn't think I drank that much last night," I said slowly, doubtfully. "I don't remember being drunk." I searched my memory and found Domn's embrace and bite. The _third_ bite. "I'm sorry," I whispered, not sure if I addressed Ethan or myself. I felt guilty—and thoroughly frightened.

Ethan frowned and continued, "It's not just the drinking, either, Annie. I'm not at all happy with your friend in the cellar. And I'd be even less happy with him living here indefinitely. He's taking up space and resources we don't have!"

"Well, as you said, he's taking up cellar space. And, as for resources, he hasn't eaten much that I can tell. He drinks a lot of water, to be sure. And, oh! He took a shower yesterday. So, what's the problem? Do you want me to take a meter reading before and after he showers or flushes the toilet or has a glass of water? He's really not using much of anything."

"He's not really contributing much of anything, either, is he?"

"He contributes...something. Look, if you want, I'll ask him to pay rent, but it seems kind of low to ask someone to pay rent for a mattress in the cellar."

"He's the one who insisted on staying down there. What the hell, is he some kind of vampire or something?"

"Ha! Ha! Yes, that's it exactly!" My stomach lurched. Guilt again.

"You know nothing about him! Who is he? Where's he from? And you spend all your time with him! You're never here; you don't even go to work anymore except to that pub."

"I fully intend to go to the office today." Tired of this new dead-end argument, I lowered my eyes, pretending to concentrate on my email. "And I don't spend _all_ my time with him," I muttered at the computer. "I have one and a half jobs to deal with, you know."

I could almost feel the waves of his anger wash over me. "You spend all your _spare_ time with him, then. I want him out of here. I want my wife back."

He took a sip of his coffee, glaring over the rim at me.

Once again, a shadow of the love I once had for Ethan came over me, and I knew I regretted what I was allowing to happen. What was I doing to us, to our almost thirty-year marriage? Why couldn't I stop? Where was my strong sense of loyalty and decency?

Chin high, Ethan announced in a voice as cold as ice, "If _you_ don't deal with this bum soon, I promise you _I_ will, and it won't be pleasant." That effectively doused any warmth I was beginning to feel toward him.

I surprised us both by rearing up and yelling, "Don't you _fucking_ touch him!"

Ethan froze and we stared at each other while I struggled for self-control. Then, with a hand over my unruly mouth, I sank back against my seat. Sudden fear made my eyes prickle with tears as I remembered what I had promised to do to Domn. In a more normal tone, I said, "I'll handle it. Don't worry yourself about it."

He blinked and shook himself. "Yes. Handle it. Before the week is up."

"Fine. I will."

"Fine." He turned to go.

"Asshole."

He stopped abruptly—back to me, neck stiff—then shook his head almost imperceptibly, as though shrugging off a pest, and continued into the sunroom. I slapped the lid of my laptop closed and swept out the front door.

At the office the hours dragged. Every time the thought of plunging that needle into Domn's flesh stole into my mind, my stomach did a quick backflip. I buried myself in several more problem tickets, consciously keeping my eyes from straying toward the clock on my computer screen. When I allowed myself to check again, it was past seven o'clock, and I looked out the window to see that the sky had gone red-gold. I rose, eased the kinks in my muscles and bones, and, gathering up my purse and keys, trudged out to the parking garage. I located my truck and rattled home to find Ethan's car gone and Domn playing with the TV remote again. His face lit up when he saw me.

"Anastasia," he said with obvious delight. The guilt I wrestled with must have showed in my face, because he looked suddenly concerned. "Come, sit beside me." I did.

"Listen." I put a hand on his arm; the strange cold heat rising off his skin was distracting. I longed to wrap myself around him and melt into him instead of carrying out the mission I was steeling myself for.

"You've been cooped up in this house for, what, four, five days? How about we go for a ride?" Suddenly, I got a clear mental image of abandoning an unwanted stray out in the countryside.

"I have not been cooped in this house. I would be most delighted to take an outing with my lady, but," he shook his head and waved a hand at the living room window, "I fear I cannot just yet."

"Seriously?" I gave a short laugh, man he really played this to the hilt. "You can't come out 'til after sundown?"

"I cannot."

"Domn, that's just weird." I took one of his hands and turned it over so I could gaze at his palm. It was curiously unlined and worn, as if continuously rubbed with a fine sandpaper. "I am really worried about you now."

His eyes, with their dilated pupils set off by ice-blue irises, looked bottomless and somehow knowing. "You should not," he said finally. "Why do you worry?"

"I think you might be, well, you might be very sick."

"But, no! Not sick," he insisted. "I am so much better now that I have my Anastasia!" He smiled, revealing those sharp shark teeth, which only bolstered my resolve.

I looked away toward the window where a deep red light glowed. I forced a smile. "Look, the sun's set. We can go now?"

We rose and he put his arms around me and planted a slow kiss on my lips, weakening my knees and nearly dissolving my determination. "Anastasia," he whispered, gazing at me with such _possession_ that I swallowed hard and choked back what I had meant to say.

I moved away from him. "Plenty of time for that," I said shakily. "Come on. Let's go."

As we drove along, I decided I had to find out just how deep this sickness went. On the one hand, he seemed so rational, so matter-of-fact, about his delusions, as if this sort of thing was perfectly plausible. On the other hand, this fantasy world of his was a real doozy. That doctor insisted, with facts to back his insistence, that Domn was mentally ill. I truly needed confirmation of this in my own mind before I could bring myself to thrust that needle into his flesh and surrender him to his enemies against his will.

"So, Domn. Let's play a little game. Suppose this is all real and you really are a vampire." I winced, finding that word curiously hard to pronounce suddenly. "What kind would you be?"

"This is all real," he insisted. " _I_ am real! I am _suflet nocturn_. And soon, so shall you be."

"Soo-flet...what? What is that?"

"In English, it is 'soul of night,' I believe," He paused, inhaled, and sighed. "It is most like the creature you call _wam-peer_."

"Ah." I twitched and bit my lip. Dangerously crazy territory here. My right hand stole up to my left shoulder, then skittered away. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

I stewed in my own thoughts for a long moment. Something nagged at me. Here sat this sweet, oddly naive man with a disturbing penchant for sinking his teeth into a woman he barely knew. In his fevered brain, he was so convinced that she was the love of his life that he risked the wrath of her husband, convention and propriety be damned.

I didn't even want to address the fact that I seemed gradually willing to join him in his delusions. That was scarier than admitting to myself that perhaps a real live vampire sat next to me. Well, how much worse could it get? I plunged ahead.

"Okay," I took a breath, "you're a vampire." I hoped he couldn't hear the tremor in my voice. "What kind are you then? Do you sparkle or burst into flame in sunlight? Can you turn into a bat, or a wolf? Do you cringe in pain at the sight of a cross?"

"Sparkle? I have not heard of this."

"Oh, yeah. Some bored housewife wrote a story about this high school girl who falls in love with a vampire. He can tolerate sunlight, but it makes him sparkle like a disco ball. Frickin' weird. She made a bundle of money on the books, though," I shrugged.

"Amusing, but sadly I do not sparkle in sunlight. My skin burns like fire and it's as if my blood boils in my veins. This much is true—I must avoid the sun. And I cannot become a bat or a wolf." Incredibly, he gave me a look I can only describe as pitying. "This is impossible, of course."

_Of course it's impossible!_ my saner self cried. _It's impossible that you're sitting here in your truck next to a fucking vampire!_ I mentally shushed her as Domn looked out his window for a moment.

He chuckled. "If this were true about crosses, I would cry out in agony for every one of these wired poles we pass—an unpleasant outing, indeed."

"What about the no-reflection thing? I can see you in the rear view mirror, so that's a fallacy too?"

"This mirror must not be of silver," he said, touching a finger to it. "There is an aversion to silver, so I would not wish to see my image reflected in a silvered mirror, or upon photographic materials. I cannot tolerate the touch of silver upon my flesh, either."

This guy had a lot of answers, nothing threw him. "Wow. Okay." I thought a minute. "By photographic materials you mean old school celluloid film, right? I could take your picture with, say, my cell phone and, because it's digital you'd be okay with that?"

"I think, yes?" He frowned. I got the feeling he understood about half of what I had said.

"Let's try it." At a stop light, I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a quick picture as he turned to see what I was doing. He whipped his head back toward the window, wincing painfully. "God, I'm sorry." I touched his shoulder. "Was the flash too bright?"

"Flash? That was the white light that seared my eye?"

_What the hell did you do that for?_ _You want a keepsake of the guy you double-crossed so you can remind yourself of what kind of nasty bitch you are?_ I gritted my teeth against my inner harpy and mentally shook her off.

"Yeah. Sorry, but the flash went off because it's dark in here."

He laid back, rubbing his eyes, then dropped his hand and sighed. "The hurt has gone," he whispered. "I am, as you must know, very sensitive to bright lights."

"I won't do it again. But, hey," I brought up the picture and smiled, "there you are." I showed him and he smiled back.

"I am a handsome fellow, am I not?" He leaned toward me, I leaned to meet him, and a honking horn reminded me of the traffic around us. I straightened up and drove.

After a moment, I took a quick right onto an old service road into a state park which I knew would be virtually unused at this time of year. It would be a perfect place to do what I had to do. I chewed the inside of my cheek, still battling my own indecision but pretty sure I would carry out my mission. There are no real vampires and Domn had to be dreadfully deluded, in need of treatment.

"Where is this we go?" Domn grinned in the semi-twilight, his teeth glimmering.

"Someplace private," I said, smiling a tiny smile. "We've been avoiding this, Domn, and I just about can't stand it anymore. It's time we did what _normal_ lovers do."

"Ah!" he said, "you mean this sex drive?"

I sputtered and a nervous giggle escaped my lips. "Yeah, sure. Sex drive." My calmness, coupled with new resolve, impressed me. Braking to a stop and shutting off the engine, I faced him across the seat and felt in the pocket of my purse for the syringe.

He moved forward, cupped a hand to the side of my face, and kissed me. The electricity sent my body into overdrive and I nearly dropped the syringe. Grasping it tighter, I thumbed the cap off the needle and, wrapping my arms around him, I pulled up the back of his shirt. He deepened his kiss, pulling me hard against him. Oh God, I wanted him, almost moaning with the effort of resisting, but I pushed the needle into his side and depressed the plunger before I could surrender.

Domn's body jerked against mine, and then he reared back, drawing a ragged breath, his eyes wide and startled.

"What have you done?" he rasped, teeth bared.

I dropped the syringe. As he collapsed in my lap, hands clawing at me, I sobbed, "It's for your own good. I am so sorry."

I wrestled him back into his seat and buckled the belt around him, watching him go limp—he offered no resistance. I clamped firmly down on my thoughts, willing them to stay silent for once, and avoided Domn's eyes while I concentrated on retrieving the needle and getting the engine started. I backed the truck around and headed for the highway to the county hospital.

"I understand," he whispered. "I can guess who has brought you to this." Sweat trickled down his face. From the corner of my eye, I saw his head move weakly side-to-side, as though he were trying to shake off the impact of the drug. I kept my eyes focused on the road beyond the windshield and wiped at tears streaming down my cheeks while I tried to shut my ears to his voice.

"Please." He struggled, but whatever this drug was, it held him fast. "My Lady, hear me. We can be free. Together, we will be strong. We will leave them behind. Please..." His head lolled to the side and his eyes closed.

My hands clenched the wheel; I didn't want to hear his labored breathing or to know how powerless he was, slumped in that seat. _Please let this be the right thing to do_. Blinking and shaking away the tears blurring my vision, I drove on, making myself believe I had done what must be done. As the hospital loomed up ahead, Domn stirred and peered groggily through the windshield.

"Where now?" he groaned.

I hiccupped a sob as he spied the hospital building and whispered with finality, "Oh, My Lady. I am betrayed."

"No," I insisted, "not betrayed. You need help. The kind of help I can't give you. Professional help."

"You think me a madman."

"I think you are troubled and ill. I think you need someone who can help you with your troubles. I'm not that person. I have no idea what to do with you." I pleaded for understanding, feeling like ten kinds of horrible person. I told the truth then, "You frighten me, Domn. You've shattered my life. You've done things to me I don't even want to think about. I can't think about."

"I brought you back to life, my Anastasia," he protested, weak and resigned. "I made you my lady. You cannot conceive of how...wondrous...it would have been," His eyes closed.

I pulled up to the emergency room entrance and, yanking my seatbelt off, stumbled out of my truck, through the automatic doors, and into a painfully bright reception area. "I need Dr. Rikard Cruckshack," I snapped at the desk nurse.

She blinked a couple times, taking in my disheveled hair, crumpled clothes, and panicked face. Then, realizing who I meant, she said, "Oh, Dr. Cruciat!" Undisturbed by yet another person in crisis, she picked up the phone to page him while she watched me, maybe to make sure I had a grip on myself as I clutched the edge of the desk, my head down, fighting back tears. I heard her offer me water, coffee, tea? I shook my head no.

Lab coat flapping behind him, the doctor arrived in short order, followed by a mealy looking, scrub-suited creature pushing a gurney.

"Madam" Cruciat said, "I am most relieved." He gestured to his assistant. "This is my, ah, Nurse Popândău. We shall take charge of the patient."

Wordlessly, I turned on my heel and led them to my truck, jerking open the passenger door almost before I stopped walking. Domn lay there, out cold, breathing heavily, face and arms twitching. I couldn't bear to look at him as they wrestled him out of the front seat and onto the gurney. Popândău wheeled him away, and Dr. Cruciat turned to me once more.

"I cannot tell you how grateful I am. Be assured, he is in safe hands; however, I would appreciate a moment of your time."

I nodded, unwilling to meet his eyes, and followed him into the hospital. _What now? All I want is to go the hell home._ The nurse at the reception desk didn't even look up as we passed by. To everyone here, this must be same-old, but to me, it was bad. Really bad.

Once in his office, Cruciat made sure the door closed tightly, then he turned and watched me lower myself unsteadily into the chair before his desk. He strode around his desk, lowered himself into the leather chair, and leaned forward. "Madam, has he fed of you a third time?"

"What? No." Dr. Cruciat narrowed his eyes and I winced at the blatant lie. "No!" I said with more conviction, "I just think it's weird to be asked that question." I sat up straight and tried to stare him down, but that lasted two seconds, and I dropped my eyes and tightened my fisted hands in my lap. With a skeptical look, the doctor sat back and steepled his fingers.

"I suppose I must take your word."

I drew an abdominal breath, trying to stave off reaction to all the craziness of the past few days. Failing, and feeling on the verge of hysteria, I concentrated on the crow across the desk and imagined real beams of electric hatred burning into his eyes from mine.

I ground out between clenched teeth, "Since Monday night, my life has been completely messed up. Well, it was pretty messed up to begin with, but now it's a total shambles. My husband hates me, I got this poor sick guy turned over to your tender mercies, and I have no idea if I've done right or wrong. I'm a little stressed, you know?" I sat back, overwhelmed by my total exhaustion and said, "I just want to go home and forget you both exist."

Dr. Cruciat seemed unaffected by my tirade. When I finished, he regarded me with _something_ —concern? No, more like eagerness. "I am not sure that will be possible," he said, eyes gleaming. _Jeez, he looks like he's starving and I'm a cheeseburger._

The doctor went on, "I must inform you. You have begun to exhibit the same symptoms as my patient."

"Oooooh, no you don't," I snarled. "You are not dragging me into this." I swallowed my words as the doctor held up a small mirror, the glass facing me. I saw a reflection that stunned me into silence. I looked at a pair of eyes with hundreds of bloody capillaries forming a lattice over the whites, and enlarged pupils nearly obscuring blue irises. _A trick!_ _No, it's_ _my_ _face all right_. _Those just couldn't be my eyes._ Tearing myself from the view in the mirror, I looked up at the doctor.

"Tell me again, how many times has he fed of you?"

I scrambled to my feet, knees bowing, ankles weak and unsteady, overturning the chair as I fought to free myself. I ran out of his office, slamming the door, as though it would protect me. Fumbling for my keys, I ran on through the blazing white reception area—now the nurse looked up, startled—and I loped out to my truck. I yanked open the door, dove in, and slammed it behind me. I locked it. I locked all the doors, then checked, panting, to be sure nobody had followed me. Breathing raggedly, I started the truck, jerked it into gear, and skidded out of the parking lot toward home as if the devil himself were on my tail.

A half-hour later, instead of pulling into my driveway, I surprised myself by passing my street and heading straight to the Exchange. I needed a drink. Yes, _needed_ a drink. I shook from head to foot. My brain was mush, and I had no desire to deal with a sulking Ethan. As if that weren't enough, my teeth began to feel strangely itchy, the gums achy and sensitive, and my stomach felt like a deflated balloon. Yes, I _needed_ a drink.

The usual regulars sat in attendance at the Exchange, including Alexis, the divorcee, Domn's accommodating lady from the other night. Behind the bar, thank God, stood Larry. _A few of his generous bourbon pours are in order_ , I was thinking, as I slid onto a bar stool. Good ole Larry, bless his bear-sized heart, plopped a full snifter of Basil Hayden in front of me.

"You look like this is what you're after," he said, and headed down the length of the bar to deal with Miss Alexis.

"I love you, Larry," I called after him, getting a backward wave in answer. I hunched over the precious golden liquid, breathed in the sweet, sweet fumes, and raised the glass to my lips. That glorious burn wended its way down my throat, followed by another sip that I swished around my mouth a little, trying to numb the maddening itching of my teeth. Was I coming down with something, too, now? I swallowed. For me, that simple ritual—sip, swish, swallow—was a religious experience, the warm fire coursing like a blessing through my veins. I closed my eyes and treasured the sensation of my muscles relaxing at last. Whatever strange horrible things had transpired that day and the past few days, I knew I could gather myself together and work something out. I felt peace. You know that couldn't possibly continue.

Alexis sidled up to me and made herself at home, sliding onto the next stool next and elbowing me a little. She leaned plump, comfortable arms on the bar and showed me dark chocolate eyes, warm and inviting as a melting Hershey bar. I had to suppress my desire to plunge my fingers into her springy red-brown hair. I'm pretty sure I'm mostly heterosexual but, damn. That hair! It sat proudly up there on her head, bouncing and sparkling and just asking for it. I blinked, forced my eyes back down to hers.

"So, hey, Annie," she said. "Where's your friend?" Eyebrows waggling, she drew herself up and leaned her cleavage forward. She couldn't help it.

"My friend?" I feigned ignorance. Goddammit, I was trying to forget him, not reminisce with some vodka-soaked desperate housewife.

"You know, Honey, that drop-dead sexy dude you brought to work with you Tuesday. He was awful cute. I'd like to see him again. That is, if you're not, um, involved?" She leveled an uncomfortably intense stare at me.

"Oh, no," I laughed mirthlessly, "we're not." I waved a hand vaguely. "Never fear." I turned and narrowed my eyes at her. "You think he's sexy?"

"You don't?" She watched my face, as if she were looking for a particular response.

I considered the idea. "No, not _sexy_. Sensual, maybe. I dunno. I never really thought about it." I nearly drowned in the unexpected feeling of loss that washed over me and tears pooled in my eyes. I blinked them back while I slapped on my brightest no-one-can-get-to-me smile. "You know, I have no idea where he went off to, but, _I'm_ here. Let me buy you a drink, Lexie."

"Nice!" If she was less than satisfied with my answer, she apparently was okay with giving up for the moment, because she settled herself more comfortably on the stool, waving Larry over. "This lovely lady wants to buy me a drink!"

"Well, isn't that sweet," Larry simpered and glanced at me to confirm.

"Relax, Lar," I told him. "Yeah, get her whatever she wants and fetch me another one of those Basil Haydens."

Instead of moving to fill the order, he motioned me to the end of the bar. When I joined him, he put his close to mine and murmured, "Annie, you look like shit, girl. You really think you need another shot?"

I laid a hand on his arm. "Larry, I seriously appreciate your concern, my friend, but I've had a helluva week. I am trying to forget it. I'm fine. Yes, I'm really fine." I swayed a little, but my grin was steady. "So. One more and I'll get out of your hair, Lar," I giggled at the rhyme. "Mm-kay?"

He shook his head, evidently decided not to lecture, then nodded and shrugged. "Okay, Sweetheart. You know best."

"Thanks, Lar. Bear." I giggled again, completely certain I was handling myself just fine.

One more shot turned into one more, then one more, then yet one more. As each burned its way into my blood, the silly woman beside me became increasingly intriguing. She fascinated me and as I squinted at her glowing red-orange aura I decided without reason that I wanted her. I wanted to wrap my arms around her in a steamy hot embrace. I wanted to sink my teeth into her lush milk-chocolate flesh and... _Jesus! What am I thinking???_

A persistent buzzing coming from the depths of my purse finally penetrated my bourbon-soaked brain. I rummaged around and came up with my vibrating phone.

"Oh shit," I hiccuped. "Karen." Instead of answering it, I hit the mute button, then stared bleakly at the list of text messages.

"5:19 - Mom don't forget ur bbsitng tonite."

"6:15 - Mom where r u?"

"6:59 - Mom??"

"7:30 - Fine. Forget it."

"Dammit." I sighed as the voicemail icon lit up. Well, it couldn't be helped. I was too drunk to drive down there now, and she wouldn't want me near the boys in my present state anyway. _Which state is that?_ hissed the harpy. _The drunken one or the one where you suddenly want to bite someone?_

"Hey, Lexie," I slurred, as I dropped the phone back into my purse and then tossed back what was probably my fifth shot, "I need a cigarette. Be right back." I teetered off the stool and took a long moment to make the floor stop shifting.

"Wait!" She slid down, as well, and bumped into me. "Me, too. Ciggie." Giggles from both of us.

"Awesome." I hooked my arm in hers and practically dragged her into the night. What happened next was so surreal that my mind refused to process it for a long time.

We wobbled our way out to the far end of the parking lot and that good old crumbly, convenient, retaining wall. She plunked herself down. I plunked down beside her. She fumbled a cigarette out of a battered pack and fished around for a lighter while I found myself mesmerized by the curve of her neck highlighted in the streetlight. Feminine. Silky. I could smell that warm red river coursing through her, just under the surface of her delicate skin. _See that fine vein there, just behind her collarbone._ That vein beat in rhythm with the thirst pulsating through my whole being. My teeth itched again. _What the fuck? Maddening._ My gums joined in syncopated throbbing. I couldn't take any more.

"Lexie," I breathed, moving nearer, "to hell with the cigarette. I'm so fucking thirsty. Please, Lexie." Clumsy but desperate, I clutched her arms and pulled her to me, tearing her neckline down and dragging my itchy teeth across her shoulder. I actually heard my bite rip a gash in the soft flesh there and almost swooned, gratified with the rush of warm blood wetting my mouth and throat.

Distantly, somewhere far away from where I was, I heard her voice cry out in pain, but I absolutely didn't care. I sucked, pulling in the delicious nectar and quenching a deeply painful thirst that had been burning away at me all day. I barely felt her hands claw me, and I didn't give one God damn.

When next I raised my head, I was staring into Alexis' wide, angry eyes. "What in _God's_ name are you doing," she whisper-screamed, shoving my chin away and pushing me with her feet.

"Oh, my God." I let go of her arms and scuttled backwards on the cement wall. "Oh, Jesus. I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. I swear it."

She sat frozen. I put my hand to my mouth, came away with blood, and stared at it stupidly. The blood, glistening on my face and hand in the moonlight seemed to unfreeze her. She scrambled to her feet and fled to her car. I heard the car door slam, then spinning tires and flying gravel as she roared out of the lot.

I looked down at myself—no blood on my clothes, thank God—wiped my mouth again and swallowed, savoring the taste of something sweeter than bourbon. _Wait, what? It tastes... sweet?_

I took out a cigarette and managed to light it in spite of hands shaking so hard that I could barely keep hold of the lighter. An image of Domn's pale, face, despondent with betrayal, flickered in my mind. _Am I crazy, too?_ A quick check in a nearby side view mirror showed a fairly clean face with a fleck of dried blood here and there, quickly scraped off with a trembling fingernail. Satisfied with my appearance but not at all with my mental state, I sat heavily on the wall and stared wild-eyed into the darkness. _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck what the hell was that about_?

Chapter 6

The inevitable rise of the sun found me sprawled on the couch, still dressed, with a mouth so dry my tongue was stuck to the roof. I rose unsteadily and went to the kitchen to gulp down glass after glass of water. Ethan came downstairs and greeted me with an actually friendly "good morning" and a tentative smile.

"Morning," I said. "You'll be glad to know our cellar dweller is gone." I choked a little then continued, "I took him to the hospital last night. To the psych ward," I added, hoping for sympathy, I guess. I didn't get it.

Ethan nodded. "Good," he said, "that's probably where he belongs," and frowned at the coffee pot.

"No, I haven't made coffee yet. I just woke up myself," I told him, moving to the counter top to brew the coffee. "I guess I slept on the couch."

Ethan's eyes took in my rumpled clothes, rumpled hair, and rumpled face. He snorted agreement, "I guess you did. Well, I hope we can get back to normal around here now."

"Normal? Our normally screwed up life, you mean? Sure." I mentally kicked myself. _Just once,_ I scolded myself, feeling like a bitch, _could you just once stop yourself from shooting off your damned snarky mouth?_

"Sorry," I amended after a moment and sighed. "Anyway. You'll also be happy to hear I'm going into the office today."

"Really." Ethan looked at me sardonically "On a Saturday?"

"Oh." _Saturday. Ugh._ "Well, I guess I'll find something to do here, then."

"I could use some help in the yard," he shot after me as I climbed the stairs to our room. He resented my constant absence, I knew. But was he missing the presence of just another pair of helping hands or was he missing _me_? Every damned day I woke up with a resolve to be that better person I meant to be but, inevitably, my caustic mouth went off half-cocked and widened the gap between us. I wondered if we could possibly share common ground anymore.

As I soaped up in the shower some of last night's freak show came rushing back. I squeezed my eyes shut against the images of Alexis' hysterical departure and the blood on my mouth and hands. I tried to reconstruct the rest of the night and failed miserably. I must've gone back into the pub, because my jacket would have been inside it with the keys to the truck in a pocket. How would I have made it home, if not in the truck? I tried to conjure any memory of driving home, but it just wasn't there. Did I even pay for my drinks?

"Shit," I muttered. "Blackouts now. I must be an alco...alcohol...a drunk. Great."

Dressed and back downstairs, I opened the front door and peered out at the driveway. No truck. Not good. Searching the house, I failed to find the aforementioned jacket with keys in the pocket. Did I _walk_ home? Well, no help for it; I was going to have to walk back and reclaim my property. The morning custodian would be there to let me in. I took the spare truck key, just in case, and headed out into the sunshine.

Minutes later, I fled back to the house, eyes clamped down against unbearable pain. _Wow. Has the ozone layer gotten that thin?_

No, just an epic hangover. I scolded myself sternly: _No more whiskey_. For a number of reasons, not the least of which was keeping Ethan from flying off about responsibility, I needed to go find that truck. I dug through the hall closet and unearthed a wide-billed Buffalo Sabres cap along with a pair of someone's giant sunglasses that fit over my prescription glasses. Taking a deep breath, I twisted the door knob and launched myself back out onto the front porch and down the steps.

I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead and willed my feet to keep moving as I trudged along the side of the highway. It was only a mile from our house to the restaurant, but it might as well have been thirty. By the time I got there I was exhausted and feverish, sweat poured down my face, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. Thankfully, the pub door was unlocked and I saw Dave moving dreamily across the room, mopping the floor.

"Hey, Dave," I stood inside the door a moment getting my bearings, blinking in the mercifully darkened room.

"Annie," he smiled in my general direction through his perpetual haze of THC.

When my eyes finally readjusted, I spotted my jacket hanging on the coat rack. _Hmmm._ I stepped to the rack, grabbed my jacket, checked for the keys, and found a note wrapped around them: _Took the money for your drinks out of my tips. You owe me.—Larry_

_Shit. Okay_. I stuffed the note back into the pocket and braced again for more daylight. I'd had hangovers before, but I was dumbfounded by the intensity of this one as I stumbled blindly around in the parking lot until I managed to find my truck parked at the far end. _Brilliant move_ , I chided myself. _Next time,_ _make sure you have a long, sobering walk before attempting the drive home. If you remember to drive home, that is. Christ._ What the hell had gone on last night?

While I drove, it occurred to me again that this hangover ranked beyond the norm. I mean, I could usually relegate headache and photophobia to the background and function like a human being, at least on the surface. Three or four Ibuprofen, a half-gallon of water, and I was good to go. This, though, felt almost intolerable. I wanted to crawl under a rock and hibernate until the whiskey, or whatever, left my system.

A thought circled around and nudged at my brain again. _Or whatever_?

I pulled the truck over to the side of the road and sat there, letting that sink in. _Ridiculous._ This sort of thing doesn't happen in real life, but since this Domn guy had barged his way into my life too many really odd things had been happening. Orange auras. A feeling of too-tight skin that plagued me. The impulse to _bite_ people, for Christ's sake, loomed paramount. I decided to visit the hospital. I needed answers and I needed them before this thing got out of hand, if it wasn't already.

I phoned Ethan. "I have to go see Domn at the hospital," I began.

"Who's Don?"

"Domn. That guy who was in our cellar for a few days."

"A week," he said. Then, "Why do you _have_ to go see this guy?"

"I have to make sure he's okay," I said, hearing how lame that must sound to a spouse. Why the hell would I have to make sure some lost derelict was ok? "I'm sorry," I said to the sigh on the other end, grateful that it was only a sigh and not a barrage of questions and accusations, "but I do. I just feel awful about him."

"If you spent as much energy on your own _family_ as you do on this _bum_ you just met a few days ago maybe things would be better around here." _Point for Ethan._

"I know, I know. I will, I promise. I just have this bad feeling about him."

"He's not your family. He's not your responsibility." _Damn, another valid argument._

"I think he is, though—my responsibility." _Lame repartee for Annie._

"How's that?"

This death spiral argument caused my already hurting head to scream in pain. "Ethan. He simply is. I need to go see him and make sure everything's okay." Because I said so—good bail out in any discussion.

Now the lecture started, "They're not going to let you into the psych ward, in the first place. You're not related to him. You don't even know him. And _I_ need you here to help _me_ with the God-damned yard work. You need to get some priorities straight, here, Ana. Because, if you can't..."

I hung up in the midst of his tirade, an even better discussion-ender, then shut my phone off, put the truck in gear, and headed for the county hospital. It was in my nature to always put off what I didn't wish to face. Ethan had dealt with that for a long time, hadn't he? The man had his good points, but Christ they were buried in so much crap.

Once there, I realized the truth in Ethan's rant—I was not immediate family. I figured they surely would not let me in. Why was I here, again? Oh, yeah. _Hey, little Slavic dude, I just met you, and I know it's weird to be suddenly and deeply infatuated with you. By the way, are you really turning me into a fucking vampire?_ I mean, because isn't that how it happens? Dracula shows up and claims his mate regardless of what legal or moral obligations she may have? Have you ever known Dracula or his multitude of wannabes give a rat's ass about the lady's life?

Timidly, I approached the nurse at the psych ward check-in window. "I'm here to see Domn," I tried. She eyed me over the top of her bifocals just as I imagined a psych ward nurse would, with deep suspicion. Nevertheless, she bent her head over the visitor list.

"Name?"

"Anastasia Trent."

Pause. Then, with another piercing stare over her glasses, " _Lady_ Anastasia?"

"Um, sure." I felt my face flush.

"There's no last name," she said, as if it was my fault Domn was a little quirky.

"Well, that's got to be me! I mean, how many Anastasias are there in this town?" Dumb question. There was an internationally renowned university right up on the hill. I expect there were plenty of oddly named people in this town, but hey, I hadn't gotten over my morning crankiness or my hangover.

The nurse rolled her eyes then grimaced an attempt at a smile and nodded. "I'll see if he's up for a visitor," she said, and disappeared from the window. She reappeared moments later and wordlessly pressed a button while motioning with her head toward the buzzing door. I stepped through and found myself in an airy common room. Couches and chairs were scattered about with a few patients, looking tired and bored, draped here and there over them. The patients looked up eagerly as I entered, then looked back down to hide their disappointment. No, no visitors for any of them this time. I felt bad, but there was only one patient I wanted in front of me. Where was Domn?

I swiveled my head and blinked. _What the hell? I'm actually_ _sniffing_ _for him?_ _Sniffing!?_ I blinked again when I caught a faint but recognizable smell that could be no one but Domn. As I shook my head in abject disbelief, the nurse came around the corner and beckoned me to follow her down a long hallway in precisely the direction of that smell. We stopped at one of the cubbyholes they called rooms, from which wafted a strong, sweet, musky scent. I had no trouble recognizing it. I had buried my face in his shoulder often enough. _What the hell, how had I smelled him from back there?_

"In here," the nurse said. "You have an hour, but if you upset him or get him agitated you will be required to leave."

"I understand," I whispered and peered into the dim cell.

I made out a formless lump under the covers atop the hospital bed and I approached slowly, carefully. The lump lay motionless, seemingly innocuous, yet I felt that radiation of danger again as though I faced a frightened but deadly snake. Still, my fingers curled into my palms, I was drawn urgently to that rise in the bed clothes. My nerves jangled, and I grew vaguely aware of my futile attempt to quell a steadily rising desire.

"Domn?" I whispered. "You okay?"

The lump shivered then moved, and Domn's face peered over his own shoulder, eyes unfocused, pale face blending into coarse white sheets.

"Aahhnnaahh..." he managed and struggled feebly against the sheets. I crossed the room to help him sit up. "My Lady," he fastened his eyes on me, eyes all black pupils and red veins, as if he could hold me transfixed by his gaze. The palpable silence stretched toward me, threatening to engulf me. I wondered for the millionth time how this man could be causing these anomalies through some odd illness. For the millionth time I pushed that thought under.

"Domn," I held tight to his shoulders—afraid to let go, yet afraid to let him get closer. "What are they doing to you?"

"They feed me animal flesh," he groaned. "They force bread and cow's milk down my throat," he gagged and shivered. "Oh, My Lady. I need what I need and nothing more. Surely, I will die here if I cannot nourish my body. You know that. In your soul you know what I need. But then I think, how can I ask it of you?"

My face constricted with sympathy. I knew exactly what he needed—I knew exactly what _I_ needed. I wish I could have pled ignorance with my usual penchant for lying to myself, but even as that wish came to mind, whatever questions it came with fled, leaving me a single focus. Help your lord. _What? Help my what?_ As though directed by some unseen energy, I glanced toward the still open door. The decision was not mine.

"You have to be quick," I warned as I got up to ease the door shut. One half of my mind screamed, _Get the hell out of here!_ The other half shivered with delight, anticipating, yearning, desiring—I had no questions now. I could not deny the sweet ache in my groin, my skin tight against my bones, my breasts unbearably tender, the nipples almost painfully hard. My weightless feet moved me to the bed, and I fumbled at the buttons of my shirt with weak and shaking fingers. I got the top few buttons undone and, drawing the collar away from my shoulder, sat close beside him.

Domn's eyes glittered at the sight of my bare skin and his nostrils flared at the scent of my desire. My breath quickened as his arms went around me; one hand cradled my head, the other slid up inside the back of my shirt, his cold, smooth palm leaving an icy trail on my overheated skin. I clenched my jaw at the sharp stab of penetration, then I relaxed, opening myself to his need and his thirst as his soft lips pulled at my shoulder, gently but insistently. In the next moment, I shuddered violently with the most intense orgasm I had ever, ever experienced.

My God. I knew myself as a sensual, sexual woman but this was every orgasm I'd ever had packed together in a mind-blowing tidal wave. I groaned weakly against his neck, and every muscle went slack as another wave, equally as fierce, washed over me. An eternity later Domn lifted his head and gazed into my face, smiling. I blinked dumbly.

"Now, you are indeed mine," he whispered into my ear.

"No." I drew back, still fighting an internal battle over what was truly happening here and trying to cling to a semblance of sanity. "This was never in my mind." _Liar._

"But I think it is," he said, the backs of his fingers drifting feather-like down my cheek. "This is what you want," he whispered into my ear and into my brain, "deep in your soul, or you would not have sought me out again."

"No! No, I didn't." I shook my head, drew back. I raised both hands as if to ward off the truth. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I had to be sure they were taking care of you. I was not looking for _this_ again!" I touched a hand to my wounded shoulder; the sticky warm blood seeping across my overly sensitive skin echoed a sticky warmth elsewhere on my treasonous body.

Domn plucked a handful of tissues from a box beside the bed and gently swabbed my cut. His eyes, having cleared a little with nourishment and sustenance, gleamed troubled and still very dark. "I do not understand you. You pull me toward you with one hand, and with the other you push me away."

"I'll be damned if I understand this myself." I twisted my hands in the bed sheets. "I feel really weird. I mean _really_ weird. I'm changing. Physically. Mentally. Your disease is infecting me. I'm turning into _you_." I sobbed into my hands. What could I do now? I couldn't even look at him, let alone face myself. I had just essentially cheated on Ethan, and the conflicting emotions roiling around in my conscience paralyzed me. I had no idea what to do about any of it.

Domn took my hands and gently drew them from my face. I stared into my palms, expecting to see blood—didn't vampires cry blood? No blood, just salt water tears. He tried to make me focus on his face. "Anastasia," he asked in a low, smoky voice, "is it so very bad to be like me?"

"I don't know." I drew a shivering breath. "I don't even know what you are. I don't know what I'm becoming, and I don't know what I'm going to do next. Domn, I did something last night, or something made me do it."

Domn put a finger to my lips. "I can guess what you did," he said. "I regret that I was not there for you. This," he gestured around the cubbyhole, "is more than my prison. It is your prison also. It is keeping me from helping you enter life as you should. And so you feel trapped by things you must endure alone."

"Trapped, yes. That's it exactly. It feels like someone invaded my body and my real self is locked inside watching this _thing_ take over. I can't keep track of my life; I can't control myself anymore."

"If only I could be with you out there in the world," he murmured, and every quiet reassurance seemed hypnotic to me. "We are both caught in traps of our own making. I only want you to be free."

I hung my head in shame. "It's my fault you're in this God-awful place," I whispered. "I'm so scared for you. I'm killing you."

"No, My Lady." More soft, mesmerizing reassurance. "No. You cannot kill me. They can kill me, but you? Never." He stroked my face, caressed my neck, and moved sure fingers to the cut on my shoulder, dipping one finger into the still-oozing blood. He brought that finger to his lips and kissed it reverently, his tongue touching the red smear, his nose inhaling deeply. I shivered with revulsion or, perhaps with desire. I no longer knew my own motivations.

One thing was abundantly clear —I desperately needed more answers and less weirdness. I tried again, "Domn. What do I do about these changes? What do I do about _you_? With how I feel about you?" The memory of that intense sexual release rippled over me and I gripped his arms to steady myself.

He looked up from the bloody finger and refocused on me, his darkened eyes hopeful. "How you feel about me?" he whispered, and a quick smile flitted across his face. Then he sobered and took on a lecturer's demeanor. "Firstly, and at all costs, you must stay away from the _cruciat_."

"The what? That doctor? Dr. Cruckshack?"

" _Cruciat_ ," he pronounced carefully. "The doctor, yes. Be forewarned, he is not a physician. He is determined to destroy me and mine. Stay far away from him."

"The guy creeps me out, so no worries there."

Then, I thought about my extreme hangover, now mysteriously faded into the background. Shamed and deflated, I confessed, "Here's another thing—I've been drinking too much, too. I've been getting these blackouts. I can't remember what I've done."

"Drinking too much," his brows knit, and I understood that he didn't quite get what I meant. Then, his face clearing, he said, "Ah, drinking spirits. Yes, you must stop that. That is the _secondly_ thing."

I shook my head. "I don't know. I _like_ the spirits, the booze. I'm sorry."

Domn raised a hand. "No matter. This is a challenge you will face when you are stronger. Perhaps in time you will find you no longer like this booze so much." His intense concentration on me made me want to fall into the wells of his pupils.

"And thirdly, my Anastasia, my sweet Anastasia, you must contrive to free me from this place, for I must be with you, my love. Yes," he said to my surprised blink, "my _love_. It is strange that I should love you after so brief a time, yes? From when first I saw you on that first night, I knew you were the one. And now, my love, you are ready for me. It is time."

He cupped my cheek with one cool hand and, with the other, pulled aside a shoulder of his hospital gown. My eyes were drawn irresistibly to the porcelain white of his neck and they followed the line of that neck to a faintly beating vein. I moved to the vein and raked my itchy, itchy teeth across his shoulder. I felt the skin open and sank into the river of him as though my entire being followed my mouth and teeth inside him. His arms went round me and held me tight as I sucked greedily at hot, burning liquid coursing over my tongue to flow like honeyed liqueur down my throat. It tasted sweeter, much sweeter, than bourbon.

I had never felt so savage a thirst, and I had never been so thoroughly sated. Every one of my cells came alive. Sparks shot through the darkness behind my eyelids, exploding in splendid silent colors, searing my soul. In the midst of this, I felt a tiny pinprick of regret as if I were saying goodbye to part of myself forever. Through my conflicted emotions and sensations, though, the greatest feeling of peace washed over me and I gave myself to it, doing what I simply could not refuse to do.

I jolted awake, rudely thrust back into consciousness when the nurse rapped loudly at the door and stuck her head round it, carefully averting her eyes from what she probably thought was a disturbingly intense make-out session. "Ma'am? Time's nearly up." She withdrew just as suddenly as she had appeared. Startled and disoriented, I sat up straight, pushing away from Domn in revulsion and fear. In my mind, he morphed from gentle skillful lover to crazed monster. I leaped off the bed, hands to bloody mouth.

"What the fuck is wrong with me," I said, horrified. "You hypnotized me. Again! It's just as Dr. Cruckshack... _Cruciat_ said." I yanked a handful of tissues from the box and desperately mopped blood from my lips.

"No," he protested. "He is a lie."

" _You_ are the lie!" I shook with anger. "You're sick! Now, _I'm_ sick! You gave me some kind of weird illness and I'm turning into a sick, sad freak like you!"

In my heart, in my very being, I knew what I was saying was not truth. Unready and unwilling to see what lay right in front of me, I turned and rushed out of his cell, shutting my ears and the door on his mournful, "Please, my lady. Do not go."

As I hurried out of the ward and through the hospital hallway to the front entrance, I slapped on my Sabres cap, giant sunglasses, and my "don't talk to me don't even look at me" scowl. I strode out into the bright light of day, letting righteous anger impel me across the impossible length of the parking lot to where I'd left the truck. But righteous anger could only take me so far, and the white heat of the sun burned through that anger as a laser burns through ice. I cowered in the shadow of my truck, fumbled in my handbag for keys, then remembered. This vehicle had a push-button entry; and I couldn't recall the combination. I covered my stinging face with my stinging hands and sobbed.

"Hey, you all right, Lady?" A young man in scrubs squatted beside me, thankfully blocking some of those vicious solar rays.

"Yes." I kept my head down, unable to meet his eyes, certain he somehow knew what had gone on back there in the psych ward. Involuntarily, I raised my hands again, reaching for help I knew could not be there. I drew them back hurriedly. He must have thought I was pathetic.

"No," I admitted. "I'm very upset and I can't seem to find my keys."

"May I?" He gently pulled my handbag from me and in a second held out the reticent keys. This compassionate stranger took my arm and pulled me to my feet, unlocked the truck door, then placed the keys into my hand and curled my fingers around them. He bent to see into my face. "Are you okay to drive, ma'am?"

"Yes, I think so." I breathed in and out to settle my nerves and lifted my eyes to meet his. In spite of his professional bearing, his eyes widened and he took a step back. I tried to summon a grateful smile, feeling taut skin stretch and crack on my cheeks. _Jesus, what must I look like?_ "Thank you, young man. You've been most kind."

"'S'okay. You sure you can drive, now?"

"Yes, of course." I slid into the truck and, tugging the door shut, started the engine before I waved a feeble acknowledgement. The guy hesitated a moment, watching me, then turned and walked toward the hospital entrance. I tilted the rear-view mirror to my face and uttered a cry. It was a wonder he hadn't gone screaming across the parking lot. Through the dark lenses of the sunglasses, I could still see my hugely dilated pupils and red-shot whites. The skin on my face was blistering red and my lips had gone blue and cracked—a sight to behold. Poor guy must've thought I'd shoved my face in the cafeteria toaster.

"God damn." I threw the truck in gear and skidded out of the parking lot, trusting that instinct, rather than driving skills, would get me home.

*~*~*

Avoiding Ethan and his yard work, for the rest of the day I skulked in my darkened bedroom with the curtains drawn tight, alternately napping and stumbling to the bathroom to recheck my ravaged face . Each trip made me confront a truth staring back at me from the mirror. I kept splashing my face with cold, cold water, and the redness gradually faded, but my heat and thirst persisted despite five or six pints of water. I heard Ethan moving about in the garden and then in the house, and I prayed he didn't have the energy to come upstairs yet.

He stayed away—the afternoon wore steadily on. Five o'clock happy hour wouldn't come fast enough so, around four, I went downstairs for my old friend the box wine in the cupboard. Three glasses later, my nerves were considerably less jangled. My hands barely shook at all and I figured I might function well enough to make some dinner for Ethan and myself. We ate together, mostly in silence. I had little appetite. Once or twice, Ethan interrupted his steady fork-to-mouth rhythm to stare at me. He would open his mouth as if to say something then close it again and attend to his food.

The silence preyed on me, so finally I ventured, "How is it?" I indicated the food-like substances I'd slapped together. I was pretty much drinking my dinner, making a respectable dent in the contents of the wine box.

"It's alright," Ethan allowed.

"Gosh, thanks," I said and was answered by a sour look, a blast of air out his nose, and silence.

"Look," I tried conversation again.

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped.

"We _have_ to talk about it!"

"No. We don't." His dinner half-finished, Ethan stood and left the table. A minute later I heard the front door swish open and slam shut. His car engine rumbled. Tears sprang to my eyes and I felt utterly lost and alone. The emptiness of our house whispered all around me, and I couldn't stand one more minute.

I remember leaving and walking west down the road, but I have no recollection of where I might have gone or how long it took me. When I came back to myself, the sun was long gone beyond the west hill and I was down at the lake, staring hard at a body, fully clothed and bobbing face down in front of me.

Dream-like, I raised my head to look around and try to get a bearing on where I was. From the circle of rusty shopping carts and wind-blown raggedy tents strewn about the clearing I realized I was at the south end of the lake in that posh resort informally known as Camp Hobo. Silence pervaded, except for the quiet lapping of water at my feet. It wasn't a dream; I clearly saw the dead man suspended in the lake, his clothes typical of the poor creatures relegated to life in this hell hole. A coating of grease made his filthy rags stretch out on the water as though he had starched them, and his shoes, more silvery duct tape than leather, gleamed eerily in the moonlight. His matted hair tangled with weeds and swayed with the current.

I lowered myself to my heels, hand over mouth—a mouth tingling as if my teeth were singing. I'm not sure how long I squatted there contemplating the lifeless body rocking serenely in the water, but I became aware of a rustling behind me that sounded like someone trying hard to be silent. Every muscle in my body tensed. I felt strong. I felt like a hunter.

"Git 'er", someone whispered.

I rose and turned in one fluid motion. Three shaggy men skidded to a stop in the clearing, their white faces like beacons in the moonlight.

"Gentlemen," my voice sounded foreign and liquid in my ears—someone else was speaking for me. "How kind of you to return. I find I still thirst."

Before the leader could twitch a muscle, I crossed the clearing and ripped my teeth across his filthy neck. I bore his feebly struggling body to the ground and gulped as if I would suck his soul from him. When I finished, sated, the other two had had the good sense to run and my victim lay limp and motionless in my arms like some grotesque Pieta.

This all felt strangely familiar to me as I rose and effortlessly lifted the corpse. Into the lake he went with the other one, but before he drifted out I leaned down to tear off a large, wet swatch of his ragged shirt. I used it to mop my mouth thoroughly before I dropped it in the lake with the rest of the flotsam. My lavish feast finished, I turned to begin the long trek home.

Chapter 7

I squeezed my eyes shut against the unwelcome intrusion of a ferociously cheerful sun that glared in through my bedroom curtains. The steady throb of yet another headache echoed a pounding rhythm in my chest. I felt like my veins were full of burning acid and, once again, wispy memories of barbaric behavior floated around in my head, but every time I tried to get a fix on one, to put myself in the scene, it drifted away like smoke. The way things stood, as tangled and bizarre as they might be, I now had three addictions—alcohol, cigarettes, and—ewf—blood. I wish I could say I felt revulsion at myself and remorse for the two bodies probably still bobbing about in the lake but, like the stereotypical unfeeling killing machine of Hollywood repute, I barely felt anything.

"Great," I muttered. "So now, instead of feeding and clothing hobos, I hunt them down and kill them." The moral thing to do here would be to go to the police and turn myself in. I could just imagine the headlines: Suburban Wife and Mother Caught Murdering Indigents, Drinking Their Blood. I had to be realistic, though—there's no way they were going to believe me. No, more likely the headlines would read: Suburban Wife and Mother Relegated to Loony Bin Indefinitely. I could bury my head in the sand and pretend it wasn't me who did that. My desperate need for answers to this impossible dilemma prompted me to drag myself from the bed, pull on a t-shirt and jeans, and head out in search of Ethan.

"Why do we have to talk about anything?" he growled a few minutes later as he savagely yanked weeds from the front flower bed.

"Because I'm scared and worried. I don't know what's going on with me and you're not helping by shutting me out." Inside my head, I tried to formulate a way to break the news to him. _You'll be shocked and dismayed to know that your lovely wife and mother of your children went out last night and killed a couple of homeless men. Why? For dinner, of course. Now what should I do about it?_ Yeah, that'll work.

"What's going on with you?" He straightened up, hands on hips. "What's going on with you is you drink too much. It's that simple."

"But no it's not, Ethan. It's not at all simple. Please listen?" I sat down cross-legged on the sidewalk and he turned back to his weeding. "I don't think I have complete control over what I do or say anymore. And you just keep pretending to ignore it or get pissed off at me and refuse to discuss it. I think I need help."

"This is just an excuse for you to complain and get out of doing anything around here, isn't it? Everything's about you, right?" He gestured impatiently at the flower beds. "Meanwhile, this whole yard is going to hell and I can't keep up. Might as well let the weeds take over." He stabbed at the dirt and yanked at weeds until I wanted to take his little digger and bury it in his skull.

"Yeah, it's all about me. You know why? Because you're too fucking perfect to have problems, aren't you?" My head felt too heavy for my neck, and I rubbed my hands over my sweat-bathed face. Through a red-tinted haze, I watched Ethan move further down the sidewalk to work on a different area. He looked quite tiny and the sidewalk loomed oddly elongated. He sounded echoey.

"I'm not perfect," he told the plants. "I don't pretend to be. Yeah, okay." Finished with that particular conversation, he sat back on his heels and faced me. "Okay. I agree. You have a problem. What do you want to do about it?"

First I thought of Johnny's AA meeting thing. _Do they have one for plasma addicts?_ I wondered. Aloud, I said, hesitantly "Well, what about Alcoholics Anonymous?"

"You think you're an alcoholic?" Ethan's face waxed indistinct as the red haze grew heavier, thicker. I tried to blink it away.

"I think I've got a drinking problem, yeah," I said, rubbing at my eyes.

"Then go to a meeting. With my blessing." He looked at me a moment longer, but I couldn't read his expression. I don't know if it was him being inscrutable or if it was because of my growing visual problem, but his face looked blank, occluded by steadily expanding blind-spots. I think he turned back to his plants—I couldn't really see through the haze, thick and augmented now by sparklers in my peripheral vision. "Ethan, I think I'm getting a migraine," I said weakly, head in my hands. My own voice sounded far away and tinny. "Can you show me where the house is?" The ending z-sound buzzed through my brain like a hornet on cocaine.

I felt, rather than saw, him approach and take my hands to pull me to my feet. The sparklers intensified giddily, and dancing neon amoebas blocked the rest of my vision. Yep, migraine. Ethan helped me back up the stairs and into the blessed cool darkness of our house. I sank gratefully into the couch while my husband squatted in front of me, concern in his demeanor.

"Jesus," he breathed, "Ana, you look like warmed-over shit."

"Migraine," I rasped. "Give me an hour."

"This is some migraine you've got," he said, trying to tilt my head up to see into my eyes. I squeezed them shut against dim light seeping through the living room drapes and searing a sharp path through my brain.

"Ethan, please," I put a hand on his, "you know how awful these are. Just let me be."

"I've seen your migraines, Ana," he said, palming my hair off my forehead. _Ethan shut the fuck up, it hurts._ "This is no migraine. I should get you to the hospital."

"No!" I shouted, struggling to sit up.

I immediately regretted the effort, the motion. The word bounced around in my skull before exiting out the top of my head. "No," I whispered and toppled slowly over onto my side. "Just a migraine. I need time. I'll be all right." I pulled a throw pillow over my face and sank into its comforting depth. I could feel him regarding me for another moment or two, then I heard him stand up and cross the room. _Good._ A second later, I heard the front door shut. _Better._

I couldn't fall asleep, though. Images of bodies floating in the lake flashed through my mind. In a very surreal way I could believe I had actually killed them, but my brain kept shrinking from the horror of it. The moment when their muscles went slack, the blood stopped pumping through their veins, and the snoring rattle in their throats as the last breath fled their lungs played itself out over and over again. I tried to place myself in the body of the beast who had done such an awful thing, and I failed. I wasn't capable of such extremes... was I?

I rolled over, buried my face in the couch cushion, and groaned aloud at the persistent buzzing in my ears. Long moments later I realized my head wasn't buzzing; my cell phone jittered around on the edge of the coffee table where Ethan had thoughtfully placed it within my reach. I fumbled for it and answered.

"'Lo?" I whispered.

"Hello, Mother."

Perfect. Karen. "Hi, Honey. Listen, I'm sorry..."

"Stop. Just stop. Lemme ask you something. Do I ask you to babysit too often?"

"No, of course not. It's just that..."

"No. Stop. God, Mom. Joe was going to take me out to dinner. Do you know how often I get to go out to an adult dinner? We wound up with pizza and wings at home with the boys. And you were, where? Out having a grand old time? I've been trying to call for _two days,_ Mother. _Two God-damned days._ I finally called Dad to ask if you were still alive. What's going on? What is _wrong_ with you?"

_Oh, lovely throbbing pain intensified to skull-cracking proportions, please let my brain explode and leave me in peace,_ I begged silently.

"Karen," I said, trying to talk without moving my jaw, "I am so, so sorry. I was horrible, I know. I simply forgot."

"And went and got drunk instead. Dad told me you looked like hell yesterday. And now you sound like you have the hangover to end all hangovers."

"Migraine," I murmured. "So, could you tone it down a little?"

"Right. Migraine." She lowered her voice slightly, though, and changed the subject. "When was the last time you talked to Jemmie?"

Jemmie, Jamimah, her older sister, tended to absent herself from our lives for months at a time. Surely that wasn't _my_ fault. "I don't know, a while ago, I guess," I told Karen.

"Mom, do you even care about us anymore? Dad, me, Jemmie, your grandsons? Remember us?"

"Of course I do, Karen." _At least I think I do._ "I'm dealing with a lot right now. Don't forget we're about to lose a major source of income. I'm a little worried about the future." _That's putting it mildly._

"And so you're coping by getting drunk every night."

"Yes, well, I'm going to do something about that. I'm going to try AA. Maybe they can help me get my head on straight."

"Alcoholics Anonymous? So, it's come to that?"

"Yes. I suppose it has."

Karen was silent for a moment, then, sounding skeptical, said, "I hope it helps, Mom. I really do. It'd be nice to have my mother back."

_Wow. I've been more absent than I thought. What have I missed? My whole family hates me?_ "Have I really been that bad?"

"Yes, Mom. You've really been that bad."

"I'm sorry. God, it seems like all I do these days is apologize."

"Well, stop apologizing and do something about it why don't you?"

"Yes," I breathed. "I said I intend to. But right now, sweetheart, I need to rest and try to get rid of this headache."

"Okay, but could you please call Jemmie?"

"Yes, because I just _love_ to talk on the phone."

"Mom. Make an effort. Call her. She thinks you're mad at her."

"She's not the one I'm mad at." Enough already. I had no strength for further argument. "Let me go, Karen. I'm really hurting here."

I could tell she had plenty more to unload on me, but thanks be to all the saints, she uttered a terse "Fine. Bye." The line went dead. I let my phone drop to the floor, rolled over, and pressed my face into the back to the couch to stifle my sobs and soak up my tears.

Later, I dozed, apparently for quite a while. When I opened my eyes again the house was dark and Ethan, presumably having called a truce in his futile war on weeds, pattered quietly about the kitchen getting his dinner.

"Hey," I walked up behind him and touched his shoulder. He startled violently and whirled to face me.

"Jesus," he breathed. "Ana. How're you feeling?"

"Better," I said. "Told you it was a migraine."

He studied me, doubt all over his face. "Sure it was. I got to tell you, Ana," he said, turning back to his dinner preparation, "I'm just about at the end of my rope. We've been going around in circles for years now. How much longer do you want to play this game?"

I had, for ages, both anticipated and feared the conflict between us coming to a head. Was this the moment? Was this the day for everyone to dump me?

"Game?" I had a sinking feeling, struggling to find the perfect retort. "Our marriage is a game to you, then?" _Weak._

"Not to me, no. But it seems like it is for you. You start a fight, then you apologize. Before I know it, you've started another one. I'm tired of it. Aren't you?"

At that moment, I felt clarity. I wondered how long it would last. "I'm tired, yes." I told him, "but not of our marriage. Not of you. I'm tired of working two jobs and getting nowhere." His face tightened at that, but I plowed on, knowing I spoke the truth, "I'm tired of you being angry with me for everything I do or don't do. I'm working my _ass_ off and for what? So we can barely meet our monthly bills? Meanwhile, you get an occasional sale, enough to give me hope that I can start to relax and then nothing for months."

Ethan was shaking his head the whole time I spoke. "See, this is what I mean. I _told_ you the market is getting better. I'm up to my ears in clients, I've got closings coming up. It may not show in the checking account yet, but I've been working _my_ ass off, too. And not just with the real estate, but out there," he waved a hand in the general direction of the backyard. "I get no help from you. You're either at the Exchange or sitting in here drinking glass after glass of wine until you're useless."

I ducked my head, knowing that much was true. "I try to get my brain to relax, Ethan. It won't slow down at night. I can't sleep." Even to my own ears, I sounded whiny and defeated.

A fork skittered across the counter as his hand slammed down. "Then read a friggin' book, Ana! Watch a stupid movie! Stop with the wine. Stop with the bourbon. If you really want this marriage to work, you'd better rearrange your priorities, and soon. I'm just about done with you." Again, I recognized truth, and I watched silently as he picked up the sandwich he had savagely thrown together and stalked to the sunroom. Clearly, I was not to follow. "No more talk," he threw over his shoulder. " _Do_ something."

This was the second admonishment. I didn't need a third. Ever the dutiful wife, I spent the evening looking up AA meetings, noting the schedules, and looking for holes in my calendar to accommodate meetings. Ever the dutiful wife, I yearned for Ethan's approval and for peace in my life.

Chapter 8

Rosy-fingered dawn nudged me awake and my eyes flew open, eager to face the day, I was bound and determined to turn over a new leaf. I _had_ to stop this break-neck skid toward the abyss yawning somewhere out there ahead of me. I positively leaped out of bed, brimming with determination, fully prepared to end the madness and begin a brand new journey to sanity. I ran down the steps to the kitchen, delighted to find that Ethan had made coffee, God bless him. He leaped in fright when I impulsively hugged from behind. I was a little surprised, myself.

"I'm going to do it," I informed him, bubbling with purposeful energy.

"Go to the office for a whole day?"

"Well, yes, that too. But I'm going to go to an AA meeting!"

"Tonight?"

"No, silly." Some of the air hissed out of my happy balloon. I dropped my embrace as he turned to face me. "I have to work tonight. Tomorrow for sure."

"You have to work at the _pub_ tonight," he said, putting on his skeptical face. "Good luck with that."

"I can do this," I said through clenched teeth, "and you're not going to discourage me."

"I'm not trying to discourage you, Ana." He put his hands on my shoulders. "I'm just saying, you're asking an awful lot of yourself all at once. You'll be surrounded by the stuff all night! How're you going to deal with that?"

"I just will. I just can. I know I can." I leaned my forehead on his shoulder, suddenly frightened and feeling very alone in the craziness of the past week. Ethan, in a rare demonstration of empathy, put his arms around me and squeezed as if he could impart some of his strength. I burrowed into his chest and felt the slow, steady thud of his heart.

A comforting sound, his strong, steady heart—one I missed as we grew further apart. I leaned into the rhythm, inhaled the nourishing smell of him, startled to find visions of platelets, corpuscles, and plasma dancing in my head. I put my hand over his heart, the heart that pumped a human current of sweet, warm liqueur. That sweet, warm liqueur my thirst was craving... _Oh, holy crap._

I stiffened and drew away, concealing my sudden need behind a sickly smile. "So!" I said brightly, "I'm off to the office, and then the Exchange. If you're so worried you can stop by any time and check on me."

All that day it was nearly impossible to concentrate. I pulled out my phone and brought up the picture I'd taken of Domn in the car the other night. The frozen image sent a wave of sorrow coursing over me as I watched his eyes stare out at me accusingly. I fought back tears and pangs of guilt. The unrelenting thirst that plagued me all day long added to my misery. Anyone watching me would have thought I suffered some dire illness as I trotted to the break room for glass after glass of water and then to the ladies room to relieve myself of all the water, then back to the break room in an absurd and futile cycle. I felt as though I had worn a path by day's end.

All that back-and-forth echoed the frantic merry-go-round in my head. My thoughts bounced from remorse at leaving Domn with the redoubtable Dr. Cruciat, to my acute embarrassment at what went on in the pub parking lot the other night, to the fear and guilt at the bodies I had left floating in the lake. I was so restless and unsettled, I felt like jumping out of my skin. I kept shoving the thoughts down and they kept popping back up like a manic cuckoo-clock bird.

Noon rolled along with a lunchtime meeting in the main conference room, and by then I was all jitters with no appetite for the sandwiches brought in from a downtown deli. I forced myself to bite and chew and swallow what tasted like Styrofoam and library paste. The meeting droned on—some software vendor extolled the virtues of his wares while my brain glazed over and something unpleasant began to happen in my stomach.

"Hey, Annie, you okay?" Co-worker Art whispered, furrowing his brow from across the conference table. "You look kinda green."

I gulped, nodded, and lurched out of my chair, hell-bent to reach the door and cross the suddenly mile-wide hallway to the restroom. I pushed into a stall just in time to lose every bit of the sandwich I had choked down. Gulping air, I waited till my knees firmed up, and then I wobbled out of the ladies room, stopping to lean against the uprights in the doorway for a moment. Co-worker Jill, just leaving the conference room, spotted me and hurried over.

"Annie, are you okay?"

"Will be in a minute," I managed.

"Hang on," she brushed past me into the restroom and emerged a moment later with a damp paper towel. "Here." She pressed it into my hands. I dabbed at my forehead and cheeks while Jill stood gawking.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm thinking I should take you to the clinic. You don't look at all well."

"What is it with everyone wanting to drag me off to the hospital lately?" I grumbled. "I feel _fine_!"

"Yeah, so you usually upchuck your lunch when you're feeling fine?"

"A momentary upset. Something I ate. I'm okay now. Really." I went to hide in my office until three-thirty.

In spite of a couple of pull-overs to heave what was left of lunch out the truck door, I made it to the pub with time to spare and busied myself stocking the coolers and napkins. I filled the fruit tray, impulsively taking an experimental bite of a lemon. The flood of definitely sour juice reassured me that my taste buds were still working. To distract myself, I mopped the bar and tables and filled peanut bowls. I turned on the two televisions and music, the neon beer signs, and the overhead lights, then I unlocked the door. Ready to open the place, I found myself staring at the rows of bottles on shelves behind the bar. I closed my eyes for a moment, gathering strength, then shook my head firmly and turned my attention to the television nearest me, which happened to be tuned to the local news channel.

With horror I watched the camera focus on a passel of official vehicles and uniformed people milling about. Sheriff's deputies and EMTs worked at pulling two bodies from the lake. Our lake. I cranked up the volume.

"...discovered early Sunday morning. Both were homeless men, as yet unidentified, apparently living in the area known as Camp Hobo on the south end of the lake near the flood-control channel."

The camera jostled away, cutting to two gurneys covered with white sheets. The bodies beneath those shrouds, securely strapped down, were being loaded into a couple of ambulances. Now the camera pulled back to the on-the-street reporter who looked like some college kid, thrilled to be in on this huge story, his chest puffed up like a Bantam rooster.

"Both bodies are to be autopsied at Tompkins County Hospital, but the initial investigation indicates that cause of death is most likely severe trauma to the throat resulting in loss of blood, coupled with hypothermia. The sheriff's office is asking for anyone with information about these grisly deaths to please call..." I changed the channel hastily, then glanced guiltily around the pub. Still empty. My happy balloon expelled the last of its air and flew around the room with a mocking Bronx cheer.

_Should I do something about the two remaining witnesses? No need, they're probably homeless, too. Homeless with no TV, no phone, no easy way to contact the sheriff. Even if they did, who would believe them? They were bums! Probably drunk or high. Or drunk_ and _high. Mentally unstable, society's outcasts. Who would care that two more useless creatures died?_ I had chosen my victims well. I fought the impulse to wring my hands and laugh hollowly.

I found the fortitude to ignore the bottles and taps all evening, just busy enough to keep my mind off the news story and the booze, but not busy enough to keep that new thirst at bay. Every wretched mortal being who walked in and sat down at my bar looked like a potential—and no doubt unwilling—blood donor. After hours of struggling I made my way to the kitchen, thinking I had a solution of sorts.

I tugged at the cook's sleeve. "Say, Matt, I have a bit of an unusual request."

"Yeah?" He looked up from slapping a hamburger together. My mouth watered as I gazed at the deep red flesh that had left a bit of blood on the plate.

"Um, could you...could I get..."

"Spit it out, Annie! I'm kinda busy here!"

I took a breath and blurted, "Can I get a hunk-a sirloin?" I added hastily, "Just a small one," as if that would make my request less weird.

He paused and eyed me. "For shifty? You didn't get one yet, didja?"

"No, I wasn't hungry at the time."

"How do you want it done?"

"Rare." He nodded and turned to get what I needed, but I caught his arm and amended, "No. Raw."

He grinned at me and suggested, "Hey, how about a steak tartare?" Good ol' Matt was always ready to stretch his culinary skills.

"Umm, sure, but hold the tartare part?"

He squinted at me, shrugged, and hacked off a chunk of meat, plopped it on a plate and passed it to me, giving me such a look of disgust that I was momentarily shamed. But not shamed enough.

"Thanks," I hustled out of the kitchen and down into the cellar. In the dank darkness where rodents and insects were probably having a field day, I hunched over and I sucked that piece of beef dry. It helped a little, but after my last gulp, I felt like a derelict caught dumpster surfing. _It's just meat,_ I comforted myself, _not like it was a drink. And_ _I have that AA meeting tomorrow night. That will solve everything._ I hurried back upstairs, making a quick check to be sure I hadn't been missed, then finished my shift without incident.

Chapter 9

The next morning, bright and early, dammit, the calendar on my cell phone reminded me of a dentist appointment I had made way back in the halcyon days of six months ago. I almost cancelled it, but given my sudden urge to bite everyone who came near me, I figured I should at least make sure they weren't giving me cavities. It also seemed like a great way to get through one normal day, anyway, without fighting with Ethan, without obsessing over Domn, without feeling as though the world had suddenly gone upside down and inside out. What could be more mundane than the dreaded annual dental checkup?

With my usual pre-exam trepidation, I made my way to town and walked into the dental office. I am less than enthusiastic about having that metal pick thing scraped across my teeth. Gives me the shivers—like some people's reaction to nails on a chalkboard. I hate the warm, sticky feel of the chair's plastic cover, especially in the humid summer, and I can never keep my thoughts from imagining whose sweaty butt had occupied it earlier. Add to _that_ the hygienist's insistence that she be allowed to run a length of waxed string between my teeth, up into the very roots of them, and I've got my own personal gag-fest. The one thing I _don't_ mind is the actual power brushing—nothing like running your tongue over fine porcelain-smooth surfaces after a good cleaning.

I lay back in the chair, wincing at the plastic, and braced myself for metal-on-enamel. The hygienist perked into the room with a sugary, "Good morning, Mrs. Trent! How are we doing?"

"Well, I'm fine, I guess. How're you?"

"Great! We should do some x-rays, huh? It's been a while. Are you up for that?"

"Oh, sure," I sighed. Anything to delay the onslaught of the metal scrapey-picky-thing.

When she plunked the lead apron over me, weighing me down in the chair, I immediately felt the plastic adhere to the backs of my legs. She wrestled that huge chunk of cardboard and film into my tiny mouth and retreated behind the shielded partition, singing, "Just onnne second!"

I lay as still as possible, resisting the obsequious need to scratch my nose, enduring the cardboard thing clenched in my teeth, and waiting for the beep that says it's done. Without warning, white fire seared through my brain and I growled out a strangled yell, biting through the cardboard bit. The technician rushed from behind her partition as I fumbled at my mouth, yanked the cardboard out, and spat a blob of bloody phlegm into the side sink.

"Good God, Mrs. Trent! Are you okay?"

I shakily wiped my mouth and lay back in the chair. "Yeah," I breathed. "I have no idea what that was, but it felt like you just shot a laser through my head."

"My God." She peered at me anxiously. "Listen. I'm going to call 911. You look terrible. I think you should get to a hospital. I can't imagine what's wrong with the machine, but I'm really quite concerned."

"No!" I almost shouted, sitting upright. _Again with the fucking hospital?_ "No," more quietly this time, but no less insistent. "I feel fine now, really. Let's just carry on and skip the x-rays for now. Really."

She hung back, looking skeptical.

"Please, just do the exam and the cleaning and get this over with. I can't tell you how much I dislike coming here in the first place." I laughed a little, "Bet you never hear that, right?"

"Heh. Right." She gave me another look but turned and gathered her instruments of torture, adjusted the overhead light, and began her evil work. When another stab of white light shot into my brain, I squinted my eyes nearly shut but forced myself to sit still. She merrily scraped and picked away and I lay there suppressing shivers. Lifting one side of my upper lip with her tiny mirror, the woman paused, dead silent for a moment.

She murmured, "How odd."

"Whut?" I muttered around the mirror still in my mouth. "Whuzz odd?" She didn't answer but turned to the trash where she had tossed the bloody x-ray cardboard and gingerly picked it out.

"Excuse me a moment," she said to the air, as if I had ceased to exist. She whirled about and left the room with the cardboard. I stared up at the ceiling, perplexed, worried. _What now?_

In a few minutes she returned, x-ray in hand and frowning, said, "Have a look at this, Mrs. Trent." She put the x-ray in front of my face, "You've got new teeth coming in."

I blinked speechlessly at two small white triangles definitely emerging above my canines and already halfway poking through my gums. "These—your canine teeth," she pointed to the x-ray, in case I didn't know what canines were, "are loose. These," she pointed to the triangles, "are what's making them loose."

"I'm kind of old to be getting new teeth, don't you think?" Before the words left my mouth, I knew the answer. _Mother of God._

"Well, it's incredibly rare, but it does happen. It's called hyperdontia. Extra teeth!" She smiled brightly, thrilled at having a freak show in her chair. "Though, if I remember my schooling, they usually come in _behind_ the permanent teeth and not with such symmetry. I'm impressed!"

I poked index finger and thumb into my mouth and pushed on my canines. Sure enough, they both moved. Then my finger slipped and grazed one of the new teeth. It sliced neatly through the pad of my flesh.

"Ouch, dammit!" I stared at beads of blood forming in the cut and swallowed. With as steady a voice as I could manage, I said, "Well. So what should we do about this?"

"I'm going to fetch the doctor. We'll see what he has to say." She patted my arm and skipped away.

_God, I am truly making her day,_ I thought. _Holy shit, though. This is real. It's fucking medically real. I'm turning into a friggin' freak. A shark-toothed, blood-sucking freak. Like Domn._ The thought of him sent an unexpected wave of longing over me and I clenched my jaw against it. _Oh, dammit, Domn. What the hell have you done to me? What have you infected me with?_ I had to shut down such thoughts. It just happens, like the hygienist said. She had called it hyperdontia. Extra teeth. The blood drinking thing, had to be an aberration. Okay, two aberrations, and I had been very drunk both times. The solution seemed a no brainer—no more booze, no more... blood.

The hygienist returned, dentist in tow, and pointed proudly to the x-ray, as if this miracle of medical science had appeared in the chair solely due to her great prowess and skill. "You see this? And this?"

The dentist peered at the film, nodded, and made "hmm" noises. He straightened and turned to me so abruptly that I recoiled. "Well! This is most interesting! My first case of hyperdontia." Grabbing the tiny mirror, he began pulling my lips this way and that, squinting eagerly at my gums and pausing to scrutinize the x-ray. He pushed at my canines, poked at the tips of the shark-like teeth above them, and finally set the mirror down among the other instruments of torture on the tray at my elbow.

"We should get more x-rays," he said.

"No! No, please!" I sat up. Another burst of searing heat would either melt my brain or kill me outright. Apparently the hygienist hadn't completely dismissed my human feelings because she responded quickly.

"Oh, that's right," she said, nodding at me. To the dentist, she added, "There must be something wrong with the machine. Poor Mrs. Trent nearly jumped out of the chair when I shot the first film. I don't think we should use the machine again 'til we get it checked out. I wouldn't want to cause her any damage."

The doctor peered intently at my face, but I shut my eyes and shook my head. "Look," I managed, "can we just finish my appointment? I do have to get back to work some time. Just, what can we do about these new teeth?"

"New teeth? Nothing." He beamed at me, a proud papa admiring his talented child. "Since they seem to be coming in nice and straight, and what we thought were your permanent canines are loosening as they're supposed to, why disturb the process?"

_Aw good grief_. "You don't want to pull them? I mean, this isn't natural."

"It's perfectly natural," the dentist said, patting my arm. "It's rare, I'll grant you. But extracting the new teeth would do more harm than good—I'd have to extract the canines below them, thus leaving you with two fewer teeth. We would have to make you a bridge for the missing teeth so the rest of your teeth wouldn't tumble into the holes left behind. Not a good plan all around."

"Cripes." I had no choice but to become a freak. I mentally predicted there'd be less smiling in my future.

"If you don't mind," the doctor ventured, "since this is a rather rare occurrence, would you consent to participate in a study? I would gladly pay you for your time."

I frowned, while the good doctor kept explaining, "We would, of course, need to take x-rays as the new canines develop, but," he raised a finger as I glanced fearfully at the camera, "I would get this machine checked out thoroughly before using it on you again. Or, we could use another machine—at the hospital, perhaps."

Another mention of a hospital, and another twinge of guilt at the thought of Domn imprisoned there. Enough of this. I squirmed, saying, "Give me time to think about it."

"Of course! And don't worry," as if he'd read my mind, "you're not a freak—only a medical oddity." He rose and breezed from the room, leaving the hygienist to complete the exam and cleaning.

About mid-morning I ended up back at work and went straight to my desk to busy myself in projects. I caught myself running my tongue over the smooth porcelain of my clean teeth, gingerly avoiding those razor-sharp fangs. I sat back, stared unseeingly at my monitor, and considered my future.

First, the facts. I was growing a pair of freaky shark-like fangs; the x-rays proved that beyond a doubt. I was thirsty all the freaking time, and the only thing that quenched this incredible thirst was blood. If this was some kind of weird disease, it was one society certainly would not tolerate nor have a cure for. If I truly was becoming a vam... a vamp... one of _them,_ given most reasonable people's insistence such things did not exist, I would wind up like Domn—in the psych ward, begging for blood and wasting away.

I could not force my thoughts to focus on work, so time ran slowly, but the afternoon finally ground to an end. At five o'clock, I bolted from the office to my truck and drove down the hill to the AA meeting where, surely, I would find salvation. Head down, I tiptoed into a cavernous conference room where the meeting was to be held. I avoided everyone's eyes, and it occurred to me that that must be how established members identified newcomers. Yep, other members, recognizing a newbie, insisted on coming over, shaking my hand, introducing themselves, fetching me stuff—pamphlets, books, coffee. The flock of them finally settled on chairs around the square of rickety, over-worked conference tables, and the meeting began.

"Hello, I'm Bill and I'm an alcoholic," the leader announced.

"Hi, Bill," they chorused.

"Welcome to the nightly Happy Hour meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. Let's have a moment of silence for those who still struggle with addiction, followed by the Serenity Prayer." Silence, the chorus chanted the prayer, then Bill asked, "Are there newcomers among us who wish to identify themselves?"

Timidly, I raised my hand—might as well get it over with. Bill nodded at me and offered an encouraging smile, so I stood up and said, "Hi? My name is Ana-- err Annie? And I'm an alco...alco...I have a drinking problem."

"Hi, Annie," said the chorus.

More silence and when I got up the nerve to look around the room, I saw a dozen and a half pairs of eyes fixed expectantly on me. Feeling for all the world like some dippy high school girl, and sounding like one, I spewed words, stuttering heavily, my voice rising nervously with each statement. "Um, so, I guess I drink too much? And I drink stuff I shouldn't be drinking? Like, I mean, I drink stuff normal people wouldn't drink?"

I swallowed, steadied myself, and tried to come up with something that made more sense. "I get these blackouts lately, and I think I'm doing things I wouldn't normally do. Like, someone's taken over my body and is doing awful, evil things." I looked up to see heads nodding all around the room as if they, too, had been where I was. I had a crazed moment, picturing them all going out and killing hobos. Surely, none of these people had a clue what I was going through.

"Well, anyway, I don't think I like what I'm becoming." _Which is what exactly, Miss Ana?_ "Ah, so, I'm thinking I'll give this AA thing a try," I finished and lowered myself to my seat, already having my doubts.

"Welcome, Annie," the collective voice intoned, and they moved on while I sat staring into space, feeling completely outside my comfort zone but still hoping for a glimmer of a clue.

Later, as the meeting broke up, a comfortably plump woman approached me. She was about my age, about my height, with short iron-grey hair and a faded sundress that had been through the washer one time too many. Her face looked tired, marked by a fair amount of hard partying and harder living. She held out her hand. I looked into her washed-out but kind blue eyes and returned her smile.

"Hi, Annie," she said, "I'm Adah."

"Adah," I repeated and shook her hand; it felt so warm I wanted to hold onto it for a while, but that would be weird. She studied my face, then said "Annie, I know exactly what your drinking problem is, and AA isn't the place to find the help you need."

My eyes slid left and right. No-one stood near us. Still, though I thought I knew what she meant and could not bring myself to pass up any offer of help. I leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, "Are you one of _them_ , too?" I almost expected her to give me the secret password.

" _Them_? Oh, you mean like Domn? No. I'm something a bit different. But I am intimately familiar with," she flashed an amused grin, " _them_. Welcome to the club. It's quite an exclusive club; you're one of a rare breed."

I skipped guiltily over her reference to Domn and grumbled, "Well, I don't want to be one of _them_. I don't want to belong to this club, and I don't want to be a rare breed. I just want to be Anasta-uh Annie."

Adah's amusement deepened. "Anasta-Annie, eh? Is that your full name, then? We don't go on full names in here."

"Jesus." I covered my eyes with a hand. My head pounded as it had so often lately. I wanted only to grab this Adah woman, rip her faded sundress off those sweet, chubby shoulders, sink my itching sharky teeth into her skin and suck, suck, suck her dry. I hugged my arms to myself, digging in with fingernails. "Okay, you got me. My real name is Anastasia. And I'm a...I have a drinking problem."

Adah put a hand on my arm and whispered, "Trust me, Anastasia. Your secret is safe with me." She took out a business card handed it to me; it bore only her name and a phone number. "Call me if you're in need. We know and love Domn, and we want to help the one he chose. As a matter of fact," she began, but stopped herself and started over. "Don't worry, Anasta-Annie. We'll take care of you." She patted my arm again as we walked to the back of the hall and said, " _So_ glad I decided to come to this meeting after all!"

I turned to ask more questions, stunned by her intimation that there was some kind of _organization_ for this, but she sailed out the door and was gone.

I left, too, acutely aware of my raging, relentless thirst. "God, find me something to drink," I whispered as if the Almighty gave a rat's ass about my predicament. Not surprisingly, my plea went unanswered. No Red Cross volunteer appeared in front of me with a bag of plasma. No hobos drifted down the street hoping to accommodate me. There was no God, just as I had always known.

I got into my truck, trying to keep my tongue from hanging out, and set out for home. Halfway along East Shore Drive, I spotted a hitchhiker— _Glory be, there's something you don't see these days._ His poor judgment was about to be my salvation. I pulled over just beyond the fellow. He ran up obligingly and, yanking open the door, plopped into my passenger seat.

"Thanks!" he prattled. "Absolutely nobody stops any more, you know it? I thought I'd be stranded out here for hours." I put him at late thirties, maybe forties, pleasant looking, clean-cut in sports coat, dress pants, white shirt and a tie. He'd have had less trouble catching a ride than others might, and I wondered, without much interest, why he was hitching.

"I do know it," I said. "Don't see you rare birds around much anymore."

"Oh, I don't do this often anymore, but I got no choice," he explained. "My car decided today was a good day to die, and, wouldn't you know, I have a job interview."

"Mm-hm. Where're you headed?"

"The mall? Or, as close as you want to drop me."

"No problem." My thirst-controlled brain envisioned a particularly weird method of payment, but then I decided to take a huge chance on this nice fellow. _I'll seduce him_ , I thought. _I'll pretend to make out with him and, when he's in the throes of passion—lunch time!_

"Um, y'know, I have kind of an unusual request in return for going out of my way," I said.

Before I could finish that thought, he turned to wink at me. "I think I can guess, Lady Anastasia."

I nearly drove us into a ditch. "How?"

"You met a woman called Adah, tonight? She called me a few minutes ago and told me to hit the road, look for a beat-up black Ford truck. Just so happens, I needed to head out anyway."

"Wow. Some network you guys have." _What the hell planet am I on?_

"We have to—got to watch out for our people, see. I'm called Seth, by the way." He stuck out a hand and I reached over to shake it, keeping my eyes on the road. The road, solid blacktop, stretched ahead of me as it always did. The trees, oak, maple, ash, streamed by looking the way I would expect them to look. A young man, not markedly different from any other sat beside me, chatting casually about stuff that simply did not happen in real life. Period.

"Well how the hell could you know I would stop to pick you up?" I sputtered.

"Oh, Adah told me you would. She had no doubt. You've got a kind heart, she said. I can see that you do." He smiled. I thought about how kind I had been to those hobos.

"Seth, a short time ago if someone had told me I'd meet one single person like Domn, I'd have had them committed." I winced, thinking this is exactly what I had done, but went on, "Now it's a group activity and it's growing? How many others know about this? What did you call them? Your people? Who else knows about me—and Domn?"

He grinned and I peered at him sideways, noting the lack of shark-fangs—just your normal, run-of-the-mill human-sized canines. _So he's not one of them_ , _either. What the hell is_ _he, then?_

"Don't worry," he was saying, "it isn't thousands. It's a need-to-know thing. In fact, it's a fairly loose network because it has to be. We need to keep things nebulous—keeps the voyeurs, wannabes, and other creeps off our trail." We were approaching the mall, but he held up a hand and pointed to a service road entrance coming up before the parking lot. "Here," he said. "We'll have a bit of privacy."

Feeling very much like a virgin determined to lose her chastity, I drove around back of the mall and stopped at the end of the road where Seth indicated. In the red-orange gloom of early evening, I shut off the engine and shivered as the ensuing silence draped itself over us. I turned hesitantly to this very nice Seth guy. Had I no decency? I envisioned sinking my new fangs, no remorse, right into his sweet flesh. "I'm a little nervous," I said, gesturing to the spooky surroundings.

Seth opened his door and stepped out of the truck, beckoning to me. "We'll be more comfortable, and less conspicuous, in the back seat," he smiled yet again, and climbed in. Wasn't I supposed to be the aggressor? I suppose I could have spent precious moments puzzling this out, but damn it, I needed him. Casting my dignity to the wind, I scrambled over the top of the front seat and nearly landed right on top of him.

His warmth was delicious, my thirst desperate. Now, I knew he would offer himself, but I held back, thinking again of the hobos. "Seth, I might kill you. I'm so incredibly thirsty. I don't want to hurt you."

He stopped me with a finger to my lips.

"This is one reason Adah called me in particular," he said. "Forget the myth that you people always have superhuman strength. You're already stronger than most women, of course, but I'm still bigger and stronger, for now anyway. If it starts to get out of hand, I can bring a halt to it."

I let out a long breath as he drew off his sport coat, pulled off his tie, undid the top buttons of his pristine white shirt and pulled the collar aside.

"Oh! Your nice shirt..."

He looked at me with exasperation. "Lady Anastasia, did you not just say you were incredibly thirsty? I can get the shirt cleaned, but you are wasting away here. Also, I wasn't kidding about the job interview. I don't have a lot of time for discussion." He pulled me onto his lap, opened his collar wider, and tilted his head. I put my finger at a point on his neck and moved in, but he stopped me, saying, "Uh-uh, my lady. You puncture that artery and I will bleed out before you can dial 911. Basic anatomy." He directed me toward the hollow behind his collarbone. "There's a less important one here. I will be more comfortable and probably live longer if you give that a try."

I closed my eyes, sank a tooth into his shoulder, and tapped the flood of sweet liquid. More confident now, I drank deeply, seeking the flow of life again. My dreadful craving ebbed into the background as I lost myself in the great pleasure of restoration.

"My lady." I heard his voice way off. "Lady Anastasia, come back to me," Seth gently pushed me away and off his lap. He pressed a handkerchief to the incision I had made. I relaxed against the door, my eyes closed, and savored the mellow feeling of having partaken of a gourmet meal.

Seth redid his shirt buttons and tie and pulled his suit jacket back on before he asked, "Feeling better?"

"Wow. Yeah. Thank you," I said softly. "Better than sex. Almost." I opened my eyes and grinned at him, saying, "Payment in full." I held out a hand to shake on the deal, but he pulled me up to him and planted a soft kiss on my forehead.

"Anything for our beloved Domn and his lady," he whispered, then he opened the far door and was gone, trotting toward the mall.

"Beloved Domn," I whispered sadly, and felt that surge of longing and emptiness again. "I should go visit him again. No," I amended, "I _have_ to go visit him again. Soon."

I sat there a moment, lost in my strange thoughts, wondering what the hell this whole weird odyssey would come to. Every day tossed astonishing discoveries into my lap, and each day I seemed more willing to accept the bizarre. Here I sat at the back of the mall—the mall for the love of God, symbol of urban and suburban tedium—having just taken sustenance from another human being, _again_. I could safely say that my life had morphed into the polar opposite of tedium. I considered examining the lessening feelings of guilt threatening to well up, but decided there was little point to that now. I burped a tiny burp of satisfaction, then crawled back into the driver's seat and headed home.

Chapter 10

Seth's kindness and his sweet blood insured that I greeted the next morning's light with a greater feeling of hope. I worked hard every day now reconciling myself to new circumstances insistently worming their way into my life while I tried to instill some sense of normalcy in a very abnormal situation. Surviving was becoming my third job, but I felt renewed. I rose, dressed, and headed downstairs, ready to take on the world—or at least my office co-workers.

Ethan had already gone to his office, and I was glad to see he had left some coffee in the pot for me. I filled my travel mug, grabbed my handbag, and shoved my feet into my shoes. Flinging open the front door, my eyes were blasted by the viciously bright sun glaring down at me from over the pine trees across the road.

"God damn!" I yelled and slammed the door shut again. I stood a moment in the foyer, blinking the tracers away. It finally dawned on me. Those recent episodes I had weren't migraines at all, but a violent reaction to that burning ball of gas in the sky.

As I rummaged for my Sabres cap and those over-sized sunglasses, I tried to shove the rising conviction that I was suffering from creeping vampirism to the back of my mind where it belonged. _This is not fantasy land, Ana,_ I told myself firmly. _This shit doesn't happen in the real world. Get a freaking grip._ Cap and sunglasses securely clapped on my head, I braved the summer sunshine again.

By the time I negotiated the trip to work, parked my truck, and arrived at my desk, my mellow mood had dissipated, replaced by an increasing feeling of repulsion and disgust. "Thanks a lot, AA Lady," I muttered. "I'm sicker than ever now."

For whatever perverted reason, that Adah woman set me up to fuel my addiction, dammit. And that Seth guy—another freaking pervert. Time to find a different meeting, one that Adah would be unlikely to attend. As if I weren't irritated enough, all day long a parade of co-workers poked their heads in my door to remind me that this was my last week. Was I coming in on Friday?

"Yes," I grumbled. "I wouldn't miss a day." Each laughed knowingly and then disappeared to be replaced by another and another. How I managed to get any work done was a mystery. I couldn't wait for three-thirty, so I left at three-fifteen.

The evening at the Exchange was dead slow. I pointedly ignored the bottles on the shelves behind me by staring at the bottles in the speed rails in front of me. I poured myself a pint glass of club soda and sipped it slowly while I channel surfed until I found a movie: _The Fly_. I snorted. How appropriate.

Around eleven-thirty, who should stroll in, but Alexis. Honest to God. Alexis. Apparently I hadn't sufficiently scared the living shit out of her the other night. The sight of her raised such a surge of need that I felt dizzy. I ambled as casually as I could down the length of the bar to where she sat waiting.

"Hey, Annie," she said, not quite meeting my eyes. She kept flicking hers up, then down again. "Vodka tonic, please?"

"Right away, Ma'am." Setting her drink before her, I ducked my head and caught her eye. "Listen," I began, "I'm sorry about the other night. I think I've been sick. I didn't know what I was doing."

"Oh," she let out the word like a puff of invisible smoke. "It's all right. I'm sorry I took off like that."

"Jesus, I don't blame you. It's not every night some crazy drunk bitch bites you."

"Yes, well..." she stopped, and toyed with her straw.

"Look, I want to let you know I'm getting help, okay? I went to my first AA meeting last night. I'm going to keep going. I mean it. I'm going to fix this."

Her eyes widened and she couldn't stop the giggle that escaped her lips. "You think AA is the place to get help for this?"

"Yeah, I kinda do. It's a drinking problem, right? I'm an alcoholic." _There. I finally said it._

"An alcoholic? Um. Sure. Okay. A drinking problem." She snorted out that giggle again.

"What exactly do you find funny?"

"Nothing." She sobered. "Nothing, of course. Listen," she leaned across the bar confidentially and lowered her voice, though there was no-one else in the pub. "Let's face facts here. We both know what Domn is, don't we?"

"I'm not sure what you know, but I know he's a pretty sick man. He's in the hospital right now."

Alexis frowned at me, her face flushing angrily. "The other night, you said you didn't know where he ran off to," she accused.

_Well, hell. So I did._ I said, "Yes, and I'm sorry about that. He..." my throat closed up and I felt tears surge. I swallowed them back, sucking in a breath. "I'm sorry. He needs help." I choked again and more tears surged. "Now I need help. I'm afraid I'm going to wind up in the psych ward with him."

"He's in the psych ward?" Alexis almost came over the bar at me. I stepped back. "The _psych_ ward?"

"Yes," I hissed, raising my hands defensively. "His doctor put him there."

"His doctor?" Her voice rose to a pitch I was certain only dogs could hear.

"Yes! His doctor. This Dr. Cruckshack."

"Rikard Cruciat?" Her pitch elevated another octave, if that were possible. My shoulders rose to ear level and I squinted, wondering if she might actually shatter some bottles.

"That's the one," I managed.

"Oh God, Annie, we've got to get Domn out of there."

"What the hell? He's sick! He needs help." I frowned, suddenly uncertain of everything I thought I knew.

Alexis plunked her butt back onto the stool, visibly got a grip on herself, and tilted her head at me. "You're having a lot of trouble with this, aren't you?"

"Trouble? That's an understatement." I took off my glasses, set them on the bar, and ran my hand over my face. I was tired, confused, and riddled with anxiety. I desperately needed someone to sympathize and maybe understand what I was going through. Alexis' open, honest face inspired trust. I decided to take a chance on her.

"I've been drinking since I was sixteen," I said. "Always before, I managed to keep it under control. Now, all of a sudden I'm having blackouts and uncontrollable weird-ass cravings. For blood? I mean, look at what's going on with my teeth!" I bared them for her. She didn't blink.

"Okay," Alexis said, squaring her shoulders and evidently settling in for a long tale. "I think I can explain what's going on between you and Domn."

"Wait just a minute." I held up a hand. "If you're going to tell me that vvam..." I paused, surprised that my throat clicked shut again on that word. "—that they're real, that he's one of them, and he's determined to make me one, save your breath. I'm not buying it."

"Annie," Alexis held out her empty glass, "take a deep breath, make me another drink and at least listen. Try to open your mind."

"This is so fucked up," I muttered, but I did as she asked, set the drink in front of her and leaned my crossed arms on the bar to listen and try to open my mind.

"So, first of all I should tell you, I'm a donor for these people and have been for years. It's one of the reasons my marriage broke up—my husband couldn't deal with me sneaking out every couple of weeks." She grinned. "Can't blame him. What do you suppose he thought I was up to, eh?"

"Donor," I said slowly. " _Blood_ donor." I blinked at her grinning face. "You're a walking, talking snack bar for, um, for these people?"

"Sure, if you wanna put it that way." She gave me a look of distaste. "But, yeah. I permit them to feed. Like what you did the other night." My chagrin must have shown clearly because she laughed and patted my hand. "Never mind that. You're forgiven."

"So, wait. If that's true, why did you freak out when I, um, fed?"

Alexis looked down into her drink, swizzled the stick a few turns, then grimaced. "That was pretty stupid of me. At the time, I thought you were a rogue and you scared the shit out of me. But I was drunk and really worried about Domn. If I had known he had chosen you, of course you would have been welcome to it." She cocked an eyebrow at me. "You do know it's considered good manners to _ask_ first?" I blushed. "But, you said you and Domn weren't..." She waggled a finger back and forth suggestively.

"I thought you meant lovers."

She smiled a little dreamily. "In a way I did, yes. But, it's more than that. You are the one he has chosen—he's making you _his_."

I closed my eyes to silence the sudden, crazy laughter in my head. "He kept saying that, 'You are very nearly mine.' His what?"

"You and Domn are connected like this now," she twined her fingers together, "and will be until—well, pretty much forever." Her eyes went soft, like chocolate melting in the sun. "He's making you his soul mate, Annie."

"Jesus," I breathed. "That's what he said, too, but in some kind of foreign language." I stared down at the bar a moment, torn between calling bullshit on the whole surreal affair and letting my resistance drop. I wanted to allow myself to believe what she was saying. She appeared sincere. I decided to go with the flow; it seemed the easiest route.

I had also drastically misunderstood Adah's and Seth's intentions last night. "Seth," I said, feeling like a complete bitch, "he's one of these donors?"

"Seth?"

"My hitchhiker. From last night."

She looked puzzled, so I explained and finished with, "I'm so confused."

"Ah. Good for Adah, she's looking out for you, Annie." She sipped her drink, then nodded. "Okay," she began, "so, tell me something. Why is it most people have no trouble believing in some invisible God listening to every prayer, helping them make that touchdown, or that A-plus in biology? Where's the scientific evidence that this God exists and keeps track of every stupid thing we do or say?"

I snorted lightly. "Well, I have trouble with that one, myself," I admitted.

"I know, right? So why, when you have solid _medical_ proof, literally in your face, are you having so much trouble believing Domn is what he is. That he has this amazing ability to remake you as one of his kind?"

"Because there's got to be a logical explanation for all this. Like you said, it's a medical thing. A virus or... cancer."

Alexis was shaking her head, "Cancer don't make teeth grow, Honey." She shrugged. "Okay, maybe there is a logical explanation. But, the point is, whether logical or supernatural, it's happening. And to you! You're so lucky." She actually looked wistful.

"Lucky?" I squeaked. "Lucky? I'm about to lose my job, my husband, and no doubt, my home. How lucky is that?"

"How much do those things really mean to you, Annie? You've been pulling away from them for years. And Domn sees that clearly; he did from the beginning. He also sees something special in you. Something you can't see."

I pulled a wry face. "Can't imagine what."

Alexis covered my hand with hers, and said, "Exactly. You can't see it. Domn can. There's something in you he recognizes and needs." She held out her glass again and I refilled it. I stood in front of her, head down, arms wrapped around myself, trying to fit this horror show into my reality.

Alexis stretched, wriggled a little on the uncomfortable bar stool, and regarded me. "He didn't tell you a whole lot, did he?"

"No," I sighed. "Not much. His English is a little shaky, for one thing—and for another, he really gives an impression of someone whose cogs are slipping."

Alexis chuckled. "Yeah. They get that way after a while. Maybe I can fill in the blanks. He's originally Romanian. For some reason, most of them come from the weird wilds of Eastern Europe. He's also _very_ old, not sure how old because his birth records are long gone, of course. Best guess—eight hundred, eight hundred fifty, years old."

"Jesus. Does this mean I'll live forever, too? Like I can't die?"

"Oh, you can die, Annie. You're not invincible. You've stopped aging though, and you can't get sick—you've got an industrial strength immune system. It's going to be a little harder to kill you now."

"What about the old stake-through-the-heart trick?"

"Sweetie. You put a sharpened hunk of wood through _anyone's_ chest, and I defy them to survive it. So no, you won't heal fast enough to recover from that kind of trauma. But," she grinned, "here's the good news—you wouldn't explode in a gory burst of plasma and goo or collapse in a heap of dust, either. You'd just bleed to death."

"That's your idea of good news?" I shuddered. "What's so great about being a ... ah, one of these people, then? So far, it seems I have more limitations now."

"Well, what was so great about being mortal? Why exist at all? You've got a chance to see what forever looks like, Annie! Be honest—your new longevity aside—as you get older, aren't you also getting a tiny bit afraid of dying?"

I thought about this. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, some days I'm okay with it, others, I can't stand the thought of not existing anymore."

"And now, you've won the heart of a man who loves you completely—unconditionally, nearly forever. That's quite a feat, Lady."

"Why me?"

"Why not you? You were wide open for it. Even I could see that."

"But, after eight-hundred years, couldn't he have found someone before he tripped over me?"

"He probably has, several times. For whatever reason, he lost each one. He's managed to survive mentally by denying it hurts. They're quite the fey wandering souls, Annie, and such beautiful souls. Not the unfeeling killing machines of horror stories, but gentle, sweet people with this amazing capacity for love."

I thought a moment, saw Domn's mournful pleading face in my mind's eye. "Yes," I whispered. "I've seen that and didn't recognize it." I closed my eyes and felt his hands, the strong grip on my arms, the feather-light brush across my cheek.

"Hey, stay with me here," Alexis tapped my arm and brought me back to the pub. "Anyway. It stands to reason there can be no real evidence to the general population that they actually do exist. They have to be real careful about who they choose and who they tell."

"Oh, yeah. About that. How come you and the other donors aren't being 'made'? How is it he can bite you over and over again and you don't get infected? Yet, _I_ get bitten once and _poof_! I'm a vuuh—" My throat clicked shut again. This was getting annoying.

"Well, it's not quite that simple," Alexis said. "We donors are strictly for sustenance. If we were to get hold of their blood and drink it, it would kill us." Alexis's eyes penetrated mine. "Keep that in mind. Your blood's lethal now." She let that sink in for a second or two as she toyed with her drink, then sipped again. She went on, "As for bitten once and 'poof!', well, no. It doesn't work like that. Domn has fed of you several times, right?"

"Three? No, four." I thought about that fourth time and went beet red.

"And have you fed of him yet?"

"Yes, once," I whispered.

Alexis nodded. "See, this is how he prepared you to receive his blood. As he fed, he infused you with his—well, with his saliva, kind of like a snake's venom."

I couldn't help but make a face.

"So, you didn't begin to change until about the third time, and you wouldn't get that real thirst until after you fed of him. That thirst can get pretty intense, too. Like out-of-control intense."

"Oh, God," I groaned, "those two guys from the hobo camp."

"That was you?" Alexis shook her head disapprovingly, as though I should have known better. "Yeah, you can't do that. As much as I don't like to cheapen human life, at least you picked a couple of non-entities."

"That wasn't really me, though," I protested. "I would never—I _have_ never—killed anyone. Until now." I put a hand to my spinning head, trying to quell the sensation that the floor had dropped out from under me.

"Heavy shit to deal with, I know." Alexis sighed. "But, you were starving and left on your own to deal with something pretty scary. Still, it won't do to leave bodies all over town, especially _this_ tiny town. You need to learn self control."

"Self control," I rolled my eyes. "What a concept. Why didn't Domn tell me all this?"

"Would you have believed him? Do you believe me now, even?"

"I'm worried that I'm starting to."

"Good! I'm guessing a few days ago, you weren't at all ready to listen, and he's not great at explaining. I just hope it's not too late now. Damn you, Domn, for the trusting, naïve fool you can be."

Head hanging, I felt miserable, wishing with all my heart that I could rewind the past few days and try it again. Or maybe somehow avoid it altogether. I was on a runaway roller coaster, wavering between the thrill of the ride and the fear that the car would go off the rails at any moment.

"It's a lot to absorb, I know," Alexis said softly. She took my hand and I could feel sympathy emanating from her. "You're terribly thirsty again, aren't you? Your eyes are all ragged. Let me help." She tugged at the neck of her blouse.

"Here? Now?" I shot out my hand to stop her action, but she shrugged me off.

"Yes, here. Now. It's time to close anyway, right? Shut off those lights and come to me, Girl."

I glanced around at the clock—past midnight. "Okay," I whispered, "let me lock up."

Soon, with lights off and door locked, the pub was in shadows. I approached Alexis where she sat. My hands shook a little and I worried about her deciding to reject my desire. This time I came to her sober and aware of what I was doing, no excuses. I knew she was aware, as well, and I watched her solemnly undo the top buttons of her blouse then pull it aside to expose a round, brown shoulder, scattered with small scars.

"Go easy," she whispered. "Remember, take only what you need."

I lowered my head to her warm skin, inhaled deeply, then bit down as delicately and slowly as I could, trying to check my raging thirst. Alexis clutched my arms and pulled me close. I encircled her with mine, closed my eyes, and let her blood flow into my mouth. Every cell in my body opened to fill with life. The sensation felt exactly like that first cold gulp of water on mornings when I woke with a sawdust-dry hangover mouth. I drew and swallowed again and again, dimly aware there was something I should remember about what I was doing.

"Ana."

As though from a distance, I heard my name.

"Annie! Anastasia!" Alexis' desperate whisper-scream finally reached me through the mist of my gorging. I swallowed, forced myself to raise my head, and gasped a lungful of dusty barroom air.

Alexis was leaning back with her eyes pinched closed, her pale mouth drawn down. I grabbed a handful of bar napkins and pressed them to the bleeding cut on her shoulder. "Lexie?" I whispered as I swabbed, "Alexis? You okay?"

"I'm okay—a little shaky." She opened her eyes and tried to smile. "Self control, Lady!" She held her head in her hands for a moment then sat up straighter and said, "Can I have some orange juice?"

"Yes, of course, right away." I turned, staggered a step, and hurried to the other side of the bar to fill a glass. "Lexie," I ventured as I set the juice in front of her, "thank you for the, er, feeding. But I feel a little, well, buzzed."

"Of course you do," her light laugh tinkled like ice in a tumbler. "I've had three vodka tonics. Listen, I'm happy to help Domn's lady, but," and she raised a cautionary finger, "please remember we puny mortals only have so much to give."

"Yeah, I know. It takes a while to replenish those red blood cells." I knew that much from Ethan's many trips to Red Cross blood drives. Then a critical thought occurred to me. "What do I do in the meantime? While you're replenishing?"

_Good Lord, kill more hobos_? _Chickens and squirrels?_ I wondered if I'd ever find Seth or Adah again. I'd misplaced Adah's business card already, and right then I decided another AA meeting was out of the question.

"I will introduce you to others who will serve as donors." Alexis gingerly got off the bar stool and stood still to test her balance. "We take turns, see. You'd be surprised at the number of people who get off on this sort of thing."

"I don't think anything could surprise me at this point," I said.

Alexis chuckled. "Listen, whatever you do, don't starve yourself. That's how you wind up involuntarily killing hobos. Or worse, stray college students."

"Or chickens and squirrels," I muttered.

Knowing we were finished for tonight and that both of us were fatigued, I saw her to the door. While I unlocked it, I stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Lexie. Why are you being so good to me?"

"Because you're an awesome bartender and I want to keep you alive and pouring me drinks. But, mainly, because it's what Domn would want me to do. And speaking of Domn, we have to figure out how to get him out of there. Now that I know where he is, I can make sure he's well-fed until we get him out. I'm hoping he put his donors on his visitor list, and I'll see he gets plenty of visitors. Now, you need to let me know the best place for you to feed in peace. Gimme your cell phone. This," she gestured around the pub, "is a good place after closing, of course. But what about when you're not working?"

"Lately, I've got all the shifts I can handle. But, yeah, I'll send you a text, let you know where I am when I need to, um, feed." Alexis nodded and punched her phone number into mine, then handed it back. She put a hand to my cheek and kissed my lips. I surprised myself by kissing her back.

"You'll be okay, Annie, We'll take care of you 'til we get your lord sprung free."

My lord? Oh, good Lord.

Chapter 11

As Helios' fiery disc rose, it found me lying wide awake in bed staring at the ceiling, and trying to absorb everything from the past couple of nights. As thoughts turned over in my mind, I noted with astonishment that I could see the ceiling plainly. I wasn't wearing my glasses, so the ceiling should be shrouded in a misty blur, as it always was. I passed a hand over my eyes, squeezed them shut once or twice, and noticed a cobweb glinting in the sun at the corner of the ceiling where it met the wall. _No way_. I glanced over at my night table. No glasses. My mind's eye saw them laying on the bar where I had left them last night. I drove home without them? I had done exactly that and hadn't noticed their absence because I could see. Clearly.

My thoughts turned to another surprising change that had nagged for days at the back of my mind. Since the age of thirteen, my womanly rhythms had been dictated by the waxing and waning of the moon, but that had ended abruptly when my period, due about a week ago, failed to materialize. Given my pre-menopausal age this wouldn't have been at all notable, and I certainly would not complain, but I was on hormones to regulate my cycle. They'd done their job well; I could practically set my watch by it. Now, it seemed, my body responded to a different celestial body, the sun.

At first, I'd thought hot flashes, tied to the hormones maybe, made my body temperature fluctuate wildly. For days, heat built in me while the sun arced across the sky. The heat grew heavier and more oppressive as the sun reached its zenith, then relented in harmony with its descent. Rhythmic cooling, echoing the sun's afternoon course, started at the tips of my fingers, my toes, and the end of my nose. It was like when someone turned an air conditioner too low—and it spread up my arms and legs and across my face. I constantly put my chilled hands to my chilled face but failed to rub warmth into chilled cheeks and cold toes. My fingers actually grew numb. Who ever heard of cold flashes?

Somehow, my regular feeding had begun to be a source of warmth in the cold of the night and a cooling draught from the day's heat. How extraordinary this all seemed—feeding not simply for survival, but as a means of getting close to another human being, of making a connection, however weird and freaky. Being a member of the smallest minority in the world, especially a minority veiled in rumors, myths, and secrecy, would be lonely. I hoped the network of donors whose empathy, respect, and love—yes, love, they said—would sustain me physically and spiritually.

My thoughts strayed back to Ethan. How had we managed to drift so far apart so quickly? I no longer felt I could tell him my secrets as a matter of course. These physical changes were a big deal; I so wanted to talk to him about it, but something told me he wouldn't be all that receptive considering my own adverse reaction to the whole situation.

I ran my tongue over my lips and teeth and felt the prick of my new teeth. Rubbing my forehead as I knit my eyebrows together, I realized I had to face yet another physical change that was rapidly progressing. My old teeth were looser than ever, wobbling in my jaw. I rose and headed for the bathroom to investigate. Still stuck on the fallacy that our kind lacked a reflection, I let go a huge sigh when I saw my worried face gazing back at me. _Our kind._ That phrase caused the sweat to bead up at my hairline. I pulled back my upper lip to reveal those unnatural new teeth, almost completely emerged from my gums. My familiar yellow-tinged canines dangled beneath. A pinch and a yank on each old tooth and they lay in the palm of my hand.

"Fuck," I whispered.

My gums began to itch, so I took a healthy swig of Ethan's Listerine and swished it around my mouth until my tissues went nearly numb. I spat it out, along with a few small flecks of blood, and rinsed it all down the sink. Drying my hands, I began to plan my day. _There's Ethan to deal with. There's my job, the house, so many things to take care of before I leave_.

I blinked and my head jerked forward a tiny bit as my eyebrows arched a question at the resolute face gazing at me from the mirror.

"Yes, that's right," my mirror-self said. "You have to leave him for this journey. I mean, let's be reasonable. What kind of twisted ménage à trois would that be, anyway?"

Pursing my lips, I gave my image a firm nod. I had made my decision. Better face it head-on and deal with the fallout as it fell. I headed downstairs, mentally bracing myself. My stomach did a few flip flops when I heard Ethan in the living room. _Now or never._

"Guess what?" I crowed as I came around the corner and faced him. "I didn't drink at all last night! Didn't drink any alcohol!" I waited, nerves firing on all cylinders.

Silence, a typical Ethanesque silence. He sat on the couch, staring intently at his laptop and I might as well have been invisible.

"Hey. Didja hear me? No booze last night!"

"I heard you," he said, without even a glance.

"Ethan, what the hell now?"

He lifted his face and I saw his eyes dilate with anger. I took a careful step back. "Yeah, so I came by the Exchange last night, as you suggested the other day," he said.

I didn't like the tone at all. "You did? When? I didn't see you."

"Just about midnight."

"Oh, shit." _Dear God, what did he see?_

"Yeah. Oh, shit. No shit. You were _busy_. Too busy to hear me knocking at the door."

"Oh. Shit."

"Is that pretty much all you can say?"

"Ethan," I swallowed nervously, "what do you mean I was too busy?"

"Really? You need me to spell it out for you? Seems you were going at it pretty hot and heavy with some woman in there," he said.

_He thought we were making out!_ I mentally giggled and relaxed slightly.

"Actually? I'm sort of relieved."

"Relieved." The word hit the floor like a rock.

"Yeah. I was going to tell you anyway." I meant to tell him the truth right then, really I did. But, before another word left my lips, something in my head said, N _ot yet. Let him think it's another woman—that might be easier for him to handle._ I took a mental ninety-degree turn to the left. "I've got to leave. You. My job. This house. Everything. I've got to go." _Wow, I just said it out loud._

"Really. Just like that? You're going to take off and leave me to clean up the mess?"

"Well, I'll help where I can."

"You just said you were leaving."

"Not _leaving_ , leaving. Just. Um. Leaving." I stared down at my hands, tangling them together to stop their shaking.

Ethan slapped the laptop's lid shut and stood to face me. "What's gotten into you, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," my brow wrinkled and I crossed my arms, digging my fingers into my biceps. I looked up to meet his eyes finally. "That's the truth. I'm not sure what it is. But, I feel like I'm changing. This lay-off and other things. It's all forced me to rethink everything. Maybe I'm having a mid-life crisis or maybe I'm just going insane. One thing's for sure, I don't want to drag you with me."

"If that's what you really want, Ana." Ethan's breath caught and he looked deflated and defeated. "Shit. What'm I going to do now?"

_Please say it._ _Please say, "What am I going to do without you?_ " I wanted him to need me. I needed him to feel something.

Nope. No chance. He simply couldn't do it. Even now with everything at stake. Still, old feelings die hard and my need flooded over me. I moved closer and put my arms around him. He leaned against me, hands at his sides, but then returned the hug as though he had no power to resist me.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, "but we're not good for each other anymore. We've been unhappy for years."

"I know," he breathed against my neck. "Maybe this is best." He drew back his head abruptly and found my lips. My husband of twenty-seven years kissed me, then kissed me again, more deeply. I returned his kiss, surprised by his definite male response to our embrace.

Many years ago, I read _Fear of Flying_ by feminist author, Erica Jong. One phrase stuck with me—"zipless fuck." She had talked about when you're not sure how the clothes came off, but you are magically, astonishingly naked and in the midst of the best love-making ever. Well there I was, fifty-two years old and in the middle of the most amazing zipless fuck I'd ever experienced. I must have passed out at one point because next I knew, I opened my glazed-over eyes to focus on the ceiling and watch sparks silently shooting about. Ethan lay collapsed on top of me, but I didn't bear his weight so much as welcome his sheltering warmth.

And right there, right by my nose, was his smooth, soft shoulder.

My thirst surged, and my lips drew back to expose one shark tooth. As I moved to bite down, Ethan lifted himself and rolled off me. _Oof._ I closed my eyes and my lips, swallowing my craving.

"That was probably a mistake," he told me, but he didn't look as though he meant it.

"No. It was amazing. Truly." I rolled to face him and touched his strong thigh. "Truly amazing."

Visibly pleased with himself, Ethan perked up, grinning. "Wow. I haven't done that in a while."

"I _know_."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that." He stood up, picked up our clothing a piece at a time, and draped mine over me. "I don't know why. You're still so God-damned sexy."

"Why thank you." I sat up and pulled my clothes back on. Looking forlorn, Ethan touched my face. I took his cupped hand, slid it to my lips, and planted a kiss.

"I'm glad you've found someone," he said. "I sincerely hope she'll make you happy."

"She? Oh. Um." I looked down at my hands as I buttoned my shirt. "Yeah."

I stood up and faced him, my hands on his shoulders. Once again, I summoned the courage to confess, but the trusting look in his eyes sapped it out of me again. I deftly side-stepped Domn's part in our problem. "Listen, I mean this. I'm going to be here for you. I'll help with whatever I can. I'll clean up the house, get it ready for sale. I'll get my stuff out of here as soon as I find a place. I'll send money when I can. I'll do whatever you want me to. Just, no yard work." I shuddered.

"Where are you going to go?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. I'll find something. An apartment."

"I don't want a divorce," he said unexpectedly. "I don't know why, but I don't want to cut you off completely."

"Okay. That's a little odd, but okay." I thought about it. "You know? I don't want to cut you off either. You're a habit, I'm afraid. Look at us," I said. "We went from fighting to fucking in under five minutes. You think we're a little confused?"

Ethan smiled, then sighed and sat down again with his laptop as if being busy would keep his feelings at bay. "Okay. Well. We're going to take a huge loss on this—better than going completely broke, I guess. I'd better put the wheels in motion. Unless," he looked up at me, "given the circumstances, you want to hire a different agent to sell the place?"

"Naw. I want the best."

I kissed his forehead and ran upstairs to shower and dress for work, all the while wondering what the hell would be thrown at me next.

I went to the office, pretty sure this wouldn't be my most productive work-day, and I spent the time ignoring trouble calls—searching the Internet for living quarters. Nothing suited my situation, no cellar-dweller apartments, no efficiencies at the morgue. How had Domn managed for eight hundred years?

Around noon Johnny called, "Annie. Hey, how ya doin'? I know it's short notice, but any chance you could cover for me again tonight? I really feel like I should go to my meeting."

"AA? How's that working out for you?" I asked sourly. "I tried it and found it severely lacking."

"I'm okay with it," he said. "You got to give it a chance. You got to keep going to a lot of meetings, especially in the beginning. Anybody who's serious does."

"Uh-huh, well, I'm glad you're getting something out of it. Yeah, I can do your shift tonight, no worries. I don't have much to do here, anyway."

"Thanks, Annie. Appreciate it."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll get you back some day, never fear."

AA: that reminded me. I pulled out my bag and rummaged in its murky depths until I came up with Adah's bent and soiled business card. I punched her number into my cell phone just in case Alexis should fall off the face of the Earth someday. Then I texted Alexis to let her know where to find me, a little distressed to see myself as requiring a feeding time—like the zoo?

That night, unbearable thirst made it almost impossible for me to stay put behind the bar. The clock didn't move at the proper pace, either; every time I looked at it, it seemed to mock me with the same damned time. I wandered outside as often as I could to suck down cigarette after cigarette, each one tasting worse than the one before, as I glared restlessly into the night.

When the clock finally allowed eleven-thirty to arrive, the pub had emptied except for two old codgers at the far end of the bar. I was winding down toward closing time, but at quarter of twelve, dammit, in walked a stork of a young man with straight black hair hanging nearly to the waistband of his jeans. His black t-shirt under a worn flannel shirt completed the grunge uniform. I swallowed my resentment, wanting to whack him one for ambling in at closing-minus-fifteen, and I slapped a bar napkin in front of him as he slid onto a stool.

I put on my cheerful voice, "Hey, there. What can I getcha to drink?"

"No, My Lady," he said, obviously delighted and flashing gorgeous white teeth, "I am here to give _you_ a drink." Smirking his amusement, he lounged back and watched my face.

I glanced at the old farts at the end of the bar then back to this self-possessed young man. "Careful, my friend," I intoned dramatically. "We are not alone."

The guy propped his elbows on the bar and laughed, displaying an even better view of his pearly whites—lately an obsession of mine. "How about a big glass of orange juice, then? For prep, you know." He winked at me and turned toward the pub door, where we both saw Alexis hurrying in.

She spotted the young man and slid onto the stool beside him, nodding at the vodka bottle I waggled at her. "Whew, thank God," she sighed, obviously aware of his mission. "Ana, this is Adam."

Adam extended a hand across the bar and I took it. Oh, how warm, so warm. I started, aware I had been holding it longer than was socially acceptable, and I let go. "How d'you do, Adam."

"Pleased to meet you." He grinned again.

"So, I take it you're a..."

"Donor, yes."

I licked my lips, an involuntary reflex. Adam's eyes twinkled.

"Oh, yes, I'm very tasty, too." He leered at me like a cartoon villain. I covered my mouth.

"Cute, ain't he?" Alexis punched him lightly on the arm.

I raised my eyebrows. "Hmm. I definitely think it's time I locked up," I said and hurried from one pub window to the next, flicking off the neon beer signs.

"Drink up, Gents," I trilled as I approached the odd couple at the end of the bar. "It's gettin' on time to close!"

They swallowed the dregs of their beers, rose, and shuffled out the door like a pair of weary old penguins. The door nearly hit the slower one in the butt as I shut it, locked it, and turned off the overhead lights. Adam, standing right behind me, took my hand. He led me to a shadowed booth in the far corner of the pub, shrugged off his flannel shirt, and pulled off the tee underneath. I tried not to drool, honest I did, but man—he looked delicious.

"Have at it," he said, drawing his hair aside and pulling me toward him. Worry held me back. I knew by now the intensely sexual nature of these encounters, and I knew well that my baser impulses wanted to take control. Could I stop myself from taking this to a fatal conclusion?

"What's wrong?" he whispered, his hands urging me to begin.

"I'm not good at controlling myself yet."

Alexis, helping herself to another vodka tonic, spoke from behind the bar, "That's why I'm here, Honey, to keep a practiced eye on things." She hefted the Louisville Slugger she had taken from under the bar, the one I had threatened Domn with weeks ago, and she raised it toward us with a knowing look.

"Oh." I blushed, feeling like a player in a bizarro porn movie. The thirst overcame my sensitivities and, turning back to Adam, I wrapped my arms around his neck and plunged sharp teeth into his well-muscled shoulder. His blood was more than warm; it was nearly hot, filling my mouth and coating my throat like a soothing syrup. I found that my experience allowed me to stay a little more aware and I recognized satiety after a pint or so. It felt good to know I could control myself.

I finished and sighed contentedly, then started to rise to fetch some bar napkins. Adam stayed me, a firm hand on my arm.

"My lady, you need to lick it."

I blinked dumbly at him. "I need to...excuse me?"

"Lick it, Lady Ana." He shrugged his cut and seeping shoulder at me. "To stop the bleeding and help me heal."

"Oh, erm. Okay." I lowered my head again and ran my tongue gently over the wound, then stared as the blood stopped leaking and the deepest part of the cut drew together again. "That's wow, freaky." _Well, that explains my own fast-healing wounds, doesn't it?_ I glanced up at Alexis. "You left that part out last night."

"Baby steps, Annie Lady." Alexis tucked the baseball bat away again and came around the bar. "You've got enough weirdness going on, doncha think? You need to ease into this slowly," she concluded, watching Adam slip his t-shirt back on and slide his arms into the flannel one. Her dreamy expression told me I wasn't the only one who appreciated his attributes.

After they left and I had locked up, I stood in the empty parking lot smoking another cigarette. I gazed at the sway-backed silhouette of the Central Exchange building and pondered my situation. A soothing sense of well-being sparred with anxiety in my brain. What a relief to know I could control this thirst if I paid close enough attention and someone with a baseball bat stood watch on the sidelines. However, how could I be comfortable knowing I needed blood feedings to survive? And I couldn't ignore the gaping hole in the night left by the absence of a certain Slavic soul. Every time I thought of him, my heart clenched. I had burned my bridges at home tonight. I had to get Domn back—and soon. Noticing the cigarette tasted inordinately strong and bitter, I puffed the last of the smoke out my nose and flicked the butt into the lot. Maybe it was time to quit.

As I rattled the short mile home in my reliable old truck, I gazed up through the windshield at the star-speckled night sky then swiveled my head to take in the colors of passing summer fields as they slid past, punctuated by houses and barns. When had darkness grown so beautiful? I turned into our driveway, reached to shut down the engine, and realized I had driven all the way home with the headlights off, and yet I had seen everything with daytime clarity. My glasses were in my pocket.

Chapter 12

A cheerful sun peeked playfully between the curtains to find me smiling as I opened my eyes to face the day. I had slept a deep, refreshing sleep for the first time in what seemed like years. Today was my last day at my real job and I carried no remorse or regret; I felt wonderfully liberated. I sprang from the bed, yanked open the curtains and, just as quickly, yanked them shut again. Lovely, beautiful, _bright_ sunny day! I plopped back down on the bed and held my head until the throbbing white pain subsided.

"Okay," I whispered. "Note to self—get some heavy-duty sunglasses."

Ethan was already busy in the bathroom, performing his morning ablutions. "Hey," I said with a cautious side-long glance.

With foamy lips he smiled at me around his toothbrush. "Morning," he said between the bubbles. He spat into his sink. "Last day at Cornell, huh?"

"Yeah," I breathed, "last day."

"All kinds of new beginnings for you?" he asked.

"Seems like it." I ducked my head guiltily and concentrated intently on laying a perfect line of toothpaste on my brush.

"You're sure this is what you want, Ana?" I thought I detected a faint hopefulness in his voice.

"I don't know what I want, Hon," I said. "I don't think I ever will know." I popped my toothbrush into my mouth and began to scrub. It's not easy brushing your teeth with your lips closed. Try it sometime.

"Yeah, well." He sighed, and then brightened. "You'll be glad to know there's already a tug on the house. Some guy is offering cash and I'm guessing we can close fairly quickly." He continued to ramble on, but I listened with only half an ear, detecting something newly weird and prickly in my mouth.

"Hmm," I said when he paused, and I leaned over to spit into my sink. My eyes popped wide open. Protruding from the toothpaste foam was a mass of clipped bristles. I looked at the end of my toothbrush. It appeared to have suffered a sudden severe crew-cut. I became aware that Ethan had stopped talking and was staring at my shaved toothbrush.

"Don't make 'em like they used to, I guess," I said lamely.

"Oh, you get a dud every once in a while." He shrugged, reached under the cabinet to pull out a new brush, and handed it to me. I waited until he finished his tasks and left the bathroom before I attempted to brush again. After gingerly picking misplaced bristles from under my sharky fangs, I managed, using down-strokes only, to finish my dental hygiene without destroying another toothbrush. Forget flossing.

Getting out to the truck was a challenge, too. Would I never see another normal, simple day? My beloved Sabres cap, sunglasses, and long-sleeved shirt helped, but I was burning hot and dizzy all the way to campus. The sun mocked me from high in the sky, but I made it from the parking garage to the office building without bursting into flames, thank goodness. What a send-off that would've been. I stumbled into the lobby and grabbed the first available elevator. When it stopped on my floor, I could hear conspiratorial whispering, so I was prepared when the doors opened and the whole office staff screamed, "Surprise!"

"Ah! You got me!" I launched a fake laugh dripping with feigned delight. _Oh, boy. Pizza and ice cream and probably cake._ Still, I was touched by the effort and the fact that no-one seemed happy to see me go. My departure meant more work for them, of course, but I liked to think they enjoyed having me around. Regret and anger welled up in me; I couldn't help feeling like I was being cast off like an old frayed sweater.

Warily recalling my last few experiences with food, I managed to avoid eating anything. I stammered something about having a doctor's appointment and fasting for blood work. It wasn't a total lie. I had an appointment for my annual physical that afternoon. Given my new, interesting physical attributes, I briefly questioned the wisdom of going; still, I couldn't cancel now—they'd charge for a missed visit and our worsening financial situation made me reason that I should get my money's worth. How bad could it be? They wouldn't be examining my teeth. This might be exactly what I needed. Perhaps the doctor had an answer, maybe even a cure for this nonsense. Yes, it would seem I was still not completely reconciled to my unique reality. I still harbored a tiny hope that I could somehow reverse the process.

I packed up the few things left in my office and did that last long walk down the hall, tossing goodbyes, tears, hugs, and chuckles—mostly anticipation tinged with sadness. Finally through the gauntlet, I kept my head down and rushed to the garage squinting my eyes nearly shut against the blazing sunlight. Once safely in the truck, I sat still to give my pounding heart a chance to settle down while I blinked the red haze from my field of vision. _Suflet nocturn,_ indeed. It seemed irrefutable that if I intended to get another job, I would have to work the night shift.

At the doctor's office, I clutched my handbag and my anxiety to my chest while I followed the nurse down the hall to the first stop, the dreaded scale. Shoes off, handbag set down on the floor, I reluctantly stepped onto the wobbly platform and watched as the nurse slid the weight to the left. _Wow, the left—weight loss._ She nodded, jotted the number down in my chart, and asked, "Have you been dieting?" Her pen hovered over the paper.

I swallowed. "In a manner of speaking," I said.

"You've dropped nearly ten pounds since last time." She circled the number she had scribbled.

"Well, that's a good thing, right?" I queried, tentatively hopeful. I wasn't known for being a particularly large woman, but hey, what woman would object to dropping a few? It seemed there were advantages to my peculiar new diet after all

"Yes, of course," she replied as she led me to the exam room, "just don't starve yourself. Taking it off too quickly can be just as dangerous as being overweight."

_Yeah, starving myself_ is _pretty dangerous, Nursie._

Once I situated myself on the exam table, she strapped a blood pressure cuff on my upper arm and pumped it up to tourniquet tightness. After a moment, she released the valve and watched the needle pulsate its way back down the calibrations. The nurse frowned a moment, then pumped the  sphygmometer up again, and again, watched intently as the indicator bumped down the scale. She appeared supremely perplexed as she tried one more time. Pump it up, release valve, watch needle skip and buck its way down. She stripped off the cuff and stepped back, turning it over in her hand and inspecting it as if an answer to her dilemma lay beneath the Velcro.

"Eighty over fifty-five," she said under her breath and scribbled in my chart again. Still muttering to herself, she went on, "Unless this cuff is failing." She shook her head and turned back to me—then picked up my hand and palpated my wrist to locate my pulse point. Her eyebrows went up and her head jerked back a little bit. This wasn't going well.

"One hundred?" More scribbling. She inserted an electronic thermometer in my ear. "Ninety-six." I watched her lips purse and her eyebrows knit together so tightly that I thought they might actually make contact with the tip of her nose. Her glasses slipped and she pushed them back with two fingers.

Turning the frown at me, she asked, "Mrs. Trent, how do you feel right now?"

"Fine," I said, striving to look completely normal. The numbers perplexed her, certainly, but by now, after the dental encounter, I couldn't drum up total shock. _Holy shit, now what do I do?_ I dissembled, "I mean, I don't feel at all bad, if that's what you're asking. A little jumpy, I suppose. Kind of, I don't know, restless? But fine otherwise. I always feel nervous in a doctor's office." _You're babbling, woman. Shut. Up._ I clamped my lips together.

"Your vitals aren't exactly what I would expect for you." She wrote some more, then turned on her squeaky nurse shoes and headed for the door, saying, "The doctor will be in shortly. Why don't you get undressed down to your underwear and put on the gown?"

I sat there, really freaked out now. Do I sneak out like a coward, or do I wait to hear...what? I'm full of cancer? Bleeding internally? Dying before their eyes? However, at this point, my instincts were clearly telling me that such news would not be forthcoming. I figured I was about to confirm that Alexis White had to be right—Anastasia was evolving into, at worst, an evil blood-sucking fiend from hell and, at best, an immortal blood-sucking sex-pot from Upstate New York. I fought the notion; anyone would, right?

Rooting my feet to the floor, I complied with instructions and stripped down, then donned the comically inadequate gown and lay back on the exam table. By the time the doctor came in, I had counted seven thousand little holes in the acoustical tile over my head. Scowling into my medical chart, she didn't look up right away. There were fifteen associate physicians in this office, and it seemed I got a different one every time. This one looked familiar, but damned if her name would come to me. She didn't help me out, either. She looked up and nodded in my direction. Why do medical people spend so much time nodding?

"Hi, Ms. Trent," she said, stepping nearer and briefly squeezing my hand. She sat down on her rolling stool and continued her concentrated study. I watched her covertly.

She looked too young for a woman who had gone through the ten or so years required of a thorough medical training. Her straight blond hair draped forward, shading a small, neat face devoid of makeup. There was a tiny frown line between her trim eyebrows and her pale lips were pursed as her sky-blue eyes perused the document on her lap.

After three or four minutes of more nodding, she looked up. "Ms. Trent, how do you feel?"

"That seems to be the question of the hour," I said. "As I told the nurse, I feel fine. A little stressed." I shrugged.

"Well, these numbers are off kilter, shall we say." She rose and set my chart on the counter, then pulled a pair of latex exam gloves from a box nearby. Tugging them over her hands, she moved to my side, flashed me a brief apologetic smile, and then reached under the gown to poke and prod. Teeth gritted, I endured it, while regretting thoroughly my decision to keep the appointment. What if there were other bizarre physical changes, not as easily explained away as the teeth? What if this doctor decided I was just too weird, dangerous, and best locked away for study? I thought of one million what ifs as she inspected my well-being, or my lack of it.

My thoughts were interrupted by awareness that the prodding had stopped and the doctor was staring at my face, at my mouth in particular. Now there was a surprise. I had been grimacing, my upper lip had curled back to uncover those incriminating fangs. I lowered the offending lip and prepared to leap off the table to defend my freakishness.

The doctor smiled. Seriously, instead of screaming and leaping back in abject terror, she grinned at me as though she might have winked, if her all-business demeanor had allowed it.

"Ah," she said, "that explains it."

Stripping off the gloves, she turned away like she examined women sporting deadly sharp fangs on a daily basis. I sat up, clutching the gown to me, and I gawked as she said matter-of-factly, "You can get dressed. I'll be back in a few minutes and we'll have a chat." She patted my knee and walked out the door, her lab coat billowing behind her, and I heard her breezily ask the nurse to ready the next patient.

_WTF._ Deep in thought, kind of dazed, I slid off the table and donned my clothes. _She's seen this before,_ I told myself. S _he knows what it is. Maybe she can help me._ I sat myself in the side chair and digested this new idea until the doctor returned.

"So!" she said, sitting beside me and gazing at me as if she had uncovered a rare and valuable prize. "You're one of the people."

"I'm what? One of the people?" Adam called me that, didn't he? His tone had made it sound like some sort of honorary title.

"Yes. I take it you're still rather young?"

"Um, yes? I guess I am?"

"Who is your lord? Or your lady, as the case may be?"

I blinked. The doctor waited. I blinked again.

Finally, she said, "Surely, you know what's going on. Didn't you invite this? The people do not rape their chosen."

"I'm not sure. I guess I did invite this—on some level, at least."

"Then there must be someone out there, right, who has fallen in love with you and has chosen you to be their consort? Companion? Soul mate?"

I took a breath, suddenly weary of fighting it, and plunged in. "His name is Domn."

The doctor nodded. I narrowed my eyes at her. Was I really having this conversation, all secure and calm? I said, "You've seen this before?" I gestured at my teeth. "Can you cure it?"

"Cure?" She lifted one finely-shaped eyebrow and considered me. "Why would you want a cure?"

Here was my chance to articulate all the aspects of my eerie new nature that were causing such conflicts in my mind, and in my life. "I don't want be a freak," I began. " I'm not sure I'm up to this, er, lifestyle? Skulking in the shadows, avoiding sunlight, and dining on human blood, for God's sake," I trailed off, running out of steam, then added, "Wouldn't you agree, it's kind of—no, it's _really_ creepy and weird?"

"I'm a doctor, Ms. Trent. I've become immune to creepy and weird. That's your main problem, though, isn't it? The fear of being a freak? You've been out of high school for some time. I would think you'd have grown out of that by now."

"Some things you never grow out of," I sulked. "I had more than enough of that kind of treatment, as you said, in high school. Constantly picked on for being the only girl geek. That kind of cruelty stays with you forever."

"Where is your lord, this Domn fellow? Why isn't he with you, helping you?"

I stared down at my hands. "Because of me, he's in the psych ward at Tompkins County Hospital," I whispered, feeling my face grow hotly scarlet.

"Oh! That's a problem."

"It's my fault. I thought he was sick. Or crazy. Or crazy sick. Then this," I tapped my teeth, "started happening."

"It's okay, Ms. Trent. You couldn't have been expected to know everything, and he apparently wasn't much good at explaining it to you. We will have to see about getting him out of there. You need him. Badly." This unusual medical practitioner, the woman who could be my salvation, bent her head and scribbled some notes in my file just like any doctor would do at any physical exam.

What she said next was frosting on the cake of hopefulness for me. "In the meantime, I recommend an iron supplement—any over-the-counter will do—avoid exposure to direct sunlight, of course. And, you will gradually lose the ability to replenish your own red blood cells, so I can arrange for a blood supply if necessary." Her voice indicated a question and she looked up at me expectantly.

I shook my head wonderingly. _Through the looking glass,_ I thought, but answered her, "No, I have a walking supply, apparently. There are these donors. They keep showing up and letting me have at them."

The doctor took this in without comment, nodded, in fact. "Not the most sanitary method of delivery, I'm afraid but," she grinned, "no doubt the freshest. I'm glad to hear you'll be taken care of. You should stop taking the hormones. There's really no need anymore, is there?" She waited, gazing at me with friendly interest.

I shook my head. Thinking back to the nosy dentist, I ventured, "You don't want to study me or anything? Dissect me? Put me under a microscope?"

"Oh, as a scientist, of course I'm interested in the pathology, but as your physician, I respect your privacy. My goal is to be sure you're in good health."

I nodded, feeling more normal than I had in sometime. "I appreciate that."

The doctor stood, picked up my chart, and tucked it under her arm. As if reading my mind and my concerns, she added, "I need to find a safe place for this. I recommend that you make sure you see only me from now going forward. You're lucky you got me this time."

"Wait. Which one are you?"

She laughed. "Joanne Seward!"

"Sorry. There are so many of you doctors here." Then I laughed, too. "Really? Joanne _Seward_? Is that why you know so much about—us?"

She chuckled, acknowledging my Dracula reference. "Really. No relation. I promise I don't run a lunatic asylum." She regarded me another long moment, then blinked and said brightly, "We're done for now. Don't forget your co-pay on the way out."

Then she was out the door and on to her less interesting patients, I imagined. Slack-jawed and weak with relief, I nevertheless felt a tiny bit dismayed that there didn't seem to be a cure for what ailed me.

Traffic whizzed by as I drove home, but I have to admit my focus was less on the road than it should have been. I mentally argued with myself, trying to reconcile the facts as I understood them:

I am physically changing. _You're going insane. It's all in your head._

No, it's undeniable—what about these teeth? _Dentist said it happens._ _He never even mentioned the V-word._

My vitals have gone all wonky. _The instruments malfunctioned._

I can't stand the sun. _Pffft! You never really could._

I'm drinking human blood, for God's sake! _Silence._

One side of me had no answer to that final, all important fact. Did that mean I won the argument? Wait, which one of me won, even? I pounded my forehead to dismiss the ridiculous ideas, but I felt let down. I still had no answers. I wasn't even sure I understood the questions.

"I am _suflet nocturn_ ," I said aloud. "Oh, Domn, I need you."

I jerked back to the real world when my phone buzzed with a text message. It was Larry, goddammit, with another request to take his shift.

"Jesus Christ!" I yelled to the emptiness around me. "Why don't you all just give me all your shifts?"

Instead of calling him and reaming him out, though, I exercised prudence and waited until I pulled into our driveway and had had time to gather my wits and nerves. I texted Larry, "Oh, sure. No worries."

What a doormat I am.

I texted Alexis, "At pub tonight. Again."

*~*~*

"Heeey, Annie," Alexis chirped as she came into the barroom that night around quarter of twelve. "This is Eve."

Behind Alexis slouched a twenty-something girl with dark bobbed hair and a twig of a body. The girl sported the quintessential Goth look—eyes encircled with black mascara, blood-red lipstick, all sorts of earrings and things dangling from various parts of her head, and tattoos everywhere. "No shit. Eve?" I smirked at Alexis. "Adam?"

Alexis shrugged, acknowledging irony. "Not their real names, Girlfriend."

"Ah," I nodded. "So, cool, we have a typical black-clad Goth girl." I peered at the creature who hadn't said a word but looked not unhappy to be there. "You sure you can handle this?"

"Wow," she laughed, revealing perfectly straight white teeth, probably parentally-financed. "We have your typical worn-out middle-aged bartender. You sure you can handle this?" She thumbed a gesture at herself, obviously thrilled with her perception of personal rebellion.

I curled my lip, revealing my perfectly pointy white teeth, but the girl didn't even flinch. "Alexis, this is my dinner? Won't snarky blood give me indigestion?"

"Oooo, Annie. 'Dinner'? Have some respect. This is a willing donor giving up some of her life's blood so that you may live." Though she attempted stern disapproval, Alexis' mouth twitched before she sputtered out a giggle. "No, Sweetheart. She won't give you indigestion. Anyway, you started the snark."

Eve came forward with a strutting arrogance and seated herself on one of the bar stools. She drilled me with raccoon eyes and rasped, "Let me set something straight from the get-go, My Lady. I'm not scared of you. I will respect you so long as you show me some respect."

I puffed out my cheeks and glanced again at Alexis who absently roamed the room with her eyes, offering me no help or encouragement. "Tough cookie," I said, trying to work up an appetite for this prickly rose. I wondered if there was such a thing as tenderizer for donors.

"I have to be tough," she threw back. "I've been knocked around enough. It was get tough or fall to pieces."

"Okay!" I decided to give it a rest, and I tossed the bar rag into the sink before going to turn out the lights and lock the door. "Well, I'm pretty much at your mercy, in any case. Truce."

Alexis stepped to intercept me on my way to the door. "Anastasia," she said, directing her quiet remarks only to me, "she's a good soul. Under the thorns, she's all soft and mushy. Give her a chance. She'd kill for you, really she would."

I glanced over my shoulder at the girl who sat idly weaving three drink stirrers together. "Yeah, okay. I'm sorry, Lexie. I'm kind of on edge tonight."

Alexis patted my arm, waited for me to finish locking up, then, hand on my back, gently pushed me toward Eve. "Go on and feed. I guarantee you'll feel better. I know I get cranky when I'm hungry."

"C'mon, Lady Ana," Eve said. Watching me approach, she pulled aside the neck of her black blouse and tilted her head invitingly, a gesture that was becoming all too familiar. "You know you want me."

"Ugh." I was too thirsty to argue the silly cliché. I slid a tooth into her shoulder and drank, vaguely surprised when I felt her arms go around me and hold me tightly. I closed my eyes and, wrapping her in my own embrace, gave in to the warm comfort that seeped into me and no longer surprised me at all.

Chapter 13

Another day, another rosy-fingered dawn, and I was lolling in bed, feeling reluctant to leave the safety of this home yet eager to begin something new. Eager to be reunited with my Domn. Finished daydreaming, I finally rolled out of bed and got dressed, threw a few more things I might need into a waiting packing box, and came downstairs for coffee, ready to continue looking for a place to live.

I poured myself a cup, took a sip, and immediately dumped it down the sink. "Uch. Did you make the coffee, Ethan?"

"Who else?" he answered from his sunroom. "What's wrong with it?"

"I dunno. It's too strong, I guess."

I settled for a glass of water and opened my laptop to try a different approach to my search. Look for work first, then find a cave nearby? It didn't take long for me to find the solution to both in a Craigslist ad under the hospitality section. "Live-in caretaker for Dellville bed and breakfast. Light housekeeping duties and night innkeeper in exchange for room and board."

How much more perfect could it get? The B&B was about a country block from the pub. I could keep the bartending job for a little bit of cash and the innkeeper job could meet the rest of my needs, such as they were. Funny, I hadn't thought about my penchant for alcohol in many days. But I would have a roof over my head. I would get sustenance. I would survive.

Yes, I would, but not without Domn. I knew I had to find a way to get my Domn back, but first things first. I called the number in the ad, jotted a few notes, and made an afternoon appointment—late afternoon. That done, I donned sunglasses, Sabres cap, and jacket and sidled out to the truck, avoiding as much sun as possible. I headed for the hospital to visit my "lord." In the lobby, I encountered a highly distraught Alexis.

"Shit, Annie," she exclaimed, clutching my arm. Her face, almost as pale as the beige walls, twisted with anger and concern. "That fucker, that Dr. Cruciat bastard! He's denied our Domn visitors!" She wrapped her arms around her middle as if to hold herself together.

"Even me?" I queried. This would not be good.

"Even you."

"Oh, God. Poor Domn. Wait, the doctor can't do that, can he? Deny a patient his rights?"

"I think he can do whatever he wants," Alexis whispered, glancing over her shoulder as though she expected the evil doctor himself to appear out of nowhere and drag her off to a cell.

Her paranoia almost sucked me in, but I remembered Joanne Seward's determination to get Domn released. Well, Dr. Seward was needed now, and she might have some authority behind her. At least I didn't feel completely helpless; I had an ally. I took Alexis' hand and led her to a bench in the corner of the lobby, away from buzzing fluorescent lights and blindingly sunny windows. "All is not lost, Lexie. We have a friend with clout," I explained to her. "My doctor wants to help get him out of here."

"Your doctor?" Her head swirled around and she put fingers to her lips to hush her suddenly loud voice.

"Um, yeah. I had my yearly physical yesterday."

"Really!" Alexis chuckled low in her throat, apparently having forgotten her worry for the moment. "You never cease to amaze me, Annie, my sweet. Tell me, how's your health?" She leaned against the wall, looking like a casual friend making a casual inquiry.

"Okay, okay," I said, getting her sarcasm. "I'm fine, for an evil blood-sucking fiend from hell," I waved a hand impatiently. "The point is, she knows. She wants to help."

"Anastasia," Alexis said, arranging her face into a parental expression, "you really have to be more careful about who knows about this." She had the good grace not to waggle an accusatory finger at me.

"I didn't say anything to her. She figured it out on her own. She seems to be pretty familiar with us night souls. Blood suckers. Shoulder munchers. Gah! _Animas noctis_!"

Alexis stared at me, looking bemused. "What?" she said after a moment.

"My new species," I muttered.

She snorted. "Try 'people'," she suggested, complete with air quotes.

I shook my head in defeat. "Anyway. Can you get in touch with her for me? Work something out?" I scribbled Dr. Seward's number on a slip of paper and handed it to Alexis. "I have a job interview in a bit. I've got to get back."

Alexis, ever unflappable, grinned as I stood and turned to go. She didn't resist a parting shot, "Graveyard shift, right?" I made a rude gesture at her behind my back as I hurried away.

When I got back to the house, I had just enough time to change into something decent—a nice blouse, sweater, a skirt even. What would the owner of a B&B appreciate? I pictured an elderly lady and her equally elderly husband who bought the inn with their retirement fund and were barely breaking even. _Conservative, then, with a hint of avant guarde._ I had a few enormous straw hats that I bought during my enormous-straw-hat-phase, and I chose one to complete the outfit. It would provide a bit of protection from the evening sun. I needn't have bothered; the B&B was down in Dellville. Aptly named for its location, Dellville was a tiny hamlet nestled in a hollow next to Brook Trout Creek. By the time I arrived for my appointment, the hollow was mottled with shadows; the sun had long since dipped behind the west rim. I tossed the enormous straw hat into the back seat.

The Dellville Bed and Breakfast occupied a Federal-style building built in the early 1800s by a veteran of the Revolutionary War. He lived there with his extended family until, one-by-one, they moved on to greener pastures or died out. The place was steeped in local history, rumors of ghosts, and dry rot.

To my surprise, the current owners were neither old, nor a married couple. Leah Jaeger, I learned, was a refugee from a Wall Street brokerage firm. She and her partner, Rachel Colbert, both in their early thirties, came across as determinedly business-like. Leah was tall and slender with coffee-colored skin, thick black hair, and dark brown, almost black, eyes. Rachel, a beauty barely an inch over five feet tall, had an olive complexion, emerald green eyes, and brown curly hair. Aware of my ever-present thirst and a flicker of attraction to the pair, I tried to appear centered and in command of myself.

They had me fill out a conventional job application. I hesitated at the emergency contact part, then shrugged and filled in Ethan's information. As I handed the finished document over, we settled at a small table in a parlor that had been converted to the breakfast room. The women began a tag-team interview, Leah first.

"Standard opening question: Why do you want this job? There's no pay. How will you manage?"

"Your guests leave tips, I hope?" I laughed lightly. Like owls, they stared, unblinking. "Well, um." I stowed the charming banter and said, "No matter. I have a part-time job at the pub up the road, and my needs are simple these days."

"We don't wish to hire someone and find out too late they're not happy with the arrangement," Rachel put in. "You get the guest cottage out back and two meals a day..."

"Oh, I won't need meals," I interrupted before I realized what I was saying. _Damn it, I am really bad at this._ Seeing Rachel narrow her eyes at me, I tried to recover, "That is, I'll get shift meals at the pub and, and I don't eat much anyway."

Leah glanced pointedly at the wedding ring encircling my finger. "You're married?"

"Separated. No," I said to her raised eyebrows, "no chance of reconciliation."

"I'm not trying to be nosy," Leah said. "I just want to be clear. We decided the room, and the job, are for one person. Singular."

"Oh, I know. But here's the thing," I swallowed and considered how to ease this one past them. "I do have a, um, a partner of sorts."

Both women perked up and tuned in; I could read in their faces the eagerness to welcome a kindred soul into their midst. _Sorry to disappoint, Ladies._

"His name is Domn." Both faces fell. It was almost amusing. "He's, ah, he's Romanian," both faces lifted a little, maybe anticipating exotic adventure. "I can tell you he doesn't eat much either. You see, he only needs a roof over his head. I promise he'll even help with the work, at no extra cost. He makes a mean bed." I heard how desperate I sounded and felt myself blushing.

Leah and Rachel exchanged a look. Leah touched my arm and stood, motioning to Rachel. My stomach dropped. _They're going to tell me to go to hell,_ I thought.

Before I could react, Leah said, "Give us a minute, Anastasia. Rachel?" She drew her partner up and pulled her into the parlor where, a moment later I heard the murmur of discussion, punctuated occasionally by the slightly raised intonations of mild argument. I twisted my hands together, telling myself maybe I had jumped the gun a bit. Maybe I should have kept quiet. After all, Domn was still trapped in the psych ward. Minutes trickled by, the painfully slow interval punctuated by loud ticks of a clock. _Probably an antique. Probably I'd like to kick it into splinters._

Before I could act on that impulse, Leah and Rachel came back into the dining room. I thought both looking slightly dissatisfied. _Damn. Wait them out._ I stood mute, still hopeful.

"Okay," Leah sat and waved me into the other chair. She leaned forward, fixing me with an earnest gaze. "Obviously, we need to meet Domn."

I nodded eagerly. "But, to be honest," she continued, as I heaved a careful sigh, "we're not going to get a lot of applicants like you." _No shit._ "I mean, Rachel," she addressed the other woman, putting a hand on her partner's arm as if to ward off a protest, "they're basically not going to cost us a thing. We're getting two for the price of one, really." She grinned, looking pleased with herself.

"My concern, Leah," Rachel eyed her pointedly, then shifted her look to me, "and Anastasia, is the fact that we haven't met this Domn person. I like you, Anastasia, and we both agree we want you to come work for us. But can you vouch for your partner? I mean, how long have you known him?"

I bowed my head, thinking a few weeks didn't sound like a whole lot. They certainly wouldn't share or understand my feelings that I had known him forever. "Okay, yeah. I understand your hesitation," I said. "The problem is he's—out of town right now, so I can't produce him just yet." I raised my head and gazed steadily into Rachel's eyes, feeling a strange and syrupy power surge from the pit of my gut to the back of my skull. "He's really an old soul," I said softly, not shifting my glance one iota. "So very kind. You will fall in love with him as I did. You will have to. Domn will be no trouble—you'll forget he's there. You really have no objections to him joining me."

I blinked and sat up straighter. So did Rachel, at the very same moment. She looked at Leah, who was staring from me to Rachel and back again. The two women looked confused, but no longer concerned. _What the hell did I just do?_

"Umm. Okay." That was from Rachel. A puzzled expression drifted across Leah's face but she dismissed it and smiled, saying, "Great! It's settled then. When can you start?"

"How soon do you want me?"

"Sooner is better. We've become a bit overwhelmed lately."

"Can I move in tomorrow? I promise to bring my lor...my partner to meet you as soon as he's...back in town." _Wow, how easy was this?_ I wanted to leave so as not to disturb the energy.

Leah rose, went to a breakfront and fished around in a vase perched on top until she came up with a set of keys. "For the cottage," she said and pointed out the window at an adorably tiny white clapboard house with a tile roof, red shutters, and a spring garden surrounding the front porch.

"Perfect. Thank you!" I stood before they could raise any more questions, and I held out my hand. In turn, I shook each of theirs, firmly but not too firmly, and made my exit.

_Excuse me,_ my inner voice observed as I drove home, _you just hypnotized two women without even breaking a sweat._

"Shut up," I growled out loud. "Just shut up. I had a card, I played it. You gotta problem with that?" _Silence._ "Didn't think so."

Back at home, I texted Alexis, "Home tonight, for once. Not sure how we're going to do this."

While awaiting her reply, I sat on the back deck, enjoying the twilight dusk, and tried to let my mind go blank. It refused to cooperate, still ping-ponging from the impending upheaval from my home, to the impending upheaval from my marriage, to the unrelenting upheaval in my physical state. I lit a cigarette, choked on its acrid bitterness, and stubbed it out in the tar-stained saucer I used for an ashtray. Tipping my water glass, I took a long pull which did absolutely nothing to assuage my rising thirst.

"Oh, God, is this how it's going to be from now on?" I wondered aloud.

"Aw, c'mon, Annie lady." I watched as Alexis came up the side steps, followed by a willowy woman who swayed along as if waltzing to music no one else could hear. "It ain't so bad." Alexis stood behind my chair and lightly massaged my tense shoulders. "May I introduce Miss Zillah? She is honored to be your donor this evening."

Zillah bowed, bending like a sapling, and sat beside me solemnly, smoothing her India print skirt over her lap.

"Ethan?" I looked around nervously.

"We met just now," Alexis said nodding in the direction of my front yard. "He directed me back here. The man is weeding. In the dark." She gave me an inquiring look. Like I could explain Ethan to anyone.

"Manic gardener," I said, and sighed, raising both hands palms up, and shrugging. "Strangely, I'm going to miss him."

"Where's he going?" she asked casually. She leaned over my shoulder and put her nose very close to mine. "No shit. You told him, too?"

"No. No, no, no. We have mutually decided it's time for us to part ways. Um. What did you tell him about your visit?"

"We're just friends here for a chat."

I nodded and stole a glance at Zillah. She gazed serenely into the dark, tugging absently at the neckline of her peasant blouse, ignoring our chatter.

"He thinks you and I are lovers, Alexis." I laughed a little. "He apparently saw some of what went on at the pub the other night and mistook it for a make-out session."

"Ooo—if only," Alexis twittered, grinning and giving my shoulder a little push. "No, I'm adventurous, but I like guys too much. Anyway, to the business at hand before Miss Zillah falls completely into a trance."

Zillah seemed, indeed, to be drifting in outer space somewhere. After saying her name several times, I reached over and shook her a little to bring her to Earth.

"Oh, is it time?" she asked, her eyes slowly refocused on reality.

"Yes, please," I said, and the three of us strolled casually out to the north end of the property. There, shielded by dark and a thick hedgerow, I took my nourishment as carefully and discriminatingly as possible, almost apologetically. Zillah to all appearances, seemed made for delicate treatment, but she didn't flinch when I broke the skin on the inside of her upper arm—the highest I could reach on this tall woman. Her blood, too, was sweet, like sugar syrup. My inner voice giggled and suggested a bourbon chaser. I hushed it. The donor snuggled her arms around me and rested her cheek on the top of my head, humming a lullaby sort of tune as I drank.

Chapter 14

I peered through slitted eyelids at another fiercely sunny day, rolled toward Ethan, and burrowed my head into his back. _This is the last day,_ I thought. _This is it. The end. The beginning?_

My husband rolled over and slipped an arm around me. "You having second thoughts?" he asked as he had yesterday, that faintly hopeful tone coloring his voice.

"Yes. No. I don't know. I'm scared. In my whole life, I've never been on my own."

"On your own? You've got that whomever, right? The woman at the pub? Won't you be with her?"

I sat up and twisted my hands together, not comfortable with this line of conversation. "No, not exactly. She's just a friend."

Ethan sat up, too, and putting a hand on each side of my face, turned my head to meet his eyes.

I looked around the room, avoiding him, studying the solid oak furniture, the draperies, the small luxuries we still hung on to. "Okay, here's the thing." I searched for a way to put it. Nothing humane came to mind. Rip the Band-aid off. "It's Domn I'm going to be with. I hope."

Dead silence. His hands dropped heavily to his lap. I stole a sideways glance at him. His face was still, as if he were afraid to show any expression. Barely moving his lips, he said, "That bum you brought home from the pub." A statement, not a question. Had he known all along?

"Yes, that _bum_. God, there's no easy way to do this, Ethan. In fact, I'm just as weirded out as you're about to be. Look, I told you I'm changing, right? Literally? Not just mentally, but physically." I swallowed and lifted my upper lip, turning to face Ethan, and whatever happened next, head-on.

This man who had known me for so many years froze, staring, his eyebrows almost rising into his hairline. He blinked. He coughed. He extended a hand, then brought it back to his lap. He blinked again and shook his head as if that would disperse the image before him.

I lowered my lip and reached out to touch him.

He flinched, thrusting up a hand to ward off the creature-feature thing I had become. "Jesus!" he breathed, "get away." He lurched to his side of the mattress.

"Ethan!" My heart plummeted. This is how Domn must have felt when I ran out on him at the hospital. "It's okay. I can explain. Please, don't shut me out."

Babbling, yelling, "Get away!" he scrambled off the bed and, without taking his eyes off me, yanked on jeans and a t-shirt before bolting out the bedroom door. I heard his feet skitter down the steps, then the front door swished open and slammed closed.

_Nice,_ I told myself, _that went well._ I got up, wearily pulled on whatever clothes were scattered around the floor, and trudged downstairs to try and find him. _This is getting old._

He hadn't gone far, only to sit on the front porch steps, his head in his hands. I opened the door and shielded my eyes, blinking away the painful brilliance.

"Ethan, please come back in." He shook his head, shoulders hunched protectively. "I need to explain. Please. Come back in?"

"What?" He turned his head to toss a sneer at me. "You'll burst into flames if you come out here?"

"Why are you doing this?" I breathed, my vision beginning to fill with that red mist. _This is exactly how you treated Domn, Woman. How does it feel?_ I lowered myself to my heels and held out a hand to him. I snatched the hand back, stung by the sun slanting across the porch. There was no smoke or smell of burnt flesh, just painful redness. Blisters bubbled up immediately, as if someone had turned a blow-torch on my hand. "I need you, Ethan." Clutching my injured hand to my chest, I sobbed out my pain, physical and emotional. I cried with longing for Ethan and for Domn. I couldn't stop the tears.

He stood, finally, and turned. "Why do you need me? You've got that... Don guy now. What do you want me to do?"

"Come back in? Talk about this?" I scrambled to my feet. Ethan backed up a step.

"What the hell is there to talk about? That you seem to have become some creature from a horror movie?" Then his face cleared and he barked out a laugh. "I get it. This is some kind of candid camera prank? I've been punked?"

I held out my seared hand. "Does this look like a prank?"

He blanched and reached out to touch it, but drew back again and kicked a pebble that bounced hollowly down the wooden steps. "God damn it to hell and back!" He brushed past me into the house; I followed, shutting the door against that vicious ball of fire in the sky.

I found Ethan in the living room, teetering on the edge of the couch, staring into space. I sat down a safe distance away on the recliner. "Honey," I ventured, "I told you I didn't want to drag you into this, but I thought it would be cruel to not give you at least an idea of what you're not being dragged into."

"What made you think I want to know about this?" He waved a hand in my general direction. "Jesus Christ. I made love to you! To whatever you are now, I mean!"

"Whatever I am now, I'm still your wife!"

"Not for long."

"Not for long? Ethan, you said you didn't want a divorce, though! You wanted to stay connected!"

"I changed. You _really_ changed. So there's that."

Silence as he stared at me and I stared back, both of us stunned, I think. "What the fuck happened to you?" he whispered after several minutes had crawled by.

"It's like you said, a kind of a horror movie," I answered, thinking troubled thoughts. "The way I understand it..."

"Oh, hell no," he interrupted. "You're not going to tell me you were bitten by a vampire? Tell me you're not serious."

I put a hand over my eyes and swallowed the angry retort rising in my throat, and then tried calm and reasonable, as though that were possible when I was about to confess to being a mythical creature. "Well, yes I am. Funny story, it turns out Domn is actually a vv—a vaa—vamm..." I stuttered. I cleared my throat and managed to blurt out "One of them..."

"That's fucking hysterical. You realize how insane you sound, right?"

"Of course I do! This whole thing is insane! Why do you think I turned Domn over to the psych ward?" I felt the damned tears welling up again and my throat tightened. "I was convinced he was insane." A sob of frustration escaped my clenched throat, and I swiped angrily at tears streaming down my cheeks. "Then, _this_ started," I waved a hand vaguely in the direction of my mouth.

Ethan took in a deep breath and blew it out in a woofing sound as though I had just punched him in the stomach. Which, figuratively speaking, I had. He sat with fists clenched on knees, eyes riveted on the floor in front of him. "This is a nightmare. "That's what it is—a goddamned nightmare."

"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" I said. "Please, can you look at me, Ethan?"

He shook his head, sucked in another gulp of air, and I thought he'd never raise his eyes again. But he finally looked at me, and those eyes glared sharp with fear, and anger, and something else. Desire? Really? "What should I do, Ana?"

"Don't cut me off? I still need you."

"For what? Dinner?" He bolted up as his cell phone ring tone shrilled tinny music into the air, and he strode out to the sunroom to answer it, leaving me with mouth open and hope sinking, yet again. I marveled at how much I could suddenly empathize with Domn. Eight hundred years of this crap?

As luck would have it, this particular day was Ethan's birthday, and our daughters were dutifully calling to wish him a happy one. The irony escaped neither of us. One after the other, they chattered with their dad for a while, then they asked to talk to me. I tried my best to break the news to them, one after the other. First up, was my eldest, Jamima, or Jemmie as she preferred. Yeah, that one's my fault, too. When she was born, I thought Jamima sounded wonderfully old-fashioned. When she got older, Jemmie thought differently.

"Hi, Mom!" she said in her usual tolerant tone. "How're things with you?"

"Well, things are, well, different."

Jemmie's radar turned on, "What do you mean?"

I had taken the phone from Ethan, still enthroned in the sunroom, and retreated back to the cool, dark kitchen, thinking I'd have more privacy and less beastly sun. I leaned on the counter, searching my brain and imagination for something to say next.

"Ohhh, you know. I've started my lay-off. Money's kind of tight. I'm kind of at loose ends."

"Riiiight?" She drew the single syllable into a patient, multi-syllabic query.

"Welll," I could do syllables, too.

"Okay, Mom! Knock it off. What's going on?"

"Your dad and I have decided to separate," I blurted, "and we're going to have to sell the house." So much for tact and diplomacy. I leaned against the counter and stared blindly at the clutter of spice jars.

"You still there?" I asked the silence.

"Tell her about your new boyfriend," Ethan hollered from the sunroom.

"What?" Jemmie's yelp zinged my eardrum. "Boyfriend? Did Dad say _boyfriend_?"

I winced. "Okay, calm down. Yeah, he did. Your dad was okay with it when he thought it was a woman..."

She squawked into the phone, "Your boyfriend's a woman?"

"No!" I defended. "Jesus! Can I finish a sentence, maybe?"

"Fine. Talk."

The digital silence became deafening, and now I didn't know what to say. I started slow, "So, okay. There's this guy," I ventured, but even to me that sounded incredibly high school. "He's different."

"Different how? Serial killer? Dope fiend? Black? Yellow? Purple?" She came by her sarcasm naturally.

"He's not from around here. Actually, he's from Romania." More silence, so I went on, "And, well, we've become rather attached to each other. No, _really_ attached to each other." I paused again, gathering my thoughts, and drew a line through some spilled sugar with my finger. I took a breath to continue, but Ethan bellowed from his headquarters.

"Tell her about your _dental_ problem!"

"Do _you_ want to take this conversation over, Ethan?" I shouted back "Because, if you think you can do it better..." before I finished, he strode into the kitchen and snatched the phone out of my hand.

"Hey, Jem. Guess what? Your mom's new boyfriend is apparently a vampire from Transylvania," he said, his face screwed up—I imagine he felt the ridiculousness of that statement and all other statements thus far. "And she's leaving me to go live with him. For all eternity."

I heard the faint tinny clatter of Jemmie's voice, high-pitched and frantic, making me think, for some reason, of a typewriter gone berserk.

"God, Honey. I wish I was kidding. Some bum she brought home from the pub one night." Ethan shot a glare at me, then turned away and carried the conversation back into the sunroom, where he damn-well knew I wouldn't follow. In a huff, but nevertheless relieved, I took myself to the cellar, ostensibly to sort through some of the crap down there. If I was moving out, I had little time to procrastinate.

I'm not sure how long Ethan and Jemmie talked, but after a while he came down the cellar stairs and wordlessly handed me the phone. It was daughter number two, Karen, who had been prepped by her father. She took the news a tad more calmly than her sister had. Nothing phased Karen, really, unless she was in the spotlight.

"I knew sooner or later you'd do something incredibly weird," she said sardonically. "What is this, some kind of cult you're into now? Aren't you a little old for this?"

"On the contrary; I'm apparently not nearly old enough." I sighed, rubbed my temples and wished I could be whisked off to Tahiti, or maybe even Romania, anywhere but here. "I don't expect you to understand or even believe any of this."

"Damn straight, I don't believe it. When do we get to see you, now? Only after sunset? When you rise from your coffin? Mother, are you insane?"

"I thought I was, Honey, really I did. But there are just too many things that are actually happening to me. I swear reality is stranger than fiction."

Ignoring my explanation she went her own direction, "What about your grandkids? Don't you ever want to see them again?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well, I certainly will not bring them to a goddamned cemetery for a visit!" I heard her fill her lungs with air to forge ahead in her tirade and, suddenly, I had had all I could take.

"Listen to me, Little Girl," I ground out between clenched teeth, "I am not joining a cult. I am not going to sleep in a coffin. I'm out of bed by seven AM, just like I have always been. Now, I'll be starting a new job at that bed and breakfast down in Dellville tomorrow. You know the one?"

"Yes," she snapped.

"Good. Anyway, the owners seem to be decent people and I'm willing to bet they'll let you come visit with the kids."

"And your vampire lover? Do we have to visit with him, too? At twilight?"

I drew a long breath in and let it out slowly through my nose, willing my temper to cool, and then I could speak with relative calm. "It would be nice if you would consent to meet him. As incredible as it may sound, I bet you'll like him. Maybe not now, not with all this so fresh and raw, but after a while."

"Oh yeah, right, Mom. Sure. If we're real lucky, maybe he'll turn us all into vampires and we can be one big, happy, blood-sucking family."

"Dammit, Karen. I didn't raise you to be prejudiced or so closed-minded."

"Prejudiced? Closed-minded? It's one thing if his skin is a different color, or if he's from some other culture! It's another that he's apparently a different _species—_ especially one that DOES NOT EXIST!" I had managed to push Karen right out of her mind-numbing status-quo.

Choosing to pass over most of her lecture, I latched onto the culture thing. "Well, it so happens he is from a different culture! Romania! That's about as different from American as you can get, right? You don't know how they do things over there. So how can you sit there and judge him?"

"Mom," she began slowly, patiently, as if talking to an imbecile. "I'm pretty sure most Romanians don't go around biting each other and sucking human blood for dinner."

A slightly hysterical giggle escaped my lips, and Karen immediately yelped, "You think this is funny?"

"I sort of do, actually. It's just so bizarre, I don't know how to handle it. I'm taking it one day at a time, you know? How else can I deal with it?"

A long sigh, then she gave up, "Well, I sure as hell don't know. How's Dad, really? Is he okay?"

"He's pretty freaked out and won't come near me. Can't blame him—I'm pretty freaky right now. I'm moving into the cottage at the B&B today, and that's a good thing. I think I need to give him time to chill."

"I'll bet." I heard another sigh. "So, wow, Mom. Give me time to sort it out too, okay? I'll be in touch, I promise."

"Okay, Hon. Thank you."

My daughter paused, then I heard a very quiet and worried, "I love you, Mom. Take care of yourself."

"Yeah," I breathed. "I love you, too. Love to the boys." I hung up, wondering if my children would try to digest this and trust me or call the nearest shrink and have me committed. I walked up the stairs and braved the blazing sunroom to hand Ethan's phone back. He didn't acknowledge me, he didn't even look up.

Back in the cellar, I tried to sort things out, figuratively and literally. I was halfway through a box of books, most of which smelled dank and musty and would probably be consigned to the dump, when I heard footsteps overhead. I identified the cheerful voice of my best friend, Lucy, whom I've known since high school and whom I'd been neglecting these past couple of weeks. Instantly, I felt chagrin. _Fantastic_ , I thought. _Just what I need right now. A relentlessly caring friend who will not be satisfied with vague answers or circumspection._

"...in the basement, where she probably belongs right now," I heard Ethan say sourly as the cellar door opened.

"What?" I heard Lucy ask as her footsteps hesitated, then she clattered down the wooden stairs. In a moment she breezed around the corner, a determined smile on her determined face and determined hands on her determined hips.

Lucy's a couple months younger than me and several inches taller, and for some reason, she feels her height gives her license to be another older sister. I knew her grey-blue eyes could usually pierce through whatever bullshit I tried to pass off on her, so I mostly didn't try. This conversation was going to be a whole lot of fun.

I looked around the room and settled my eyes in her direction, unwilling to meet her gaze full on. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself. What the hell," she paused and glanced overhead as the cellar door clicked shut, "is going on? I've been trying to get hold of you for days."

"I've been a little distracted." I reached into the half-empty box and lifted another dusty book out, staring at it without seeing it.

"Ethan says you two are breaking up? Seriously?"

I nodded.

"So, there's someone else? He mentioned some guy you met at the Exchange. Are you really dumping Ethan for some guy you just met?" She cast around for something to sit on, dragged an empty milk crate over, tucked her short dark hair behind her ears, and settled in for the long haul. I tried not to show my dismay, wishing she would just go.

"It's a little more complicated than that," I said.

"Life-changing, I'd say," she tried a smile.

"You have _no_ idea," I muttered.

"So, is this some kind of mid-life crisis thing? You and Ethan have a fight?"

"When haven't we had a fight lately?" I shook my head, tossed the book back in the box, and finally made myself meet her eyes. "It's kind of, no, it's _really_ hard to explain. I'm not sure I understand it completely myself."

"Well? I'm willing to give it a try."

Not knowing how to begin, or if I wanted to, I stared at my hands, turning over responses in my mind. I had grown weary of disbelief, revulsion, and scoldings from everyone I loved whenever I opened my mouth and let my secret out.

"Okay, how about this," Lucy said, glancing at her watch, "It's nearly eleven, how about we go get a cup of coffee?"

"Hrm. Is Ethan still up there, do you suppose?" I vied for time, knowing the logistical problems involved in my going anywhere in daylight with anyone, and not eager to endure it all again.

Lucy cocked her head to one side and listened. "Seems awfully quiet, doesn't it?"

I bowed my own head for a moment and could hear—or rather, could feel—Ethan moving about in our bedroom two floors up. I could come up with a lame excuse, but I knew this woman would never go for one. I didn't have the energy to argue, so I figured I could talk my way around the real issues and get her out of my hair the quickest by acquiescing.

"He's still up there somewhere," I said absently, then added resolutely, "Okay." I stood up and dusted off my jeans. "What about Sandy's?" I named a coffee shop in the basement of the Clinton House downtown. At least I could minimize exposure.

"Sure," Lucy said as we climbed the stairs. "But what's this thing you've got for being underground—the cellar, Sandy's?"

"It's almost summer, isn't it?" I laughed shortly. "About time for me to find a rock to crawl under."

"True," she chuckled. "I'd forgotten what a vampire you are when summertime rolls around."

I twitched. "Yes," I whispered. "Yes I am."

Ethan was indeed in the master bathroom; I could hear the shower going. Wanting to make it out the door before he emerged, I put on my sunglasses and Sabres cap before I hurried after Lucy who was already on the porch. I halted at the edge of the shade and watched her trot heedlessly down the steps to the walkway, as though that hideous blaze of molten light didn't matter. I jumped at the loud _click_ when she pressed the remote to unlock her car. She turned, looking puzzled when she found me still frozen on the porch. "Coming?" she inquired.

"Yeah. Yeah, uh..." I gauged the distance, then plunged down the steps and raced for the car, yanked the door open, slid into the seat, and slammed the door shut, nearly catching my foot.

Lucy got in the driver's seat, eyeing me quizzically as she shut her door and started the car. "In a bit of a hurry, are we?" She grinned as she turned the car down the hill toward the city. "You afraid you're gonna melt in the sun or something?"

"Something like that." I sighed and forced myself to smile back. "I'm sorry, Luce. I'm probably not the best company right now—maybe this is a bad idea, after all."

"We're halfway there, Dear. Make up your mind."

What could I do? I shrugged and looked out the window. Downtown, I made Lucy pull right up to the Clinton House, holding up traffic as I scrambled out of the car and down the steps to the sweet, dark cave that was Sandy's. I found a table in the corner and settled just as Lucy joined me. The waitress was right behind her.

"Medium house roast," Lucy said to her, then looked at me.

"Water," I said.

Lucy frowned. "I'm buying, Annie."

"Okay, then, with lemon."

Lucy clicked her tongue in chastisement. " And a piece of the mocha torte," she added, grinning at the waitress, "to share."

I kept my eyes on the table, huddled into myself, as the waitress left, so Lucy turned her attention to me, her expression one of deep concern. "You're not acting weird at all, are you?"

I removed the cap and sunglasses and set them in front of me before I concurred. "Yes. Yes, I'm acting very weird. I won't lie. Too many things are happening at once, and I'm getting a little whacked out by it all."

"Tell me?"

The waitress set our drinks and torte in front of us and paused a moment to give me a good going over, one eyebrow raised. Feeling her looking at me, I looked back for the first time, puzzled. Her collection of ear dangles bobbled about as she smiled, nodded, and patted me on the shoulder, then meandered away. I stared after her, thinking her tattoos were out of control, then it dawned on me. That was Eve, the donor.

"You know her?" Lucy asked.

"Yes," I said reluctantly. "I met her the other night." I blinked and chuckled to myself, remembering what I would not tell Lucy. "Um, she stopped by for a drink at the Exchange." Which, technically, was not a lie.

Lucy took a long pull at her coffee and fiddled with sugar packets, though I knew she wouldn't add any. She kept eyeing me over the rim of the mug. "Okay, so, tell me what's going on," she commanded, just before I started actually squirming under her scrutiny.

"Sure. Sure. Where to begin?" I began with the Monday night, then, carefully skirted around the biting, the vomiting, the migraines, the spontaneous sunburn and blood-shot eyes. I managed to make it sound more or less like a conventional love-at-first-sight story. "Now, he's, um, out of town, and I can't stop thinking about him. I _need_ him back. I've just got to be with him." My whole body was suddenly washed with such a surge of yearning that my hands shook, sloshing water over the rim of the glass I had been turning around and around as I spoke.

Lucy looked even more troubled. "Annie, you've been with Ethan forever."

"Well, not quite _forever_."

"Almost forever. Sweetie, I can understand you getting a little weirded out over things; there's apparently a lot happening right now. But do you really think this is the solution—to run off with another man, just like that?"

"Lucy, this has been coming for a long time, I'm afraid. Ethan and I are too far apart at this point and, to be honest, I'm pretty certain that I repulse him now."

"You're repulsive? For heaven's sake."

"Take my word for it."

Lucy took a forkful of the torte, then, as though testing, held it out to me with a question mark in her expression. I shook my head. "Really? You _love_ this stuff."

"Not hungry." I sipped my water and found it good, soothing, cool. "Anyway. Things are suddenly very different. Everything, and I mean everything, is changing."

"Such as?"

"Besides my job, my home, my marriage? Me—most of all, me."

She looked me up and down, taking inventory. "Well, I'll say you've lost weight; you look good. What else?"

I had just about screwed up my courage for another show and tell when my phone buzzed with a text message from Karla at the pub, "Not feeling well. Can you take my shift tonight?"

"Crap," I said. "Karla's sick. I gotta get back."

"Karla?"

"Sunday bartender." I smiled regretfully, sort of. I actually felt terribly relieved. "Could you run me back, Lucy? We'll continue this some other time."

Utter dissatisfaction on her face, Lucy dropped some bills on the table and rose with me, watching with interest as I donned my cap and sunglasses again. "By the way," she said, "where are your regular glasses? Are you wearing contacts?"

"Nuh—yeah! It's part of this alleged mid-life crisis of mine. Trying to get young and sexy again." I forgot myself and grinned in self-deprecation, then closed my lips abruptly as Lucy's eyes shot open. "Shit. You didn't just see that," I muttered, turning to escape. "Let's go."

"What the fuck, Annie." Lucy grabbed my arm and spun me around. Her eyes drilled into mine and she stage-whispered, "What's wrong with your _teeth_?"

"I _said_ you didn't see that." I stared at her over the rims of my dark glasses, felt that odd surge of power again, and willed her to shut up. Amazingly, she shut up. "Now, please go pull the car up," I commanded flatly.

"Yes, of course," Lucy murmured, looking stunned. "I'll go pull the car up."

To say we were dead silent on the way back would be pretty accurate. Once or twice, Lucy opened her mouth and drew breath, then shut it again and shook her head. For myself, I felt slightly nauseous at what I had just done to my best friend. _No more of that hypnotism shit,_ I told myself sternly. _That was positively evil._ I busied myself answering Karla's text message, agreeing to take her shift, and then I sent one to Alexis: "Pub AGAIN."

In my driveway, I glanced at and then away from Lucy's set expression, and I said, "Thanks for the water." I ducked out of the car to race for the house, not looking back, but hoping I could mend this trouble at some point. It wouldn't be now, nor any time soon, I knew in my heart.

Ethan's car was gone, I was glad to see, and Quincy was already yodeling at the sound of my footsteps on the porch. I let myself in and tried to get past the excited bouncing dog. I gave up and lowered myself to the steps, wrapping my arms around Quincy's neck, feeling another surge of tears.

"I'm going to miss you, boy," I whispered into his soft ear. He wiggled his head sideways and managed to lick my nose, whimpering low in his throat. I gulped, wiped away the tears and rose to get the boxes of things I had packed what seemed like ages ago. Later in the week, I would come back for anything else I needed. Maybe Ethan would be more reconciled to the whole impossible situation after a few days of cooling off, but right now I didn't care much. I simply had to get the hell away from everything and everyone.

I rushed around collecting what I could, beat it out to my truck and gunned out of the driveway. After stopping at the B&B to drop my boxes in the cottage, deftly avoiding Leah and Rachel, I headed over to that familiar parking lot up the road at the pub.

*~*~*

Sundays at the Exchange are nice and mellow. People are reluctant to let the day go, knowing Monday will be on them before they want it. I actually relaxed, something I badly needed to do, and enjoyed the evening, bantering with customers, carefully avoiding a full frontal grin, and doing my best to ignore their red-orange auras as well as my rising thirst. All was well for most of the night. And then...

Three scumbags walk into a bar.

I pegged the three men as scumbags the moment they appeared at the door in nearly identical outfits—trucker caps, faded t-shirts, peg-legged jeans—and crossed the floor with that swagger that makes you want to swipe their legs out from under them. Also, goddammit, it was eleven-forty-five and almost time for dinner—er—closing. I felt pangs of need. Where was Alexis?

"Hey," the leader demanded. "We want beers!"

"Hey," I responded in kind. "We got beers!"

They shuffled bar stools around a bit before settling in. The leader leaned his elbows on the bar and fixed me with his cold, stupid eyes and cold, stupid grin. "Hey. I hear there's a vampire bartender in this joint. We wanna see yer teeth, Baby!"

_Oh, what the eff, now? And how the hell did they know?_ I drew back, aware of a strong fight-or-flight response. Fight, though I would doubtless win, could get me on the local news again. Flight response was out of the question—leaving three scumbags alone in a pub was asking for a severe depletion of stock and loss of a job. I opted for a freeze-them-out technique, one-upmanship.

"I'll thank you to mind your manners," I said, ice hanging from each word. I returned the leader's dead-eye stare. "It's almost time to close. If you came for beer, you'd best tell me what you want now, drink it up, pay me, then get the hell out."

The three morons nudged each other and chortled. One belched. Nice.

"I love it when they git all uppity and high-fallutin'," the leader declared, grinning. "C'mon, Draculette. Let's have a look at them pearly whites."

I leaned down to pluck my trusty Louisville Slugger from its nest under the bar, but I didn't get a chance to pull it out because, just then, Alexis came barreling into the pub. She looked thunder at them.

"Well, if it isn't the three stupid-ass stooges. What have I told you idiots about showing up en masse like this?"

"We like to watch," said one, setting off another round of nudging and chortling. The leader slid his ass off the stool and stuffed his hands in his pockets, grinning defiantly and winking at Alexis. _What a stud. Pleh._

I straightened and fixed Alexis with an angry stare. "I'm a freak show now? You wanna sell tickets or something?" Alexis rolled her eyes and crossed to my side in quick steps.

"I'm so sorry, Annie."

Bristling at such rude treatment, I spluttered, "I mean, why don't you screen these people? Why should I be treated with such disrespect?"

Alexis put a hand on my shoulder and rubbed soothingly while she tried to settle my nerves and my anger. "I'm really sorry, Hon. Sometimes we can't be terribly choosy. These particular idiots," she shot the scumbags a withering look, "are kinda new to the club, but when Kane's turn is up, it's up." She frowned at the leader—Kane, I presumed.

I blew out a breath, then fixed Alexis a drink and went about turning off lights and locking the pub door. My anger still bubbled and my muscles were tight enough to hurt, but I needed to feed. As I worked, all the hurts of the day crested at once. My own family had rejected me—a blur of mental images and voices played in my head as I tried to reign in dark emotions. Ethan's twisted painful face. Jemmie's outright disgust. Karen's cynical sarcasm. Lucy's shocked expression. It was all crowned by the absence of the one person who could, ironically, reinstate a bit of stability in my life, but he was locked up and I was powerless.

My simmering anger had reached a boiling point by now, and I turned my blazing eyes to Kane, my glare hot enough to make him step back. My voice was quiet and dead flat as I faced him.

"Well," I said, sultry and dangerous, "if you insist on being a scumbag, I'm willing to lower myself to shithead." I addressed the other two, eyeing each in his turn. "You wanna watch so badly? Watch _this_!"

Kane's throat constricted and his eyes shifted toward his cronies. In a flash, I was on him, viciously tearing into his shoulder with both fangs as I pinned his arms in steel-like claws. He let out a strangled yell which only served to spur me on, and I sank my teeth in deeper. God, it felt so _good_.

"Ana! Sweet Jesus Christ!" I heard Alexis' glass shatter on the floor, and then I felt her hands dragging at one of my arms. One of Kane's cronies gripped my other arm while the third character in this passion play grabbed Kane and they attempted to pull us apart. For me, Kane had become every stupid asshole who ever mocked me, used me, or shoved me aside for being the weirdo girl, the geek, the sideshow. I wanted to silence all of their scorn and disdain. I wanted to make empty, lifeless husks of every one of these unfeeling, uncaring creatures—and I had Kane here to represent them, to take the hit. I chewed. I sucked. I growled in ecstasy as the blood ran out of him and into me.

When they finally pulled me off of him, I was burning with self-righteous anger, and I watched Kane slide fainting to the floor. Alexis kept hold of my arm, gasping for breath, begging me to calm down, while the two other scumbags bodily lifted Kane to his feet and dragged him well away. My chest heaving, I drew the back of my hand across my bloody mouth and glared hatred at Kane's wobbly figure.

"Good thing you brought your buddies, eh?" I felt my face stretch into a hideous grin, and I knew my teeth were smeared with Kane's precious bodily fluids. Feeling far from powerless at that moment, I mocked him with my laugh, liberated and not giving a shit about rules, or about cruelty, or at that moment, even about death.

"Anastasia, this isn't funny," Alexis whispered urgently. "You could have killed him and then, no more donors. You'd be reduced to draining hobos again. Is that what you want?"

"Shit! Hobos?" One of Kane's comrades went white. "That was _her_?"

"Yes, that was her," Alexis hissed at him. "And, if you don't want to meet a similar fate, I suggest you take that asshole," she jerked an imperious chin at the semi-conscious Kane, "and yourselves, and get the hell out of here. Don't you ever pull this shit again."

Without argument, the two of them fumbled the lock open and wrestled Kane out the door just before I leaped across the room, slammed it after them and reset the lock. In the dusty silence of the darkened barroom, I stood head down, breathing hard, a hand to my eyes, not recognizing myself in all this. Alexis waited while my rage quieted, cooled, and drained out of me, leaving a dull, leaden ache of chagrin.

"Holy shit," I said finally. "Holy shit. I'm sorry." And at that point, in that moment, I was.

"Hey," she moved to me and hugged me, rubbing slow, safe circular motions against my stiff back muscles. "They definitely provoked you, Annie Girl. The fact is, we prevented a disaster, right? We got you under control before it was too late. You're learning."

I raised my face to the ceiling, stepped out of her embrace and with both hands clutched my hair into a knot at the back of my neck. "I'm never going to get the hang of this, Lexie. I'm going to kill someone again. I know it. I feel it."

"Honey, you're still a child in this life, and like a child, sometimes you give in to impulses. That's why I'm with you and that's why Domn needs to be here with you." I faced her and allowed her to put her arms around me for another tight hug. I laid my head on her shoulder and let my tears flow.

"Oh, God, Lexie," I sobbed. "I'm fucking up so badly, so fucking badly." I told her about Ethan and the kids, and about Lucy, too.

"Didn't I warn you about spreading this around town?" She wasn't scolding—she was worrying.

"I had to, Alexis. They wouldn't have understood my leaving so abruptly without a word. I care for them. I still love them. Shit. How do I fix this?"

"Never mind. They'll be reluctant to repeat what you said to anyone, I'm guessing.

"And what about the rest of my family? I'm one of seven kids, Lexie. Dad passed away a few years ago, but Mom's still kicking around. Eventually, they're going to figure something's weird. You know it and I know it."

"Yeah, wow. That's a tough one, Annie. Usually our people are loners, or wannabe loners, at least." She shook her head and went on, "I guess we'll stumble over that bridge when we get to it. First things first, though." She rubbed my back as she had before, and I felt calmer. "We get your lord out of that psych ward and back with you where he belongs. It's as simple, and as difficult, as that."

Knowing she had nailed the truth, I shuddered a last little sob, stilled my tears, and straightened my backbone. "Yes. Yes, let's get this done. I'm tired of feeling like half a person."

Chapter 15

When the persistent buzzing of my cell phone woke me, the sun was well up over the horizon. I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar room, light filtering in through the drapes, and I lay there a moment trying to get oriented. Finally, I fumbled for the phone.

"Ms. Trent? Joanne Seward here."

"Ah, Dr. Seward. Hello." I sat up and got my bearings—I was in my new home, the cottage at the Dellville Inn.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I should get up now, anyway."

"I wanted to apprise you of the situation as it stands. Your friend, Alexis White, called me and informed me that Dr. Rikard Cruciat has rescinded Domn's visitor privileges. I see no legitimate reason for this, so I have a lawyer friend ready to obtain a court order to reinstate visitor privileges. Once we do that, we can get you and one of the donors in there and get him out. Kidnap him, so to speak. We'll need a donor because I'm certain he'll be starving and will need to feed before he can go anywhere."

"Okay," I said. "I'm okay with the first part. The second part sounds vaguely illegal."

"The lawyer says it's not technically illegal—somewhat unethical, to be sure. However, if you insist, we could go the legal route. Establish you as his domestic partner, get power of attorney, and then you can advocate for him. We're probably talking weeks, months. By then, he could be well beyond our help."

"You're right. I'm willing to be a little unethical at this point."

"Okay, then. I expect we can get this court order expedited due to the threat to our client's physical well-being. We'll drag the judge down to the psych ward if we have to."

"This lawyer—how much does he know about Domn? And me?"

"She. As much as she needs to and no more. I've told her there are special circumstances. That Domn's health is fragile and quite dependent on having frequent visitors. Oh, and I'll get in to see him today. I'll need to work up some kind of medical report to back up our claims."

"Doctor, no," I started to say, but she interrupted.

"Even if it's just me standing over him and saying, 'Yup, he's sick'. I'll also have a bag of whole blood for him. It'll keep him going."

"But, how are you going to manage all this? Dr. Cruciat seems to have a lot of authority there."

"Pfft. Leave him to me. He's a coward behind all that blustering and righteousness, as are most of his kind."

"His kind?" I said. "You mean vvvuh—" I sighed with annoyance. "You know, those who hunt my kind?"

"Close. He claims to be a Fundamentalist Christian." Her voice was heavy with scorn. "A fair lot of them preach one thing and practice another. I haven't met one who understood or followed anything close to the teachings of Jesus Christ. By the way, did you know that _cruciat,_ translated from the Romanian, means crusader? What we have here is Richard the Crusader."

"Oh. Well. That's kind of ridiculous, don't you think?"

"Not so much ridiculous as dangerously fanatical. I've been doing some research on this Rikard Cruciat. He's started his own church. He's convinced himself and a few other deluded disciples that Tompkins County is a hotbed of evil blood-sucking demon activity. I think he's mistaking that flock of Goths downtown for legitimate _strigoi_. Fool. Anyway, I'll be in touch as soon as I hear anything. Hang in there, Ms. Trent. We'll have you reunited with your lord soon enough."

I set my phone down and sat staring into space a moment. There was a new word for me: _strigoi_. It sounded dark, sinister. Once again, I was wondering how this little blond doctor knew so much about my kind. I made a mental note to ask her next time we connected, but for now I swung my legs out of bed, stood up, and waited a moment for my blood pressure to catch up. I looked around at my new quarters.

The cottage had a bit more space than your average efficiency apartment. I stood in the combination living room-bedroom that held a futon and another easy chair. Simply by turning my head, I could tour the galley kitchen and dining area _._ A hallway led to the bathroom and a mudroom in the back, and I walked down this hall to splash water on my face so I could wake up fully and get moving.

A knock on the front door brought me hurrying back out of the bathroom. I pulled the door open and could see only a silhouetted figure against the blazing sun. I put a hand to my eyes and squinted until I made out Leah's face—my new boss and landlady. "I didn't wake you, did I?" she asked, taking a step forward.

"No," I stood back, urgently motioning her in and shutting the door on that white-hot light. She stood blinking in the living room, trying to adjust to the contrasting dimness.

"Bit bright out today," I said. "Come in, sit down. Can I get you anything?"

"Oh, no thanks." She felt for the easy chair and sat, obviously ill-at-ease, her legs jittering. "I've had way too much coffee this morning—any more will put me in the bathroom for the rest of the day."

I blinked away the last of the tracers from the sunlight as I perched on the edge of the futon. "So, what can I do for you, Leah?"

"Well, I thought I'd show you around, explain your duties, get you familiar with the place. You think you're ready to start?"

I glanced at the shining square of window over the kitchen sink, wondering how quickly I could figure out a quick way to tolerate the light of day. _The ad said_ night _innkeeper,_ I muttered to myself. _Oh, and light housekeeping duties. Shit._ "Sure," I drew the word out as I stood, buying time. "Let me get dressed."

Moving without haste, I rummaged in one of my still-packed boxes until I found a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, gloves, and my baseball cap. When I stood upright, Leah peered at me with amusement.

"It's pretty warm out today." She nodded at the clothes I clutched to my chest; I offered a tight smile and fished for a plausible excuse.

"Why, Miss Leah," I simpered, affecting a Southern belle drawl, "I must maintain my porcelain complexion you know," then hurried away to the bathroom.

"They make SPF 70, you know," Leah called after me, chuckling.

I had not given much consideration to this. Every day, I would have to go from my cottage to the main house to clean and make up rooms. Well, I'd certainly need to become an early morning or late afternoon person. Maybe there was nothing for it but to endure a few blisters and par-boiled blood. I had no brilliant ideas at the moment, and, if I kept her waiting too long, she was going to start asking questions that would be uncomfortable at best and incriminating at worst.

Dressed and ready, I donned my sunglasses and followed Leah out into the inferno. Stumbling after her, keeping to the shade as best I could, I managed to make it across the yard, through the garden, up onto the back porch, and into the big house. Not much damage incurred, I guessed, seeing that Leah didn't seem to notice anything. Was she just too polite to remark on what I was sure was a face covered in blistering red skin? A quick side-step into the small bathroom off her kitchen and a glance in the mirror assured me I had weathered it well, this time. My eyes were another matter. The pupils almost completely engulfed my irises and the whites showed burning red. I put the glasses back on and stepped into the kitchen, leaving my hat and gloves in the bathroom.

Leah handed me a clipboard with a checklist for six guest rooms, a parlor, and the breakfast room, as well as four full and three half bathrooms. The paperwork included a list of duties to be performed in each room and the estimated time to complete each room—efficient micro-management and a reminder that corporate America had impacted my landladies. Clearly, to me, these tasks would be Herculean for one person in the given time. I yearned again for Domn to join me, if for this reason alone. I had no time or inclination to dwell on the other reasons.

As the tour dragged on, I sidled from one shadow to the next, keeping my sunglasses on to guard against the bright, sunny rooms. The curtains on every one of the tall old windows were drawn back to let in the light. Leah glanced sideways at me once or twice but said nothing. We finally came full-circle to the parlor where Leah ceremoniously handed me the Keys to Everything and commanded, "Have at it!"

I squared my shoulders, removed the sunglasses, blinked in the bright light of the parlor, and made a bee-line to the cleaning closet to choose my weapons.

The cleaning and bed-making proved to be mechanical, mindless work that unfortunately allowed my thoughts to descend into more depressing realms. I suppose dwelling on Ethan, Domn, and my future with my children just exacerbated my blue mood, but as my hands performed mundane tasks, how could I keep my brain from circling those issues? My heart ached each time I confronted my present loneliness, a condition that seemed unlikely to improve soon.

I tried to swallow the regret, my new life-theme that threatened to overwhelm me whenever I thought of things I'd done and choices I was making. Confrontations would come, I knew. Dr. Cruciat would likely be the first in a long line of them. Remembering the dangerous surge of joy I experienced when sinking my teeth into Kane's skin, I reveled in the chance to deliver the same treatment to the doctor's scrawny neck. If only.

Well, there was nothing I could do but wait and hope that Joanne Seward would come through for me. In spite of my bleak ruminations, I finished my chores in a bit less than the four hours Leah had prescribed. She inspected my work and approved it. I wasn't displeased to note it was just coming up on noon. Time for a delicious nap before my pub shift.

Looking, I'm sure, like a fugitive from justice, I scuttled from tree-to-tree, thankful for their shade, and I ducked into my cottage. Trotting around in the sunshine had drained my energy and I was more than ready for my nap. But, just as I laid back on my futon, there came another knock at my door. _Jeez._ Rachel this time, peering into my darkness. I had an uneasy feeling that she had talked to her partner and suspected something amiss in my behavior. I opened the door, took her arm and pulled her into the living room, then closed it hastily. Would I never be allowed my dark comforts?

"Rachel," I said, my annoyance obvious in my voice, "what's up?"

She stepped away from me, looking as if she harbored second thoughts about this impromptu visit. "I just wanted to see how you were settling in." _I am so sure,_ I thought.

"Pretty good," I waved a hand around the dusky cottage and smiled. "This suits me well, I must say." _Come on, Rach, lighten up. Oh, look, I punned!_

Rachel cocked an eyebrow and said, "Awfully dark and gloomy in here, isn't it? It's a beautiful day! How about I take you down and show you the falls?"

Okay, now that was as transparent as a picture window. I hedged. "I would love to, Rachel, but I need a nap before I work tonight. Plus, I've lived here most of my life and I've seen the falls. They're beautiful, you're right, but yeah, been there. Thanks, though."

"Most of your life? And how long is that, if you don't mind me asking?"

I got an inkling of where she was going with this; she wasn't terribly subtle or artful. She was my employer and asking this question was out-of-bounds, but I gamely calculated it out loud for her, "Let's see, we moved here in sixty-seven. _Nineteen_ sixty-seven, that is. I'm now fifty-hmm years old, so, a little over forty years. Forty-five, to be precise." I smiled as she tried to hide her disappointment. _She knows_ , I thought. _Don't know how she knows, but she does. Is she stupid enough to think I'd spit out an age described in hundreds of years? What the hell does she want from me?_

She nodded, evidently conceding for now. "No falls, then." But she didn't move to the door. To my discomfort, the woman looked around the living room, maybe seeking something else to get hold of. "Kind of stuffy in here. Not healthy if you want to get a restful sleep. Let's get some air and light, shall we?"

As she talked, and before I could react, she strode to a window and yanked the curtain open, searing my eyes with noon's intolerable brightness. I leaped at the window and dragged the curtain closed before I gripped Rachel by one upper arm and pulled her close to me.

"If I am to take a nap at all," I told her, bringing my face within an inch of hers, "the room must be dark, mustn't it?"

"Dark, like your soul?" she hissed and pulled her arm from my grasp. I narrowed my eyes at her as she went on. "I know what you are, Anastasia Trent. Filthy blood-sucking beast. You feed on the innocent. You hide in the shadows, like your dark lord."

"Domn?" I chuckled, trying to picture my little Romanian as some kind of fierce warrior king.

"Satan!" The spittle was flying from her mouth now, and, even in the gloom of the cottage, I saw her eyes gleam with fanaticism. _Oh, boy. Another zealot._

"If you want to trade ignorant insults, Miss Rachel, I could mention an aberration or two on your part."

"Don't you dare," she snarled. "I have been shown the error of my ways. I've sinned with Leah, but I will be saved. I pray every waking hour for God to give me a task; one that will cleanse my soul and bring me to His glory."

"Jesus Christ," I muttered.

"Yes, Jesus Christ. I have accepted Him into my heart. He will show me the way."

I laughed outright, then. "Fine. You go chasing your imaginary gods, but do it quietly, okay? I just want to be left alone. Pointlessly arguing about religion tends to make me thirsty." I leaned forward suggestively and curled my lip into a sneer.

Rachel's eye's zeroed in on my sharky white fangs and she drew away from me as far as she could, her back against the wall. Trembling, blinking rapidly, she choked out, "You are an abomination before the Lord!"

"As far as that goes, Honey, so are you." I waited, but she had nothing more to say. "Guess we're even, then?"

I slipped past her and yanked open the door, staying safely in the shadows behind it. I said, "Now, if you would be so kind," and indicated the way out. The woman scrambled out and stumbled down the steps. When she was halfway back to the house I latched the door, crossed the room, and lowered myself to the futon as I tried to slow my runaway heartbeat.

Well, that was a revelation. Leah and Rachel weren't the cozy couple I had assumed they were. Rachel had just confessed that she was trying to pray away the gay. Knowing how well that worked, I felt a twinge of sympathy for her—poor deluded woman. But the question remained: How the hell did she know about me, about my kind? It's true that subtlety wasn't my strong suit, but I didn't think I had given away anything that would have led her to her unshakable conclusion—at least I hadn't until I intentionally bared my fangs at her. Exhausted now, and worried about my pub shift, I laid back and willed myself to sleep.

*~*~*

I slept deeply and woke around two, feeling groggy and more than a little cranky. I had to deal with yet another fanatical loony whose prejudices and fears were guaranteed to plague me and to plague Domn, as well, once he joined me. I raged. We would get no peace here, constantly worrying about Rachel and her holy zeal. Would this job and cottage even last? I dressed for the pub and I left, making sure I locked the door securely. Maybe I could get the locks changed. Maybe I would have to see about getting Rachel's mind changed.

I fidgeted and worried all night, wondering how much of my privacy was being invaded back at the B&B. _Relax,_ said the voice in my head, _what's to find but clothes and knick-knacks?_ What, indeed? All I have to show for half a century lived is clothing and some photographs. On introspection, I was oddly okay with that, remembering back to precisely when my possessions had been pared down to nearly nothing. As wrenching as it was when the house and everything in it went up in smoke and flames, I had felt strangely released at the time. All those things had weighed me down, kept me from moving freely, wandering. I recalled that as our new house took shape, I felt the weight return. Responsibility and ownership were big burdens for me. Because the crooks who rebuilt it had done such a slap-dash job, it quickly became clear that we were saddled with a hunk of junk and more debt than ever before. I had found my spirit bowed nearly to the ground.

Now, with almost nothing of my own but the clothes on my back and my small savings account, I could fly if I wanted to. I wanted to. My thoughts lingered in that direction, and when I went outside for a smoke, I gazed up at the sky and willed myself to lift from the Earth and rise into the deepening dark and the mystical starlight. _Don't be stupid,_ scoffed that ever-present inner voice. _It's physically impossible._

I laughed at myself and, tossing the unsmoked cigarette, I went inside to await my dinner. Alexis arrived, right on time, towing a reluctant and scruffy donor in her wake.

"This," she announced, "is Abel. You remember Abel, don't you, Lady Anastasia? From the other night?"

I nodded and grinned, hoping my sharky teeth were appropriately shiny and glistening in the gloom of the pub. Apparently they were. Abel gulped and tried to disappear behind Alexis's plump chassis. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Abel. I trust you've had your orange juice and iron supplements? Got an EMT on call?" His reactions gave me a heady feeling of satisfaction.

Alexis giggled and said, "You are bad, Girl. Stop it. He'll wet himself." She nudged Abel forward and said, "Come, Sir. Just as we practiced—you be nice and she'll be nice. I hope." She cocked a warning eyebrow at me.

Abel drew himself up, straightened his shoulders, and faced me. It looked like he'd decided to man up. "Lady Anastasia, I want to apologize for the other night. We were out of line."

"Go on," Alexis prompted.

He stretched his throat, and then slid his eyes toward her and back to me. "When I, we, agreed to become donors, we agreed to treat the people with respect and, and I guess with love. My, _our_ , behavior was," he paused, received a sharp jab from Lexis, and stumbled over the next word, "reprehensible."

His tutor nodded and slapped him an attaboy.

"I am really, really sorry." He lowered his gaze to the floor and, for all appearances, seemed contrite or scared, or both.

I softened a bit. "It's okay, Abel. Forget it."

He began to unbutton his shirt and push the collar aside. I watched his fumbling fingers and noted that he actually shook with fear and anxiety. I stepped back and lifted his chin to look into his face. Tears shimmered in his eyes, a far cry from last night's crude bravado. I felt utterly ashamed of my arrogance.

"Jesus," I told Alexis, "I can't. I don't want to hurt him." Alexis pursed her lips, lifted her shoulders, and shook her head.

"My lady, please, you have to feed," Abel stared at me, pleading with his eyes. "I want you to. I'm sorry. I'm really am sorry."

I sighed, then buried my face in his shoulder and drank.

Chapter 16

I woke before the sun showed her evil face, and I got up to check my phone—no missed calls, no voice mail, nothing. Dr. Seward should have gotten back to me. Alexis had said nothing the night before. I was on edge all morning, worrying about what was going on with Domn and how Dr. Seward's lawyer-friend was progressing. Mindless vacuuming, dusting, and bed-making wasn't doing much to relax me this time, and my sense that Rachel shadowed me all around the house made me pretty prickly. Leah caught up with me in the kitchen as I filled a glass at the sink.

"Hey, Anastasia. How's it going?"

"Fine," I answered shortly. I was pretty wound up by now and my mind skittered in several directions. I pulled it together. S _he's your boss,_ I reminded myself, _be nice_. I put on a smile and offered, "Sorry. Kind of preoccupied."

"No problem. Say," she hesitated a moment, looking perplexed, then said, "what's going on between you and Rachel?"

I carefully held my face in a neutral expression. "Nothing I'm aware of. I'm not sure what you mean."

"She went from liking you a lot to, well, not hate exactly, but something close to it." Leah paused and looked down at her hands then said, in a tumble of words, "Tell me the truth, did she hit on you?"

I blinked. I chuckled. "Me? Old lady Annie? My sexy days are over, Leah."

"I beg to differ. There's something about you I can't quite put a finger on. Maybe it's that you're unaware of how sexy you are. I dunno," she blushed and turned to fill the sink, then added soap as I digested this new development. Rachel hadn't hit on me, but what was this? "I'm a romantic," she said lightly, almost reading my thoughts. "Rachel's more pragmatic."

"You complement each other," I returned her smile. "That's a good thing."

"Yeah, well lately she's become a bit of a zealot, I'm afraid. She fell in with this Church of the Cleansing Fire of God, or some such nonsense. She wears me out sometimes with her Jesus-freak stuff."

"Mmm." I was non-committal, but my mind was whirring. Church, eh? What did Dr. Seward say about her research? Cruciat had started his own little congregation of like-minded fanatics, hadn't he? It would be quite a coincidence if Rachel was a member. I recalled my paranoid feeling of being watched and asked casually, "Um, so where is she now?"

"Oh, she's at work—a job in some lab up at the University, pestering mice and such."

"Ah. Okay." I relaxed some. Leah frowned and was about to say more when my phone buzzed— finally! Holding up a finger to show her I'd be quick, I ducked into the pantry to answer.

"Ms. Trent? Joanne Seward. I have good news and bad news."

"Tell me, Doctor."

"The good news is we've got you and someone named Adah back on the visitors list. The bad news—Dr. Cruciat insists on accompanying you during any visits."

"That's okay," I said softly, again envisioning myself taking large chunks out of his scrawny throat in the privacy of Domn's cell.

"Well, can you and this Adah get up there today? Tonight? He must feed soon. I don't know how you're going to do it with Cruciat hovering over you, but you have to try."

"We'll manage," I said, still softly.

Dr. Seward, sensing trouble, said "Ms. Trent, don't do anything drastic. We need discretion."

"I understand," I said, my voice normal. "Doctor, I intend to get him out. Tonight. Today. Now."

"How?"

"I don't know." I pictured myself dressing him in scrubs or hiding him in a laundry cart and careening down the hall, but I pushed such thoughts back. I had no future in sit-coms or dumb movies. "I don't see why he can't be released under his own recognizance. Or mine. I thought they could only hold a mental patient for seventy-two hours. It's been over two weeks!"

"Cruciat has been counting on nobody caring. So far, the rest of the psych staff has been buying that, but I've sewn a bit of doubt in their minds. He still holds some sway over this patient, for whatever reason, and we'll have to tread carefully if we want to win, Ms. Trent."

"I'll be careful."

Dr. Seward warned, "Don't do anything foolish."

"I won't. I promise."

She took this statement in, but I could almost hear the cogs turning her thoughts and a decision clicking into place. "Ms. Trent, I'll meet you at the hospital. When can you be there?"

I checked my phone—ten o'clock now—too close to noon and too far away from the evening's milder sun. "I'm not sure," I said feeling frustrated, eager. "The sun, see. It's going to be up there for a while. Let me get hold of Adah. She'll know what to do." I hung up, dialed my AA buddy and poured out my story.

"Panel van," Adah responded immediately. The answer should have bitten me on the nose. "My word, Anasta-Annie. How'd you manage to make it all the way to fifty-two without me?"

She took my embarrassed silence for offense and quickly apologized, "I kid you, My Lady."

"Sorry," I said finally. "I'm a little stressed, you know? Not thinking clearly."

"I know, Sweetheart." I heard sympathy in her voice. "Never fear, I'll pick you up in about a half hour. Be ready with bells on! Nah, skip the bells. Try a long-sleeved shirt and sunglasses." _Does this woman never get serious?_

I called Dr. Seward back, told her we'd be at the hospital around eleven, then hung up and emerged from the pantry. Leah sat at the kitchen table, pretending she hadn't been trying to eavesdrop.

"I've got to run out for a bit," I told her, trying to stem my excitement. "Not sure when I'll be back."

"Rooms two and five are made up?" she asked.

"Of course. Everything's done," I waved the clipboard. "I got an early start."

"Okay, then. Have a nice..." Before she finished, I was out the door and rushing for the dark safety of my cottage.

Adah wouldn't be long, so once I had everything I needed I stood by the door, checking the access road every two minutes. She pulled up at ten-thirty, sharp, with the promised panel van and lightly tooted the horn. I ducked from the cottage door to the back of the van and, unconcerned about comfort, safety, or anything but Domn, I settled myself on a milk crate.

As we pulled away, Adah remarked "Nosy lady in the doorway," and gestured toward the big house. I peered out the side window to see Rachel standing on the back porch, watching us leave.

"Oh, one of the owners—Rachel. I thought Leah said she was at work." My prickly feeling hadn't been far off the mark, but I wasn't about to let Rachel's nosiness interfere with my happiness. Up at the hospital, Adah parked as close to the main entrance as she could.

"Shouldn't we sneak him out the back way?" I asked.

"No sneaking." She grinned and went on, "We're going to casually stroll out the front door with him as if God is on our side and we have every right. Which we do." She gripped my arm. "Isn't this exciting?"

"Yeah, exciting, that's what it is." Wanting to slap her into reality, I braced myself for the dash to the lobby. We found Joanne Seward inside, looking calm and collected, a direct contrast to me stumbling through the door and retreating to a corner away from the damned windows and buzzy lights.

"Ms. Trent," she slipped something into her jacket pocket, then hurried to me and, taking my hands, looked me over. "You're looking pretty good," she smiled. "Someone's been taking care of you, haven't they?"

"Yes," I cast a grateful smile at Adah. "I apparently have an army of support at my back." I drew a deep breath and let it out again slowly, willing my heart to slow down and my blood to cool. "Okay. I think I'm ready."

Adah tapped me on the shoulder and nodded to Dr. Seward. "This is whom?"

"Oh, Adah. Dr. Joanne Seward. Dr. Seward, Miss Adah with the panel van."

Dr. Seward held out a hand. "Adah. Thank you for your help."

"You're entirely welcome, Doctor. I do enjoy a good caper."

I'm not a criminal mastermind, and subterfuge does not come easily to me. So, while Dr. Seward and Adah strolled casually down the hall to the psych ward, chatting away like old friends, I padded along behind, my eyes shifting from left to right, mapping out possible escape routes and peering suspiciously at everyone who passed us. The check-in window was manned, in my stressed-out imagination, by an imposing woman who resembled Nurse Ratched from _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_. I shook off my delusions, stepped up to the window, and said, "We're here to see Domn. I am Anastasia Trent. This is Adah, and this is Domn's physician, Joanne Seward."

Nurse Ratched, looking down at her list, slowly, so slowly, ran a finger down the column, stopping once or twice. My jaw muscles clenched until my teeth ached and I wanted to scream. "I have you, Ms. Trent, and Adah. But no Joanne Seward." Dr. Seward flashed the nurse a lanyard with a medical ID on it.

"Yes," the woman said looking doubtful, "but I'll need to ring Dr. Cruciat."

"Of course," I said, gripping the insides of my cheeks between my molars. Dr. Cruciat finally came flapping around the corner and skidded to a stop when he saw us. I wondered if I could curb the impulse to fling myself at his throat. His eyes fixed on me and I dug my fingernails into my palms, but when I felt Dr. Seward put a firm hand on my shoulder, I forced myself to relax again.

"Ah, visitors for our poor Domn. How good of you to come."

Nurse Ratched buzzed us in, the door clicked shut behind us, and the doctor's demeanor shifted drastically. "I know what you are about, Madam," he said into my ear as we made our way through the common room and down the hall. I felt spittle splash against my earlobe and my stomach turned. "You cannot succeed," he hissed.

"We'll see, won't we, doctor? I've been kicking myself for two weeks because I betrayed my Domn to you. I'll happily give you a bit of kicking."

Dr. Seward touched my shoulder again, a reminder, a restraint. "Ms. Trent, remember our discussion, please?" I checked my rage, biding my time, focusing on Domn's rescue.

"In here," Dr. Cruciat held open the door to Domn's cell. I pushed past him and into the darkened room, my eyes frantically searching for my lover. For some reason, I couldn't get his scent as I had the last time. I saw him. Barely discernible in the dim light, he seemed frail, somehow smaller in the hospital bed. This time, his skin looked nearly transparent against the white sheet.

"Oh, My Lord," I breathed. "What has he done to you?" I whirled to face the quack doctor I hated so. He backed away from the force of my fury but both Adah and Dr. Seward stood sentry at the door, blocking his retreat.

"Behave yourself, Doctor," I fixed Dr. Cruciat with my burning eyes while I reached down into my soul for that power to compel. "You really want to stand there quietly and not interfere. You're done with this patient and ready to release him."

He laughed a harsh, jarring caw. "Spare yourself the trouble, Madam," he answered. "You hold no power over me. Soon, this unfortunate creature will pass peacefully into another realm, his soul saved and at rest. And you, My Dear, will follow him in the end, as you follow him now. Your desire will be granted and you will be together eternally, blessed once more and in God's holy ha—"

Cruciat hiccupped and his eyes rolled back in his head. He twitched once, then collapsed to the floor revealing Dr. Seward standing behind him, holding a syringe. She grinned and said. "You may hold no power over him, Ms.Trent, but sodium pentothal does."

"Don't do anything foolish, eh, Doc?" I said.

She shrugged and admitted, "I get the impulse once in a while."

I turned back to Domn's still, silent form and sat beside him on the bed. Picking up a hand that was far too cold, I gently pulled him upright, knowing we didn't have a lot of time. His eyes opened; the pupils were impossibly huge and the whites had disappeared beneath pools of glistening red fluid. "Anastasia," he whispered. "You have come to me. Or is this another dream?"

"It's not a dream, Domn. I'm here to take you home. But you have to feed first."

He sank back and managed gasp out a halting few words, "Not thirsty, I fear. I am too weary." His eyelids slid closed.

"No," I cried. "Oh, no, don't leave me, please, not now. I just found you again." Fear weakened me and tears blurred my vision. "Adah! Help him! Feed him!"

Adah approached the bed and squeezed my shoulder firmly. I looked up at her helplessly. "He's starving," she said. "Only you are strong enough for him now." She raised my arm to my mouth and gestured. _Like some bizarre version of True Love's Kiss_ , the crazy voice in my head giggled. I wasn't feeling the mighty heroine vibe. I bared my teeth, knowing I couldn't tear my own flesh. Domn lay dying, what was my problem? I tried again, and managed to scrape one tooth over my skin, but my humanity was still too predominant. My arm twitched away from my face.

Adah, for once deadly serious, made a sound of disapproval but took over, as she always did. She drew a Swiss Army knife from her pocket, flicked the blade open, and nicked the tender skin inside my arm right over a vein before I could recoil. As if I were an inanimate vessel, she raised the dripping cut to Domn's parched lips and held it there. I had a sudden queer flashback to the breastfeeding coaching I had received on the maternity ward just after I gave birth to Jemmie. If the situation hadn't been so acutely dire, I might have succumbed to the strong urge to burst out in hysterical laughter.

For now, I knew what to do. Shrugging off Adah's help, I slipped my hand behind Domn's head and held my bloody arm to his unresponsive lips. I murmured soft encouragement to my lord, talking of things we had shared. I spoke of the future, but the very real possibility of a bleak future made me catch my breath on a shard of hopelessness. Just as I was ready to give up, his lips moved against my skin. I felt a faint pull, then again, a little stronger then stronger still until it felt as if he were sucking the veins from my arm. He kept it up for a long time.

A buzz hummed in my ears and the room washed out to white haze. "Domn! Domn! Please!" I cried. Pain shot up my arm and I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming.

His eyes opened, the red had receded already, and I watched recognition dawn in them. Releasing my arm, my lord drew a shuddering rasping breath before he cried my name and stared at me with a hunger I felt to the soles of my feet. I gripped his hands as the room came back into focus and the buzzing subsided. We were running out of time and I stood, intending to pull Domn up with me; the floor tilted crazily before I felt Adah's arms catch me from behind. She lowered me back onto the bed.

"Mistress Adah," Domn beckoned to her, "help my lady."

"No," I groaned, a hand to my forehead, "we have to go."

"We're not going to get far if you pass out, Lady," Adah scolded as she sat beside me and pushed up her sleeve. Too dizzy to argue, and knowing she was right, I bit down and fed. From the corner of my eye, I could see Dr. Seward watching as she stood guard over Cruciat's prone body. Her gaze was intent with clinical interest, and I heard her murmur, "Fascinating." I closed my eyes in resignation thinking there was no escaping the freak factor here.

Cruciat still slept as we got Domn dressed in street clothes from his closet. We crept out of the cell, down the empty hallway, and into a deserted common room.

"Where is everyone?" I wondered aloud.

"Fire drill?" Adah guessed. _That's the Adah I know and love._

We rounded the corner for the home stretch and there they were, the patients, all crowded at the exit door and silently watching us approach.

"Okay. This isn't creepy at all," I said.

As we got closer, I saw Nurse Ratched in her chair, held immobile by a large patient seated demurely upon her lap. Another patient stepped from the crowd and held out his hand to Domn, who took it and smiled into the patient's sad eyes.

"I don't wanna see ya go, M'lord," he bowed his head over Domn's hand and kissed it. _Curiouser and curiouser._

"I must go, Peter," Domn answered gently. "This is My Lady Anastasia," he circled my shoulders with his arm and drew me forward. "I must be with my lady, you understand?"

"Yes, M'lord." Peter bowed once more, then drew himself up stiffly and gave Domn, of all things, the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, My Lord!"

Is this really happening?

Oh, yes, it was happening. All the patients held up the Vulcan salute and chorused, "Live long and prosper, My Lord!"

I felt another hysterical giggle welling up from the bottom of my stomach and I bit down on it, watching the patients part as we moved forward and Peter leaped ahead to hold the unlocked door open. Now they bowed deeply, as we proceeded out of the ward and into the main hospital hallway, and if I had any cause to forget that this was a mental hospital, that cause vanished as I glanced over my shoulder and considered what I had just witnessed.

"Well, that was something else!" Dr. Seward cast a quizzical look at Domn.

He lowered his head humbly. "They have shown me much love, and they have kept me living as well they could. They know and respect my people."

Dr. Seward said thoughtfully, "There's much wisdom in madness, isn't there?"

Adah went to pull the van up under the entrance portico. As she maneuvered the van, I could feel Dr. Cruciat stir and wake from his pentothal slumber, so I wasn't surprised to hear shouting from back toward the psych ward. _So much for walking casually out with God on our side._

"Hurry, Adah," I whispered. "Move it."

The shouting came closer, but so did the van. Dr. Cruciat rounded the corner as the vehicle skidded to a stop in front of the door. Spotting us, he staggered forward, arms flapping. He hoarsely cawed for an orderly, for security, for anyone to stop us. Still wobbly from the drug, his legs gave out and, instead of rushing toward us, the orderlies, security, and nurses rushed toward him; they grabbed his arms and he was down for the count. _And so much for the noble crusader._

I turned away and, along with my crew, strolled out the front door, casually. Domn stopped me before I reached the vehicle. He pulled me to him and kissed me longingly, deeply. My own legs nearly gave out and, locking my knees, I ducked into the van. I finally felt like smiling.

"C'mon," I said pulling him in after me. "Let's go live happily ever after."

Chapter 17

I sat on the front stoop of my cottage, an untouched mug of coffee steaming between my hands, watching dawn spread over the clear sky and touch the west rim of the hollow. The light crept down the pine trees an inch at a time. Not for a long while had I felt such peace, felt so completely whole. Domn and I had spent the night twined around each other like vines, as if we could meld one into the other. I slept, finally; a deep, tranquil sleep, untroubled and safe. I woke up feeling marvelously rested and reborn. Now, the door opened behind me and Domn settled himself at my side. I smiled at the sunglasses he had found and donned.

"You're a brave one this morning, My Lord," I said. "It's getting light out."

"I want to be with my _pereche sufletul_ ," he said, "no matter the cost." I leaned against his shoulder and he pointed to the mug. "You drink this? Even now?"

"No," I laughed, "force of habit. I like the smell."

Our domestic bliss was short-lived. Leah made her way toward us from the big house, fairly dragging a reluctant Rachel by the hand. "You're up early," Leah called cheerfully. Rachel cast a sour look at us and tried to hang back, but Leah would have none of it. Domn and I both stood as they drew near, and he stepped boldly down to meet them.

"You are Mistress Leah," he said, taking her free hand and bowing over it. Leah didn't quite flutter her eyelashes, but she came close. He turned to the shrinking Rachel and held out his hand. She hesitated, then relented and put hers in his. "Mistress Rachel," he bowed again. I watched warily as the ice in her eyes thawed and a slow smile spread across her lips; a slow, sultry, inviting smile. _Whoa, lady. Not so fast._

I came forward and took Domn's arm possessively. "Ladies," I said, "This is Domn. Didn't I tell you?"

"You certainly tried," Leah smiled warmly. "Domn, welcome to our home. We've come to give you the grand tour."

Domn looked toward the sunlight on the pines—it had crept about a third of the way down—and then back at me, doubtfully.

Dammit, I was really hoping for one day of rest from this traipsing about in the sunshine nonsense. I tried to come up with a reason to avoid this excursion, but nothing credible came to mind. "We should get dressed!" I indicated my nighttime attire of t-shirt and yoga pants. "We should at least cover up a bit more. Right, Domn?"

He glanced down at his ubiquitous flannel shirt and jeans, then stared toward the pines at the edge of the hollow, obviously concerned about the encroaching daylight. "Ah, yes!" he said, and swallowed hard. "We should cover up more."

"We'll meet you over there, okay?" I led Domn back up the stairs and into the cottage's darkened living room where he regarded me with dismay.

"My Lady," he whispered urgently. "It grows late. Perhaps too late—the sun is high."

"We're going to have to do this every day, My Lord," I said, my brow furrowed. "I haven't come up with a solution yet. Cover up as best you can."

"But you are much younger and can tolerate the light, the heat with greater ease."

"Not much more ease," I said wryly.

He looked sympathetic, but shook his head. "There is not a lot in this world I fear," he said. "The _cruciat,_ yes. The sun, most definitely. Even should I cover all myself, the fire burns through cloth and leather to me."

"Well, damn." I pondered, then pulled aside a curtain to gauge the sun's progress. "We'll have to make a run for it. They'll be waiting and if we don't show up they'll wonder what kept us away. We have time—the sun's not yet halfway down the pine trees."

Domn stepped close behind me and wrapped his arms around my middle. "With my _pereche sufletul_ , I will brave the fires of hell," he said, nuzzling at the back of my neck. "But, if you will allow it," he touched a finger to my shoulder, "you shall be a shield for me."

My voice deserted me, so I nodded and caught my breath as he sank a tooth into my skin and gently drew on me. My eyes closed, my legs buckled, and only by virtue of his strong arms around me did I stay upright. He finished all too quickly and turned me to face him. "By all that is holy, My Lady," he whispered, "I do love you deeply."

"And I love you," I breathed, aware that this was the first time I had voiced that sentiment. My eyes lit up and I smiled in amazement. "Oh, My Lord Domn! I do love you!"

He threw back his head and laughed, then picked me up and squeezed me breathless. "How long I have waited to hear those words!" He lowered me to the floor again and gave me a little push. "Now, let us cover ourselves to brave the fires of hell for this grand tour."

In a box of stuff I hadn't unpacked yet I found an umbrella as well as gloves, baseball caps, and sunglasses; and I insisted Domn slather his face with sun-block lotion I recently purchased. Even if it didn't help, it certainly wouldn't hurt. Smirking, he tolerated my ministrations, but couldn't seem to keep himself from playfully caressing me and trying to steal a kiss while I half-heartedly swatted him away. Once ready, we took deep breaths, pulled open the cottage door, ventured into the blinding white heat, and trudged painfully across the impossibly wide expanse of lawn to the back door of the big house. I wanted to shed our odd attire before Leah and Rachel could get completely weirded out, so I pulled Domn into the pantry and we stood awhile, leaning on each other to catch our breath and to allow our heart rates to slow to a reasonable speed. We pulled off hats and gloves, left the sunglasses on, and appraised each other.

"You look okay," I said. "A little red in the face and your eyes are just a tad bloodshot, but you look pretty much human."

"And you, My Lady, look beautiful," he whispered and, pulling me close, he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me firmly.

"Uh-hem."

We broke apart to find Leah in the doorway with her hand over her eyes. She peeked between her fingers and grinned at us. "I'd tell you two to get a room, but I'd be worried about which one you'd choose."

I felt my face grow hot, but Domn looked pleased with himself. "I apologize, Mistress Leah, but I find my lady to be irresistible at times."

" _Most_ of the time, apparently," I muttered, and cast a sly smile at him.

Leah looked envious for a moment, then clicked her tongue and abruptly turned away. "Alrighty then. Follow me, please." She led us out into the brightly sunlit kitchen, down a short hallway to the parlor where Rachel was waiting.

Rachel stepped forward and took hold of Domn's arm as if they'd been intimate for years. I curled my fingers into my palms and narrowed my eyes, but said nothing while she led him up the main staircase. Leah and I followed as she pulled him from room to room extolling the history and great age of the building. Domn glanced back at me at one point and mouthed, "Great age?" I lowered my eyes and hid my laugh behind a cough.

From the second floor, through every room and the parlor up there, all the way down to the slate foundation of the cellar, she chattered and pointed and flirted. Leah and I trudged dutifully behind. Once in the dim, cool cellar, Domn sighed with relief and removed his sunglasses. I pursed my lips—his eyes were badly bloodshot and the pupils dilated enough to nearly cover the glacier blue of his irises. I felt horrible. My lord was in pain, but for my sake he endured it.

"Well," I said brightly. "We should probably get back to the cottage. I have to work at the Exchange tonight and..."

"Anastasia," Domn interrupted. "Perhaps we could wait a while? It only now approaches _noon_ and I find the company of these ladies a delight. Could we take some refreshment?"

"Oh." Noon—the hollow would be lit up like a bonfire.

"Of course! Where are my manners?" Leah said before she turned to lead us back upstairs. "How about some coffee?"

"I cannot drink coffee," Domn smiled, "but I would welcome a water."

Back in the parlor, Rachel contrived to seat herself on the loveseat close beside Domn, who bore it with dignity. "Anastasia tells us you're from Romania," she said, laying a hand on his arm and, could it be? Did she actually bat her eyelashes? "You must find America very different."

"I am originally from Romania, yes." He glanced my way, one eyebrow raised over top of his glasses, a corner of his mouth quivered. _The woman is making a fool of herself, and he sees it_ , I thought with relief. "I have not been back in, well, in a very long while," he told her.

"What a shame. But Romania's loss is our gain, right?" She wiggled a little closer on the loveseat. My eyes went wide—Rachel was positively simpering. I watched Leah stare daggers at the two of them, but Rachel was oblivious and not to be distracted.

"Say something in Romanian," Rachel was saying. Then she laughed at herself. "I'm sorry, that's so trite. No, but really, say something in Romanian."

Domn gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling and then looked back down at her. " _Sper că vom fi prieteni_ ," he said.

Her lips moved silently as she tried to work out the pronunciation, but she gave up with a shrug and a giggle. I glanced at Leah again. She was stony-faced, but it didn't take much to imagine her internal simmer coming rapidly to a boil.

"So, what did you say?" Rachel tittered.

"I hope that we shall be friends."

"We shall, without a doubt," she breathed, entranced.

I'd had enough of this, finally, and could see Leah was close to her own limit. Time to put some distance between the obsessed and her obsession.

"Leah!" I said brightly. "I understand we need to make up a few rooms today? I can show Domn the routine?"

She started and focused on me to reply, "Well, no, not today. We have guests checking in tomorrow, though." Then she saw me motioning to the love-struck Rachel with my head and her mouth formed a silent, "Oooh."

"Actually, yeah," she amended out loud, "that's a great idea, Anastasia. Rachel, you have to get back to your mice, right? Rachel? Rachel!" Leah stood and went to her partner, her hand outstretched, as Rachel glared up at her. I rose and beckoned Domn away, not wishing to witness whatever was about to ensue.

By the time we finished making up the required rooms, the sun had moved beyond the hollow enough so that we could return in relative safety to our cottage. The lovelorn Rachel was long-gone back to her laboratory, making it possible for us to creep down the stairs unscathed and retrieve our things from the pantry. Well, almost unscathed—Leah came in through the back door and caught us as we were donning gloves and hats and unfurling the umbrella.

"Hey, you guys," she began, then stopped and gawked at our outlandish outfits.

"Sensitive skin, you remember?" I said. "Him, too. _Really_ sensitive skin."

"Um. Okay. Listen, I'd like to apologize for Rachel's weirdness." She shook her head, holding her hands open in a gesture of confusion. "I've never seen her act quite so..."

"Smitten?" I supplied. "Yeah, I thought she played for _your_ team."

"Well, she did, once upon a time." Leah's face was drawn down with sadness. "I dunno anymore. She's been strange the past few days. Anyway, not your problem." She managed a small smile. "I'm hoping she'll get over whatever's got her knickers in a twist." She wandered out of the pantry again while Domn gazed after her with a look of regret and resignation.

"Mistress Leah has much sorrow with her love," he said. "I see in this Rachel a lack of strength. There is not solid earth under her feet."

"It's funny," I said later as we gained the dark safety of the cottage, "Leah described herself as a romantic and insisted Rachel was the practical one. It seems their roles are reversed. And it's all your fault."

Domn, peeling off hat, gloves, and sunglasses, lowered himself to the easy chair. His fiery eyes made me feel guilty for insisting on the trek to the big house, but a job is a job.

"There is, for some oldening, this attraction. You will see."

"Oldening? That's a new one for me."

"My English is not good, even now. These people who grow old. These mortal people. Some cannot help it; they must have us." He blinked and rubbed his eyes then said, his tone filled with regret, "This is a complication I had not foreseen. I fear there will be consequences."

"Oh, never mind. She'll get over it once she realizes she'll have to get through me," I bared my fangs and curled my hands into claws, "to get to you."

Domn chuckled and pulled me onto his lap. "My fierce lady," he whispered, burying his face in my neck. He kissed me there, sucking at my skin playfully. I shivered and tilted my head, inviting his bite. He drew back and met my eyes with such love that I felt my throat close up and tears sting. Ducking his head again, he pierced the skin in the hollow of my shoulder and pulled softly at me while I tightened my arms around him and let myself sink into a soft, warm place where I slept dreamlessly.

*~*~*

"My Lady, my Anastasia," Domn's gentle tone drew me slowly back to the surface where I opened my eyes to see him leaning over me. He had laid me upon the futon while I slept, and now I raised my arms and wound them around his neck, pulling him down. He tumbled most willingly onto the bed next to me. Unable to resist, I rolled over top of him and grinned wickedly.

"Now, I have you, my fine lord."

"I am at your service, my sweet lady." He brushed his hair away and directed me down to his pale shoulder where I sank into his skin and fed deeply. A moment later he stirred and whispered, "The time grows late."

"Mmm." Wishing I had nowhere else to be but on that futon next to him, I levered myself up, swung my legs over the side of the futon, and went off to the bathroom to shower and get dressed for the pub.

"I shall come for you when it is dark," Domn said as I went to the door. "I wish to escort my lady home." He had found a book in one of my boxes and looked content, for the moment, settled in the easy chair.

"That would be nice," I went over and kissed the top of his head, breathing in his scent. Before I succumbed to temptation, I pulled myself away, hurried out into the golden light of the late afternoon, and ducked quickly into my waiting truck. In a few minutes, I was behind the bar and ready to do my shift.

Work was uneventful. As usual, the place emptied out shortly after the kitchen closed. I was idly wiping down the tables and straightening things up when the door opened to admit a downcast Lucy.

I sighed in dismay but put on a smiling face, hoping the visit would be brief. Then I chided myself. _You owe her an apology, don't you? For what you did in the coffee shop?_ How was I going to apologize for something she probably had no idea I did? Still, I had to find a way. One of the tenets of AA was to seek out those you've wronged and make it right. I remembered at least that much from my one meeting.

Lucy slid onto a bar stool and I walked over to slip behind the bar, lightly squeezing her shoulder as I passed. She flinched away from my touch. "Sorry," she whispered.

"I'm wondering if this is how gays feel when they come out to their families and friends," I said. I thought that over, smiling a little and feeling sad, too. "Glass of wine?"

"Yeah, sure. Cab Franc."

I poured and set it in front of Lucy, then, contemplating her quietness, I leaned back against the shelves behind me and waited to see where this conversation would go. I watched her tilt the glass back and drain it in one draught. "Another," she set the glass down and I poured again. She took a hefty gulp and sighed, set the wine down, and finally looked at me. "Ana, what the hell? Can this all be real, what's happened to you? There's no such thing as vampires, right?" Her eyes pleaded with me. "When are you going to have a good laugh and tell me it's an elaborate prank?"

I shook my head and smirked at her, feeling way past justifying my existence. "If I were to laugh, Lucy love, it would only reinforce the weirdness."

"Yes, weirdness is the right word." She sat up straighter and took a deep breath. "Who did this to you, Ana? This lover of yours?"

"Well, yes, he did."

"And," she squinted at me, "you're okay with it?"

"Yes," I couldn't help it, I grinned a wide, toothy grin. "Yes I am." And, for the first time, I realized I was beginning to come to terms with my plight.

"God, Annie," Lucy averted her eyes and winced. "That's really quite the display."

"Sorry," I covered my mouth, and then leaned forward on the bar to gaze intently into Lucy's eyes. She recoiled, in spite of what might have been her new resolve to tolerate me. "Lucy, I know how you like to talk, but I have taken a huge risk here. If you were to tell _anyone_ about this, the consequences would be horrific."

"Shit, Annie, who'm I going to tell? Who'd believe me?" She tipped her glass back again, drained it, then set it on the bar and nudged it toward me. I poured another. "Have one with me?" she asked.

I laughed and leered at her, upper lip lifted to reveal my fangs. "I never drink...wine," I intoned in my best Gary Oldman impression.

She choked and sputtered, slopping wine out of her glass. "Nice." For the first time, Lucy seemed to relax a tad, and she kind of grinned back.

I drew a breath and got serious. "Luce, I have to apologize for what I did at Sandy's the other day."

"What you did?"

"When I made you go get the car. When I compelled you." I peered at her amused little smile. "Or tried to, anyway."

"Yeah, it worked. For about a half hour. Then it all came rushing back to me." She shuddered. "That's why I'm here. I want to apologize to you." She stared down at the bar a moment. I waited. "You're right," she said finally. "It's like you're trying to come out to me and I'm handling it badly. You're still _you_ , right? Good old Ana?"

"More or less," I said. "A few minor alterations."

"Minor. Right." Lucy snorted, then sobered. "So, what now? You're gonna run away to live with your demon lover for all eternity?"

"I am no demon, Mistress." While she spoke, Domn had slipped in through the door and came over to slide onto a stool beside Lucy, looking her up and down with interest. "But, I hope my lady thinks on me as a lover."

"Very much so," I whispered, though it troubled me to see Lucy's face turn grey around the edges. She coughed, and seemed to lose her voice. I hurriedly did the social thing.

"Domn, my best friend in all the world, Miss Lucy Dean. Lucy, Domn."

"Very pleased to meet my lady's best friend in all the world, Miss Lucy Dean," Domn said and held out a hand. Lucy, after some hesitation, took it but twitched as he bowed over it.

"Good grief, Luce," I scoffed. "He's not going to bite you." I giggled as Lucy looked up at me, offended. "Sorry! I'm sorry! Don't you think there's something really hysterical about this whole thing, though?" My laughter faded—apparently there wasn't—and I sighed. "Here," I sloshed some more wine in Lucy's glass and she took hold of it as if she had discovered a life preserver.

Domn looked from me to Lucy, sensing the extraordinary tension between us. He raised an eyebrow at me and my nod said, "She knows". He shook his head in dismay and addressed my former best friend, "Miss Lucy, you seem most uncomfortable."

"Damn straight," Lucy slurred her words a bit, the wine having reached her brain. "It's a most uncomfortable situation. Don't you think?"

"I am no longer sure of how it feels to be otherwise, so I cannot judge. It has been far too long, I fear. Perhaps my lady, who is much the younger, remembers more clearly?"

I looked down at the bar, pushing a peanut skin around with my finger. Mulling over my feelings, I had to face facts. My new disposition was still freshly otherworldly and awkward for me, but I did not want to hurt Domn with this truth. "I don't know if I care to think about it too much," I said finally. "It's done. Why dwell on it?"

Lucy frowned. "You don't seem entirely happy about the whole thing," she said, glancing sideways at Domn. "No offense, Annie, but it's like you had a sex change operation, you know? There's no way to go back to normal again."

I looked up to meet Domn's eyes and he gazed back sympathetically, then gave a little shrug. "I do not know this sex change operating," he said. "But, you are correct. It is not for going back."

"So now you've done this..." Lucy waved a hand, searching for a term she could grasp, "this _thing_ to her, and it's forever. Did either one of you consider consequences?"

"For a second or two," I said, wondering why I was being made to feel like a wayward child. "There's no way I can explain this to you. It seems selfish and thoughtless, doesn't it? But, when you think about it, my whole life has been about making someone else happy. I'm just doing what I do best, only this time it feels like it's making me happy, too." I smiled at Domn, whose eyes were handing me his heart.

"Hmph." Lucy slid off her stool and swayed slightly. "Okay, Annie. 'Sfuckin' weird happiness, but okay." She walked toward the door but stopped with her hand on the knob. "We can still hang out, right? I mean, you're not gonna go ape-shit and rip my lungs out if I happen to piss you off?"

"Oh, Lucy. I doubt I could even if I wanted to. It's not like in the movies. I don't have superhuman strength or superhuman speed or any of that bullshit. We can hang out and you go ahead and piss me off as much as you want." I walked over to her, took her hands, and squeezed them gently. "Ethan has shut me out. Jemmie's shut me out. Don't you shut me out."

Lucy wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. I guess she had begun to reconcile herself to my state. "God, no. I won't, Ana." She stepped back and appraised me. "Take care of yourself. I'll give you a few days and call you, okay?"

"Sure, but no more running out at noon for coffee."

"Right." She turned and had to step back abruptly as Alexis pushed through the door, trailed by the last in the series of scumbags. Trying to be helpful, Lucy stopped them. "I think she's trying to close up," she said, and put an arm out.

I gently pulled her arm down. "It's okay, Luce. I think someone badly needs a drink."

"We'll be quick," Alexis grinned. "Real quick."

Lucy hesitated, then glanced at me just as I compulsively brought a forefinger to my upper lip and rubbed at it, my teeth irritating and itchy suddenly. I saw understanding dawn on her face, leaving me with a feeling that one more threshold had been crossed. She stammered, "Oh. Oh, God. Okay. G'night, Ana." She hurried out into the night.

"Friend of yours?" Alexis nodded toward the door.

"Old friend," I said and smiled sadly. "That was Lucy."

Alexis gave me a look and said, "Hmph. Anyway," she nodded at the fellow by her side, "Annie, Domn, this is Enoch." Enoch's eyes went wide when he saw Domn seated at the bar, and he sidled over to stand behind Alexis.

"So, wait, Lexie, I didn't text you today," I said, a little surprised that she had shown up with dinner in tow. "I still need donors?"

Domn spoke up then, "Yes, of course. I alone cannot provide for you. Now it is only for the sex drive." He grinned impishly and I blushed as I locked the door and shut off the lights.

"Right," Alexis chimed in, "for you and your lord it's like trading spit. Doesn't do a thing for you, really. Neither one of you can regenerate red blood cells anymore. You've got to replenish from somewhere, and," she drew Enoch forward, "here he is."

"But at the hospital Domn was okay after nearly draining me."

Alexis shrugged. "You're still pretty young, Ana, with a fair amount of mortal blood left in you. It's enough for now, but eventually you're going to run out. I think your lord sort of accelerated that process."

_So, not True Love's Kiss after all?_ I was disappointed.

Domn slid off his stool and held out a hand to Enoch, who took it cautiously. "I wish you to know of my gratitude," Domn said formally, grasping Enoch's hand in both of his and bowing slightly. "I thank you for your service to my lady." Enoch nodded slowly, looking slightly dazed.

"But what about you, My Lord? How are you going to..." I trailed off as Alexis stepped forward and put her hand on Domn's shoulder. I lowered my eyes to hide the sudden spark of jealousy. I couldn't help it; the sexual overtones in the act of feeding dug at me. I was plagued with insecurity, too, leftover from the first time I saw Alexis and Domn together acting so chummy.

As if reading my mind, Domn sought to reassure me. "It will cease to trouble you in time." He leaned forward and, cupping my chin with a soft hand, spoke quietly in my ear. "Know this, always you are _sufletul pereche_. There is no-one else can be this for me." He kissed me on my cheek and smiled into my eyes.

"Your love humbles me, My Lord." I bowed my head.

"I wish it to also lift you up," he replied while I raised my eyes to meet his. Whatever he saw there satisfied him so that he patted my cheek and turned to Alexis, who surreptitiously wiped a tear from her own eyes.

She whispered, "Fools in love," and followed Domn out of the pub to the darkened restaurant.

*~*~*

Domn and I left the pub finally around twelve-thirty, but he hesitated as I opened the door to the truck. "May we travel by foot?" he asked "The night is warm." And so we meandered home, arm-in-arm, like any old married couple. A new moon made the road dark, but the stars seemed bright enough to compensate. I couldn't stop looking at them.

I hated the idea of cutting short our time under these beautiful stars, and I had no desire to go back to Rachel's territory right now. "Hey," I said impulsively, "let's go down to the falls." I tugged his arm, shifting our direction.

"Falls?"

"The waterfalls. It's beautiful there. We'll go skinny-dipping." He stopped and looked at me, clearly confused, so I explained. "Swimming, without benefit of bathing suits. You're eight-hundred years old and you've never been skinny-dipping?"

I knew he wanted to laugh at me, but I didn't mind. He bumped our shoulders together and said, "I have been swimming without benefit of bathing suits, yes, most refreshing."

We made our way down the goat path to the creek, the sound of the water becoming clearer as we rounded a hedgerow. The falls glimmered in the starlight, barely discernible but beautiful, just as I promised. The pool of water below looked so inviting that I stripped down eagerly as did Domn. We stepped into the deep, rippling water and moved away from the bank until we stood about chest high. Domn wrapped his arms around me from behind to kiss water drops from my shoulders. I turned to face him, draped my arms around his strong shoulders and, lifting myself, wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Now it is time for the sex drive?" I giggled.

He laughed and nudged my neck, nibbling it teasingly. "Now it is time for the sex drive," he answered, and I heard passion in his voice.

He found his mark and entered me slowly, then drew back his lips and sank both fangs into my shoulder. Gasping, clutching his arms, I echoed his overture, biting him as he had bitten me. We clung to each other, rocking slightly, soaking in each other's essence, until I cried out my longed for release. A moment later, he drew hard on me, leaned his head way back, and moaned into the starry sky. We stood in the pool, wrapped in each other for a long while as our heartbeats slowed. Domn held me up with ease—his arms tight around me his face buried in my shoulder.

"That was a very nice sex drive," he whispered finally, his breath stirring the hairs on the back of my neck. Our idyll ended abruptly when a powerful beam of light shot across the pool, spot-lighting our naked bodies.

An officious voice rang out, "You two need to step out of the water immediately and dress yourselves!"

I fell with a splash into the pool as Domn released me and whirled toward the voice. Sputtering back to the surface, I brushed the dripping hair from my eyes to see Domn, eyes blazing and lips drawn back to expose his glittering white fangs. Whoa. This was a side of my little Romanian I hadn't yet seen, and I stared in awe as he advanced on the source of the beam.

"By whose authority do you command us?" he snarled. "Show yourself, Coward!"

The flashlight beam wavered and shook but remained trained on us.

"Officer Frank Holmwood, Parks and Recreation!" The voice lost much of its force, quavering as the speaker tried to maintain control. "I need you to exit the water and dress yourselves!"

"I am exiting this water, Officer Frank Holmwood," Domn growled as he continued to slosh toward the shore. I giggled into my hand and trudged along in his wake.

Domn and I advanced while the dimly outlined figure holding the flashlight jumped back a step at a time, sending pebbles skittering into the water. Domn strode right up, face-to-face, nose-to-nose in front of a fairly large man with the dark green khaki of a park ranger's uniform stretched across his amply padded frame. I wasn't sure how Domn appeared to tower over him—the ranger was at least six inches taller.

Domn's naked chest pushed the flashlight up against the ranger's khaki-covered belly so the light illuminated their faces from below, like an eerie Halloween tableau. Domn's eyes glared and sparkled, the ranger's were white with fear. Nevertheless, the ranger bravely attempted to reassert his authority. "I need you two to vacate the park. You're trespassing," he quavered again, "and disturbing the peace."

"You disturb my peace," Domn hissed, "and you disturb my lady's peace. _You_ must exit this park." I watched in amazement as the ranger backed away, step-by-step, then turned and scrambled up the bank kicking clumps of scree and dirt behind him. His crashing steps faded into the darkness along with the annoying glare of his flashlight.

"Wow," I said as the quiet sounds of the summer night settled around us again. "Just wow. Where did all _that_ come from?"

Domn turned to me, his eyes still afire, and grinned savagely. "I have my lady to defend now," he said as he leaned down to gather our clothing. "I am a brave and fierce warrior for you, my Anastasia."

Women's Lib notwithstanding, I have to admit I got a major thrill watching someone defend my honor with such fervor. I felt proud. I felt cherished. I felt horny.

As we made our way back to the cottage, I clung breathlessly to Domn's hand, impatient to get to the privacy of our home. "Oh my god," I gasped as I unlocked the door and we tumbled into the living room. "I would never have thought you capable of something like that!"

Domn tilted his chin up, looking proud, then shook his head—I saw a touch of regret flicker across his eyes. "I fear I have exposed us, My Lady," he confessed, though his eyes still shimmered with mirth and excitement. "I should not have done that."

"No, probably not." I looked at him with new respect. "Still, how did you go from a frightened little man, running for your life, to the mighty warrior I saw out there?"

"As I have told you, I must protect my lady," he said, sounding surprised that he had to repeat himself. "I would face the fires of hell for my Anastasia."

"You amaze me, my Domn."

"You amaze _me_ , my Anastasia!" He caught me in a bear hug and lifted me to the futon where we shed our damp clothes and had ourselves another very nice sex drive.

Chapter 18

Slow-motion morning light spread over top of the hollow, finding us tangled with each other and the quilt on the futon. I opened my eyes to see Domn gazing at me intently, his head resting on his hand. "Good morning, my sweet lady," he grinned.

I was amused to see a trace of blood on his teeth, and I marveled that just a couple of weeks ago I had been repulsed by the same sight. "You didn't brush your teeth after dinner last night," I scolded. He responded by lifting a corner of my lip with his finger and peering into my mouth.

"Neither did you," he teased. I stretched luxuriously and rolled to snuggle myself into his warmth. "My Lady is content?" he asked, stroking my back lightly.

"Very," I said. "Very content indeed. Hey, why don't we just stay in bed all day?"

"And our duties in the house? Do we not have rooms to clean for Mistress Leah and Mistress Rachel?"

"Ugh. Thanks for reminding me. Yes, of course." But I buried myself deeper in his embrace and sighed with contentment. "Don't make me leave this lovely bed," I whispered, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"Ah, my temptress. Almost you convince me. But," he rolled over onto his back, pulling me on top and gazing at me earnestly, "we have a duty to Mistress Leah. Are there not to be guests today?"

In answer, I kissed him deeply, twining my arms around his neck. He responded at first, then broke the kiss holding my face away with gentle hands. "Sweet Lady, it grows late. Be mindful of the sun."

I groaned and rolled out of bed, pulling the quilt with me, and turned to grin back at his naked body. "You, too, my love."

"Of course." He scrambled off the futon and grabbed me around the waist, nipping at my bare shoulder.

"No time for the sex drive!" I threw the quilt over his head and raced down to the bathroom to wash and get dressed.

It turned out there were no rooms to be made up as we had done that the day before. It took little time to clean the common areas, so we found ourselves trapped in the big house until shadows claimed the hollow again. There was nothing to do but spend the day in the cellar contemplating our lot in life.

"Tell me, my ancient lord, how did you come by this curious life of yours?"

Domn gazed into his distant past, stroking his chin. "I hardly remember," he said softly. "It seems many lifetimes ago."

"Well, it _was_ many lifetimes ago," I laughed. "I imagine there was someone who wanted you forever," I ventured, that feeling of jealousy stealing over me once again.

He sighed, looking down at his upturned palms open as if to hold the weight of his years in them. "She was a rude and selfish one," he said, his face a study in regret. "I thought to be her world, her life. But she wished to be the queen of many. I was one in a herd of lovers." He shook his head. For him, anger seemed rare, but I saw it then. "She chose wrong finally, a man whose corrupt nature matched her own. He became filled with rage and regret. In his blind thirst he slew his own wife and two young sons, then destroyed his queen. Perhaps he thought killing her would absolve him." Domn raised his eyes to mine and leaned forward. "My Anastasia," he said, "You must know now of whom I speak." Whatever he meant to say to me was cut short as Leah descended the stairs to the cellar, peering curiously into the gloom.

"Hey you two weirdos. What are you doing skulking down here?"

Domn rose gracefully and bowed over Leah's hand. "We exam our histories, Mistress Leah. Those who do not heed the past are fated to repeat mistakes, yes?"

"You really are something else, Domn." She grinned but her face was etched with pain. "You've quite stolen my Rachel's heart away." She lowered herself to the bottom step and sighed, resting both her cheeks in her hands.

"I did not want to. It was not intended," he said. "I have only room for my own heart and one other." He hugged me.

"You two are so fucking lucky," she said. "I once thought Rachel and I were gonna be forever, but I'm beginning to think I'm just a pit stop for her."

"Pit stop?" Domn looked at me.

"Oh, Leah," I said, dismayed, "what's going on?"

"She's having second thoughts about her sexuality," Leah said in disgust. "I think her church people are trying to pray away her gay. She's suddenly decided she doesn't want to be a lesbian anymore. Like it's a choice."

Domn opened his mouth to ask another question but closed it again and looked at us, confusion apparent on his shadowed face.

"How does that work?" I frowned. "Either you are or you're not. She sounds conflicted." _And I know conflicted,_ I thought. Too bad I couldn't work up empathy for the woman.

"Yeah, I don't know," Leah looked pained. She apparently really needed to talk this out, and, in spite of her earlier assertion that this was not my problem, I was beginning to understand that it was. "Lately, she's been saying she thinks maybe she's bisexual. Such bullshit."

"I'm sorry, Leah. That sucks. How long've you two been together?"

"Ten years! Ten fucking years! You'd think she'd be sure by now, right? Like she'd be ready to commit?"

"You'd think, yeah." I cast a side-long glance at Domn. "I guess it doesn't always work that way. Sometimes you know right away. Sometimes you grow apart. Look at me," I laughed a little. "I was with Ethan for almost thirty years. Then, along comes Domn here and...oh." I looked at him, thinking of our odd abilities and wondering if I should be suspicious. Was Domn so desperate for a companion that he hypnotized me into loving him?

He didn't seem to get it at first. As the idea dawned on him, he took a step away from me, looking, I thought, more than a little hurt. "How could you think this? This is not a thing I force upon you! If you knew how long I have searched for you!" He took my hand and stared into my eyes earnestly. "My Love! I chose you! Remember that always! It is you I chose!"

I relented and smiled at him. "Of course, Domn. I'm kidding—just joking. Truly."

He shook his head, his face full of doubt and worry. "You have jokes with the strangest things."

Leah had watched this exchange and a frown furrowed her brow. "Hey, don't get into a tizzy on my account." She stood and brushed off her jeans. "Well, I have accounts to settle and bills to pay," she said, ascending the stairs. "Don't stay down here too much longer or you'll turn into a couple of mushrooms."

"Or a couple of evil blood-sucking fiends from hell," I whispered. Domn clicked his tongue at me.

*~*~*

Sunlight had not yet left the hollow, but feeling restless with nothing to do I decided to trudge back to the cottage and unpack some boxes. Domn felt it wiser not to follow right away, and he settled himself comfortably in a corner of the pantry with a musty book he had found in the cellar. He told me later what had transpired after I left.

Rachel came home from her lab at the university, entered the big house through the back door, and immediately spotted him. Domn, of course, stood to greet her in his courtly fashion. She seemed to perceive this gesture as more meaningful than simply good manners, and she returned the imagined affection, gripping his hand tightly. Domn told me he didn't want to appear rude and pull away, so he put up with the awkwardness until she finally dropped his hand of her own accord.

"My Lady," he looked at me as he related the story, and I could see he was very troubled. "She does, indeed, try to give her heart to me."

He went on saying that Rachel proceeded to keep Domn cornered in the pantry, telling him she knew what sort of creatures we were and that our secret was safe with her. _I'll give her a secret to chew on,_ I thought.

"She said this, 'I won't tell anyone so long as I can be with you forever like _she_ is.' Imagine her thinking that could happen," he told me, "I fear she has lost her reason."

He told me he had tried to placate Rachel, suggesting that, perhaps she was overtired from a long day, perhaps she needed to lie down and rest. Refusing to listen, she took hold of his shirt and tried to pull him out the back door, into the yard.

Domn grew more agitated as he continued, "She had the strength of a madman. 'I'll show you!' she cried at me, 'I'll see you burn in the sunlight!' She kept pulling me." He shuddered. "Thankfully, the sun was gone from the hollow and I was blinded for a time, but not burned. I think she felt foolish then, for she left me and fled back into the house. I came home to you. I could not wait to be safe with you."

"God," I breathed. "Just as I thought, another whacked out Fundamentalist to pester us. Beware," I warned, "this one is far more dangerous than the _cruciat_. A woman scorned, and all that."

Domn frowned. "I do not know this phrase."

"Oh, how does it go? _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,_ or something like that. What I mean is, you're obviously rejecting her and the consequences could be dire." I smiled and put my arms around him. "Be very careful how you handle this. You may be ancient, but you are still curiously naive about women."

Domn looked bemused. "In all of history there has never been, nor shall there ever be, a man who can claim to understand the female creature and still be called an honest man."

I laughed. "True that." I went to the window and pulled aside the curtain to look out into the darkening hollow. "Alexis should be here in a while," I said, my face twisted with the strangeness inherent in our evening ritual. I could see Domn's reflection in the glass pane, a hand rubbing at his chin, his eyes downcast.

I turned and smiled at him. "I have an idea. Instead of just sucking down our dinner and dismissing the donors with a glass of juice, why don't we have a proper evening?"

"A proper evening?"

"Yeah," I felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "You know, with wine, cheese and crackers, quiet conversation? Like normal people do?"

"Normal people." Domn looked hurt suddenly as it occurred to him what I was getting at. "You are regretting this now? This not 'normal people' that you are now?" He admonished me mildly as I hesitated to answer, "You must be honest. You must always be honest with me."

"Then, okay, yes, I do regret it a bit. I admit it—I feel a little squicky sometimes."

Domn moved his lips silently, working out the pronunciation and meaning of _squicky_.

"Strange. Abnormal. Unnatural."

"Ah." He tapped a finger against his lips then smiled. "New, perhaps? Reborn? Changed?"

"I've hurt you," I said. Then when he hesitated, "Hey, you must always be honest with me."

Rising, he laughed and came to me to put his arms around me. "Turn about is fair play, My Lady Anastasia. Of course I am feeling some hurt. But I also know of what you speak, this regret. In time, it will fade, I assure you. And this," he waved a hand vaguely, "will seem normal and natural. I have ceased to think on the squicky bits," he tripped over the word, "and so shall you one day." Eyes closed and willing my discontent away, I leaned my forehead on his shoulder.

"You know, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied with my lot in life," I said, raising my head after a while and returning the smile he had given me, "no matter how freaky and bizarre or novel and interesting it may get. Let me have this one night of normalcy, okay? Or as close to normal as we can get?"

"Of course. You must do what you must do." He kissed my forehead and squeezed me tight but his eyes still looked dark and troubled.

"Right now what I must do is go get some wine and cheese and crackers," I told him. "Be right back."

Feeling somewhat unsettled, I completed my errands and headed back to the cottage—the place I had hoped to feel secure and comforted. Domn and I sat on the stoop outside the door silently watching the stars wheel overhead and awaiting Alexis' arrival. I thought I caught a glimpse of Rachel's figure in the parlor window of the big house, her pale face visible behind the sheer curtains, and I felt a nervous twinge in my gut, but said nothing to Domn. Her relentless obsession was yet another shadow over our love.

At last Alexis' car pulled up beside the cottage and she got out followed by two older men, both quite respectable looking in khaki shorts and polo shirts. They could have just stepped off a golf course, which, it turned out, they had.

"Hello, Loves," Alexis sang out. "Meet Jared and Noah. I had to drag them from the nineteenth hole for you, so be suitably grateful."

As he had with Enoch, Domn shook both their hands solemnly and formally thanked them for their service, which made me feel a little crude. It had never occurred to me to thank any of the donors who had given of themselves with no thought of reward beyond the gratitude of our people—and a glass of orange juice. There was so much for me to learn.

We filed into the cottage and Alexis kept glancing from me to Domn, sensing discord between us. Once inside, hands on hips, she confronted me. "What's going on, Annie?"

I set my face in a mask of neutrality and answered, "It's nothing, really. Don't worry about it." To stave off any more inquiries from her, I turned away and busied myself in the kitchen.

"Lady An?" She had followed me, one skeptical eyebrow raised.

"It's nothing. I'm being stupid."

"If you say so." Alexis apparently decided against pursuing the issue further. Instead, she announced she was going over to the pub for a drink and she'd be back to collect her donors in an hour or two. Or three.

My mood didn't improve when, seeing dinner through the filter of my angst, the gathering took on the seamy air of an orgy. I tried to still my thoughts and concentrate on feeding from a willing Jared, but I saw Noah enfold Domn in his arms and Domn bare his fangs to sink them into Noah's skin. The image burned into my retinas. No matter how tightly shut I squeezed my eyes I saw that intimate act and I had no appetite, no pleasure at all.

Finally, I raised my head from Jared's shoulder, turned away as I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, and averted my eyes from the sight of Domn caught in an intimate embrace with Noah. I went into the kitchen to open the wine.

"There's something wrong, Lady Ana." Jared had quietly followed me. He stood pressing a napkin to his shoulder. "Do you find me distasteful?" He caught my eye and smiled kindly.

"No, of course not," I said, smiling back. I laid my hand on his wounded shoulder and told him, "It's me, I'm afraid. I can't seem to get past how, well, just how creepy this is—how unreal."

"Hmm." Jared's face settled into an expression of thoughtful musing. He considered carefully. "You're right, of course." He grinned, and went on, "It's pretty creepy. Would you prefer another method of delivery? Cold bags of plasma stolen from the blood bank?"

"Wow, when you put it that way..."

"Sounds delicious, right?"

I handed him a glass of wine then leaned back against the kitchen sink and regarded him thoughtfully. "I suppose you think I'm an ungrateful wretch."

"Kind of, yeah. but wretch isn't exactly the word I'd use." He sipped at his wine, then said, "Lady Ana, why do you think Lord Domn chose you?"

"Honestly? I have no idea."

"Is it that hard for you to believe that someone could love you so much they'd be willing to suffer the way he has for you?"

I thought back to Domn living in my cellar, to Domn trusting me and ending up in the hospital, lonely and starving, to our sprints across the cottage lawn in bright sunlight. Suffer, for sure, and why? I offered my insecure truth, "Actually, yes, it is hard to believe. I'm not a prize catch. I ask myself everyday why he chose me, how he chose me. I'm well aware of how awful I can be to others and to myself."

"How awful, indeed, My Lady," Domn said as he approached me hesitantly. Noah, seeming uncomfortable, accepted a glass of wine from Jared and stood to one side, looking a question at his friend. Jared shrugged and pointed with his chin toward the living room. The two walked out and left us to hash out our concerns.

Unwilling or unable to meet Domn's eyes, I busied myself brushing invisible crumbs off the kitchen counter. As I flicked my hand across the slick surface, I said with trepidation, "I don't know why or how you can possibly love me as much as you say you do, My Lord. I've been nothing but a pain in the ass for you."

"And as that goes, My Lady, I have been much the same for you, yes?" He raised my chin with a gentle finger compelling me to meet his gaze, and as hard as it was for me to trust his feelings, I knew what I saw was love and desire.

"A fine love story we turned out to be, right?" I laughed a short, coughing laugh.

Domn kissed my nose and gave me a quick hug. "I forget always how young you are, and so I am not as understanding as I should be. It has been so long for me. But, you know, we have not been all pain in the ass, yes? I have been given joy with you and comfort and I am not lonely now."

I drew in a steadying breath, vowed to shake this stupid mood, and I looked directly into his glacier-blue eyes. "You have, My Lord, and so have I. I'm being ridiculous. It's just that I've always ended up disappointed or hurt in relationships, and you have to admit ours isn't exactly typical." Not wanting to prolong this conversation, I decided to move on at least for now and simply trust what was before me. I took his hand and drew him into the living room where Jared and Noah seemed to have been pointedly discussing anything but us. They both stopped talking and looked at us as we approached.

I swallowed my sense of embarrassment and cast about for something witty to say, but all I managed was a soft "We're good." _Oh brilliant, Anastasia._ I shrugged, laughed self-consciously, and plunked myself down with Domn on the futon, determined to make social chit chat.

"So, it's occurred to me that I know nothing about you strange people," I offered.

"You're calling us strange?" Noah grinned at my gaff and visibly relaxed into the banter.

"The whole thing is strange, don't you think?" I retorted. "Let's talk about something dull and boring, shall we?"

"I'm game," Jared fetched the bottle of wine, refilled his and Noah's glasses, and settled in looking ready to make the conversation go more smoothly.

If there was a template for normalcy, it was surely based on these two. Both were happily married with children and nice homes, successful careers—seemingly mundane things, but topics I seized on eagerly, vicariously experiencing a breath of mortal life again. I missed it—I suddenly became aware that I missed the stuff I had been casually willing to toss aside. Domn said little, but watched me with a faint shadow of sadness on his face. By now, I was certain he could read my thoughts and I felt guilty and sad and distractedly confused. Was I to be cursed for my entire life with not knowing what I wanted or needed until it was too late?

A couple of short hours passed and Alexis came to fetch her donors. Her measured glance went from me to Domn and she seemed happier with what she saw this time. Once they all left, I headed for the kitchen to tidy up so I didn't have to face dishes before work in the morning. Pensively, trying to figure out where I was going and what I wanted to do, I rinsed the glasses at the kitchen sink. I felt love for Domn, for sure. He was kind, calm, affectionate, and stronger than I had realized. What woman would argue those qualities? He loved me with a dedication that almost scared me—I had never known such hot passion or such devotion and it was intoxicating. Then, too, the idea of immortality would be attractive to anyone, wouldn't it? As I tossed this salad of puzzlement around in my head, Domn came up behind me and circled my waist with his cool, steady hands.

"I do not realize," he whispered, "how I have taken much from you, how much you have had to change in these weeks without knowing anything about your new self."

I put down the glass I was holding and turned to face him. Gazing into his ice-pale eyes—eyes I knew now, eyes I loved—I said, "You've given me far more than you ever could take away. Yes, I left some things behind, but they were just things. What's replaced them is beyond measurable value."

_Come on, Ana,_ I scolded myself. _Some of those things you left behind are people_. _Relationships that once mattered a lot to you._

Was I okay with that? What if my daughters never spoke to me again? And would I be willing to do without old friends? What about Ethan? Oh, this was much too much for me to deal with; I had never been any good at analyzing data unless it was technical data. Pushing my turmoil into a dim place in my psyche, I decided Domn was my love and this was my new life.

I shook my head, laughing a little at myself. "I don't know how to say what I mean," I confessed.

He tilted his head at me as if he could hear something beyond what I was saying out loud. I was certain he knew how confused I still was, but he seemed determined that demonstrations of his love would cure my mental pain. "I think I do know how to say it," he said. He turned my face up to his and, wrapping himself around me, kissed me so deeply that for the second time in as many days only his hold on me kept me from sliding to the floor in a puddle of swoon.

Chapter 19

The rose-pearled light of dawn had brightened almost to full daylight when I opened my eyes and realized it would surely be too late to get over to the big house. No way could Domn accompany me at this sunny hour. I rolled over to see him still sleeping peacefully with a small smile on his lips. I kissed his closed eyelids, and watched them slowly open. "Anastasia," he whispered. "My lady. Mine." He grinned and I gazed at his impossibly white fangs then, impulsively, touched one with a careful finger.

"They're so sharp," I whispered. "So white and sharp, and big." No Little Red Riding Hood me, I licked my lips, knowing what those teeth did to me. Poor Red had never known passion like I had with my toothy mate.

Domn grinned wider, evidently reading my mind. "And such big teeth you have as well, _Bunică_."

" _Bunică_? What's that?"

" _Grandmother_. Are you not _Bunică_ with the big teeth?"

"All the better to bite you with," I growled and drew one fang across his shoulder, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to set him shivering. Then I sobered and sat up. "Hey, it's very late—too late for you to come with me."

He nodded and smiled. "It will be lonely here without my lady—and without a television."

"Hmm, which will you miss more, I wonder?"

"My lady, of course." He rolled on top of me, pinning me down and baring his fangs. "I would draw the very soul from you as I take your life's blood, my fine lady," he rasped, staring deep into my eyes, "and keep you by my side for all of eternity."

"Imagine that I'm screaming in terror," I grinned. "Now please, oh please, Evil Captor, let me up so that I may go change sheets and scrub toilets."

Domn hung his head in mock defeat. "I yield to your stronger will, Lady." He got up off the bed to grab his clothes, but stood still suddenly, staring toward the kitchen window, his brow wrinkled.

I rose behind him. "What's the matter, Love?" I couldn't see anything amiss, but I could feel his unease.

"Ah, nothing, I think." He gave me a small push and admonished, "You had best, how do you say, get a leg shaking?"

"Hoh-kay, Boss. I shall get my leg shaking—both of them, in fact."

I made it to the big house with maybe a half hour to spare; the sun had crept nearly halfway down the pine trees. I had dashed across the lawn and garden to gain the safety of the pantry, where I stripped off gloves and hat. I checked my face in the mirror over the sink in the tiny bathroom—a bit red around the cheeks and nose, but passable. My eyes were a different matter. I looked as if I had been on an all-night bender, the whites bloody and my pupils enlarged. I would be sporting sunglasses today.

I got quickly to work, but my mind wandered as I changed sheets and scrubbed toilets. Mentally chewing over my warring emotions, I was far away in my thoughts when I rounded the corner of the upstairs hallway and ran full tilt into a guest of the inn. The load of fresh sheets and towels in my arms tumbled into his and he laughed, putting out a free hand to steady me.

"Whoa, there, Sweetheart!" He was tall and slender with salt and pepper hair, brown eyes, and a wide smile. The guy knew how to wear his upscale business suit but oh brother, cowboy boots and ten gallon hat? A Texan. Or a Texan wannabe. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry." I gathered the bundle to my chest and smiled. "Trying to get my chores done a little too quickly, I'm afraid."

"No harm done." He smiled, then cocked an eyebrow at my dark glasses. "Eye trouble?" he inquired.

"Ah, yes. I'm pretty light sensitive, I guess."

"Well, it just so happens I'm an ophthalmologist. Would you like to me have a quick look?"

"Oh, gosh, no. You're on vacation, Sir. I wouldn't dream of imposing." _Holy shit, in the middle of nowhere, I find an eye doctor willing to play Good Samaritan? Something's not right here..._

"Working vacation," he said. "I'm here for a conference at the university. And, if you ask my wife, I'm always on duty. Can't resist a pretty pair of eyes," he actually winked at me. Oi. _How the fuck would he know anything about my eyes behind these infernal glasses?_

"I thank you, but I'm afraid my eyes aren't very pretty at the moment." Feeling a tad suspicious now I made to walk past him, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

"It would be my pleasure," he said, his voice a half octave deeper. "My room is right here," and he began to draw me toward room five, the very one I was about to remake. Oh, damn. I'd heard of this nonsense with hotel guests but never thought I'd be pegged a victim.

I dug my heels in, shook off his arm and said firmly, "Sir, I think you are mistaken. My eyes don't need looking at and I must get my chores finished or risk my job." I did a double take and couldn't believe what I was seeing. The jerk had actually pulled a fifty dollar bill from his pocket, and he stood waving it in my face.

"Seriously? I'm worth way more than a fifty," I spat the words and felt my temper flare. "Okay, you want a look at my eyes? Here's a free show!" I dropped the sheets at his feet and ripped off my sunglasses, glaring full force at him and shaking with rage now. My lips were drawn back in a hideous grin to expose those brilliant white fangs. "How do they look, Doctor?" I snarled and took pleasure in seeing him stumble a couple of steps back. His fifty dollar bill fluttered to the floor, and he retreated back into room five, slamming the door. I heard the lock click and I laughed.

I bent to pick up sheets and towels, carefully refolded them, and set them neatly in front of the door before I knocked softly and called sweetly, "Your linens are at the door, Sir. I'll come back later to make up your bed, unless you need me to do it right now." Silence was my answer. I nodded and, picking up the fifty, placed it on top the sheets.

"Wanker," I muttered as I continued on down the hall. _I've got to stop doing that_ , I thought, but not without satisfaction.

In the kitchen, about an hour later as I prepared to put away my cleaning tools, Leah said, "Miss Ana, I don't take kindly to you frightening the guests." she tried to look stern, but I wasn't alarmed.

I tried to look innocent. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Ma'am."

"Dr. Stark? In room five? He claims you tried to bite him." Her lips quivered and she pursed them in an attempt at control. Failing, she covered her mouth with her fingertips and dared me to play along.

"I what?" I asked, wide-eyed and innocent.

"Tried to bite him, Madam." I could tell she was gripping the insides of her cheeks between her molars now, her face tense with the effort, but tears of mirth were springing to her eyes. "I would like to hear your side of the story, please," she managed.

As we talked, Leah made herself a pot of tea and settled at the table. I shook my head at her offer of a cup, poured myself a glass of water, and sat across from her.

"Well! That's a new one!" I chuckled. "It's true I ran into him, literally. I couldn't see over the stack of his sheets and towels. My fault completely. I wasn't paying attention, I'm afraid, but I did apologize. Then he became curious about my sunglasses and light sensitivity—very kindly offered to examine my eyes—but he offered to pay _me_ for the privilege." I shook my head and said, "I may have verbally snapped at him, but I certainly did not attempt to actually bite him. Who knows what disease I could have contracted?"

Leah holding a napkin to her eyes, dissolved in giggles and gasped out, "Oh, My Dear. I'm so sorry you had to deal with that. I'll ask him to find other accommodations right away."

"I don't think that'll be necessary. I'm guessing I made it clear that a peep at my peepers—or any other part of my anatomy—is not for sale. I think he and I, we understand each other now."

"Oh God." Leah wiped her eyes and blinked at me. "My dear Miss Ana, you are wonderful. I haven't laughed like that in some time."

At that moment, Rachel, looking flushed, rushed in through the pantry door, her eyes slightly glazed. Seeing me, she grew sour. "Anastasia," she acknowledged me briefly and strode further into the kitchen, apparently bent on getting upstairs, but Leah caught her hand.

"Hey, Babe, come sit with us and have tea." Rachel sighed and plunked down in a chair. Someone wasn't pleased. She reached for a cup and sloshed some tea into it. Leah eyed her partner curiously then turned her attention back to me. "What's the deal with this light sensitivity?" she asked. "Have you been to a doctor about it?"

"Oh, yeah. I inherited these lovely light blue Northern European eyes. There's not much they can do about that in my case."

"Oh, yes!" Rachel piped up, interrupting me, and casting a dangerous glare at me. "Why don't you tell Leah all about your—and Domn's—light sensitivity?"

"Oddly, it's something we have in common, yes," I said slowly, carefully. "Maybe it's one reason we get along so well. We bumble blindly about in the dark and occasionally we bump into each other." I lifted the corners of my mouth and made sure Rachel caught a glimpse of a barely exposed white tooth. Rachel swallowed and threw me a thunderous look. Behind my dark glasses I raised my eyebrows warningly and she caught the look, retreating for the moment.

Leah, oblivious to our byplay, chuckled. "I can guess," she said and nudged Rachel. "We should bump into each other in the dark more often, Babe." Rachel cocked her head and managed a tight smile.

"Well!" I stood up, uninterested in this rising awkwardness, and pushed in my chair. "I've taken up enough space for one day. I'd best be getting back to Domn—he'll want his dinner soon."

"Oh, yes," Rachel groused, "you should get back and get him some _dinner_." I closed my eyes a moment, counted to ten, and opened them again, making myself smile sweetly at her.

Leah frowned. "Don't tell me you cater to that man. I mean, I like him a lot and he seems to treat you with respect, but you're not his maid."

"Oh, he's less trouble than you would think," I said softly, directing a stronger warning gaze to Rachel. She couldn't read my eyes behind the black lenses, but maybe she could feel the death rays. I stalked out of the kitchen.

I meant to leave, really I did. But, as I was donning my protective gear in the pantry, I could hear the beginnings of an argument in the kitchen. Since I seemed to be the subject, I felt obliged to stay and listen.

"I don't trust that woman," Rachel began, contempt sounding clearly in her tone.

"Rach, Honey, why? She seems perfectly fine to me. She makes me laugh." Leah chuckled lightly. "And that man of hers. He's obviously head over heels for her."

There was a moment of silence and I turned to go, but stopped when a chill shivered over my skin at what Rachel said next.

"I want what they have," Rachel's voice quivered tightly with emotion. "And I'm going to get it."

"I'm not enough anymore?" Leah sounded infinitely sad.

"No, you can't give me forever."

"I'll give you as long as I can, Love..."

"But not forever. I'm twenty-nine this year. I want to stay twenty-nine."

"You're not making any sense, Rachel. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Listen, Leah. You have no idea what you invited into our home. The woman is evil. The man is, well..." She stopped. Whatever she thought Domn was, she wouldn't elaborate.

"Evil? Grandma Annie?" Leah spoke slowly as if trying to placate Rachel. "Sweetie, I think that church of yours is warping your mind. There's not a lick of evil in our Annie. And Domn is a bona fide sweetheart—such a gentle man."

"Yes, he is." I heard a chair scrape against the floor and then footsteps fading out of the kitchen. Rachel was apparently finished discussing it.

I frowned. In her last three words I heard envy—clear as a bell—and grim determination. Rachel wanted Domn and what he had to offer; and by the prickling of my thumbs I felt however she meant to get at him, it was not going to end well.

Gritting my teeth, I slipped silently out the pantry door and raced across the lawn to our cottage.

I think I startled Domn. He looked up from his book to see me storm in through the door, tear the sunglasses from my face, and throw them across the room. "I really don't know how much more of her I'll tolerate," I growled. I felt my eyes burning and knew my fangs were bared.

Unruffled, he closed the book, stood up, and came to put his arms around me. "Quiet yourself, my love. What has put you in such a foul mood?"

"Rachel!" I rasped her name. "She's become quite the thorn in my side."

"Ah." He bowed his head, mulling. "I have a thought." He smiled at me and winked. "Let us take a stroll to the watersfall. You will be soothed, I think."

I puffed out a breath then relaxed enough to smile back at him. "You always know what to do, don't you?"

"Most always." He grabbed his sunglasses and retrieved mine from the far corner of the living room before he steered me out the door.

The sun had dipped behind the west rim of the hollow and the last rays were tipping the pines on the east side. Thinking about how my life had become governed by the movements of that star, I peered at the pines over the rim of my glasses. I already felt better. We took the goat path skirting the village park and wended our way down the hill to the creek bed below. Sure enough, I could feel my blood pressure responding to the sound of water cascading over slate cliffs, and we found a lovely flat rock to settle upon as twilight gathered in the gorge.

"What should I do, Love?" I leaned against Domn's side and his arm stole around my shoulders. "She's relentless."

He smiled, his teeth glittering in the dusk. "What could I tell you? You have said that with all my years, I do not yet know women."

"Sometimes I wonder if I know them myself," I grumbled. "In fact, I don't think I know people in general, regardless of gender."

Domn shook his head slightly and tightened his arm.

"I'm worried, Domn," I whispered.

"What is this worry? That I would replace your heart with hers? I could not."

"I worry that I've come to love you and might lose you, like I seem to lose everything important to me. I worry that Rachel would do just about anything to get at you. She scares me."

"I would stand between you and any who would do you harm," he declared.

"Literally?" I grinned and nudged his shoulder.

"Liter-ally," he answered, turning it into two words.

Leaning into him, I slid my arm around his waist and we watched the steady flow of water over the falls, until I felt it wash the stress from my mind.

We returned to the cottage to find Alexis sitting on the stoop and looking slightly annoyed. Adam and Eve stood beside her and I had to suppress a bout of giggles when I thought of their assumed names.

She glanced at her watch, "Well, we've been waiting on you two for nearly a half hour."

"I'm sorry, Lexie. Domn was trying to settle my temper down. We lost track of time." I unlocked the cottage door then stood back to motion everyone inside.

"So," I said. "Do we toss a coin for this one?"

Eve rolled her eyes and went to Domn, taking his hand. "No offense, Lady Anastasia, but given a choice, I prefer guys." She patted my shoulder on the way by.

_How romantic_ , I thought dryly. "That woman sets my teeth on edge," I muttered.

Adam put his arms around me and grinned. "Are you certain she doesn't set your teeth on jealous?" he asked.

I snorted, deliberately ignoring his feeble attempt at cleverness.

"At some point, My Lady," Adam said, "you will have to trust his love."

"I know, I know. I'm trying."

Adam lowered himself to the futon and pulled his hair to one side for me. Feeling chastised, and therefore irritable, I kneeled beside him and pulled the collar of his t-shirt aside. Then, remembering my new resolve, I looked up into his eyes.

"Adam," I said, laying a hand on his cheek, "I thank you for your service to me."

He smiled delightedly. "My Lady Anastasia, the honor is mine."

I lowered my head to his shoulder and drank.

Chapter 20

Rosy-fingered dawn spread over a cloud-dotted sky, splashing color between the clouds like some deranged celestial artist. Domn and I had both woken in the pre-dawn hours and passed the time in new and interesting ways of getting to know each other. Like a typical man he drifted back to sleep afterwards, but I found myself nerved up and restless. So, careful to not disturb his peaceful sleep, I rose and dressed and took myself outside to stroll around the cottage. I picked up pine cones and tossed them across to the hedgerow for no better reason than to pick up pine cones and toss them across to the hedgerow. I enjoyed the spectacle of the sky growing gradually lighter, and I dared myself to stay out longer than was wise.

As I passed the kitchen window, I spotted a set of footprints in the soft ground and I paused to investigate. Someone had been out here, doing what? Looking in the window? I felt my stomach drop and cursed myself for trusting that we had anything close to privacy. I went back into the cottage feeling kind of icky and rather violated.

Domn sat on the edge of the futon stretching his arms over his head and yawning hugely. "C'mon, Sleeping Beauty. Up and at 'em. We've got to make up every single damned room in that place before check-in time," I reminded him.

"My lady is a taskmistress," he said, but obediently began to pull on his clothing.

We raced across the lawn to the big house in relative safety; the sun had not yet crept past the tips of the pines on the west rim. We entered the house through the pantry door to find Leah and Rachel in the kitchen blinking sleepily over mugs of coffee. I inhaled the aroma and marveled, "Ah, what a great smell that is."

"Want a cup?" Leah yawned.

"No, thanks. I've had my morning wake-up," I gave Domn a sly glance and he beamed at me.

"I am honored to be of service," he whispered.

Rachel stared at us hungrily and stood to take her mug to the sink. "Can I fix you guys breakfast?" she asked, making it sound like a torture session. "Eggs? Bacon? Toast? We have home fries."

Domn shook his head but managed to smile through his nausea. "I thank you, but I have eaten."

"Indeed he has," I said under my breath, shivering with the memory. Rachel cast a look of pure hatred at me.

"Anyway," I said out loud, "hadn't we better get to it? I understand every damned room is to be done over, right?"

"Right," said Leah. "I suggest you start at the top and work your way down. Room five is checking out, you'll be glad to know, Anastasia. I hope he didn't stink up the place."

"What is this?" Domn looked from me to Leah.

"Oh, nothing. Just some lovelorn cowboy hoping to get lucky with me. I put him in his place, if you know what I mean."

Domn's brows lowered. "I do not know, but I guess. Did he violate your person?"

"Not even close. Don't worry about it. I think he was more scared of me than I of him, seriously." Domn looked unconvinced, so I took his hand. "It's sweet that you're ready to defend my honor, but really, we should get started."

"Yes." He nodded firmly. "I shall begin with room five."

"Oh, boy. I shall follow you and make sure there's no trouble."

We mounted the stairs and came down the hallway just as Dr. Stark, suitcase in hand, pulled his room door closed.

"Ah, Doctor," Pleased at his frightened leap, I startled him further by greeting him heartily from behind my sunglasses. "I trust you enjoyed your stay?"

"Ma'am," he touched the brim of his hat and made to pass but stopped as he saw Domn in his very own pair of dark glasses.

"May I introduce my partner, Domn? He also suffers from photophobia. Would you like to have a look at his eyes? I won't charge you a penny." I grinned wickedly.

Domn held out a hand and smiled coldly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Doctor," he intoned softly.

Dr. Stark hesitated before offering a weak handshake in return. "Goodtameetchatoo. Gottagitgoin. Planetahcatch." He held up his suitcase as if it contained eyeballs for transplant surgery and hurried away down the hall.

"I am beginning to enjoy this too much," I said, watching him skitter down the stairs. "We really must try to behave."

"Of course, we must try to behave. Tomorrow."

We had the whole inn done by three o'clock and settled ourselves in the quiet of the cellar, listening to arriving guests' footsteps creak across the floorboards above us. Domn removed his sunglasses to reveal dark and reddened eyes, causing me a twinge of guilt. Laying a hand on his knee I said, "This is proving too much for you, isn't it? I'm worried that it's wearing you out."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am old and I am weary, I admit." He grinned a little. "But, no, I am content to be with you in whatever we do, in wherever we do this."

My cell phone interrupted with a buzz as it received a text message. I pulled out the phone, checked the message, and groaned. "Guess who's sick again?"

"I cannot."

"Karla. I have to work at the pub tonight. I'm sorry. I don't suppose you're up to keeping me company?"

"Ah, forgive me, but it would be best if I should not. Would you be kind enough to tell Miss Alexis to send me a donor early? I would rest and read for the evening. Be assured I shall come at closing to escort you home."

My stomach tightened with worry for real now. This was the first time I had seen Domn display anything like true fatigue, and his sense of humor seemed depleted as well. "Come on, old man," I helped him to his feet. "Let's get you home. But first," I undid the top two buttons of my shirt and pulled the collar off my shoulder.

Domn smiled gratefully. He put his arms around me, pulled me to him, and pierced my shoulder, drinking more deeply than usual until he raised his head reluctantly at last and sighed. I swayed a little but stiffened my spine and my resolve.

"You are life to me." He ducked his head and ran his tongue softly over the cuts he'd made, then pulled a paper napkin from the supply shelf to wipe his lips. "Am I presentable?" he asked, with something of his humor returned.

"Mmm, very," I breathed—and kissed him.

Eager to return home, we hurried back to the pantry, pulled on our protective gear, and hustled across the lawn to our cottage. The afternoon was uneventful and I felt better about Domn's energy level as I left for work. Throughout the evening, my phone kept up an irritated buzzing, indicating missed calls, voice mail messages, text messages, and emails arriving in spades. I glanced at it occasionally as I passed by the register where it rested, dreading what those messages might contain. Later in the evening, as the pub cleared out, I wiped every single table thoroughly and swept the floor twice. Then I stocked everything—wine, beer, liquor, bar napkins, straws, fruit trays. I filled the salt and pepper shakers and the ketchup bottles then stared around the room for anything else to do, anything but check my messages. There was nothing, so I sidled over to the register and gingerly picked up my phone as if I expected it to nip my fingers. The first message was from my mother and it just about set my ears on fire.

"Hello, Ana, Honey," she began, calmly enough. "So, I guess you're working. Or you just don't want to answer my call. I don't blame you. I just got off the phone with Ethan. We had an interesting chat." There was a pause; I heard her take a deep breath then she gave it to me full blast, "What in _God's_ name is going on with you, Anastasia? What possessed you to take up with some _drunk_ from the bar? And what kind of person would break up a twenty-seven year marriage just like that?" She carried on for a solid fifteen minutes, voicing a whole host of assumptions about me, about Ethan, and, of course, about Domn. I briefly considered calling her back and enlightening her as to what Domn _did_ drink. I'll give Ethan a lot of credit, though. He apparently hadn't revealed the juicier aspects of my little mid-life crisis.

Mom must have spread the word because the rest of the messages were from my brothers and sisters in varying degrees of disbelief, anger, puzzlement and, from one, envy. My youngest brother's new marriage wasn't going well, apparently, and he wanted to know how he could meet a sexy barfly, too. _Now, that's a contradiction in terms_ , I thought. My older sisters, to a person, suggested we get together for a drink and an intervention. I think I found the source of my conflict.

I put my phone down and stared into space. _Well, what did you expect, Ana? A joyous celebration?_ God save me from my overly concerned family.

I admitted to myself that things kept happening to me because I allowed those things to happen. Caught beneath waves of helplessness, I kind of let events roll over me and then I'd scramble to my feet, assess the damage, and carry on even though little prickles of resentment stuck out all over. I let these prickles build until I thrashed at them in a burst of anger, usually culminating in some minor disaster or life-changing event. This time, though—this one was a doozy.

I watched some of the more heinous aspects of this particular set of events trickle through my conscience. I was appalled at the ease with which I could detach myself from the shame and anguish I should be feeling after committing murder and adultery in the lightning-short span of three weeks. Not even a month had gone by since that first encounter with Domn in this pub. I felt about as much empathy for the dead men in the lake as I would've had for cows and chickens that gave up their lives for the hamburger and steaks or wings and tenders that used to grace my dinner table. What the hell should I do about this lack of remorse?

It wasn't that nothing phased me. Whenever Ethan's image rose in my thoughts, I felt a curiously sad tug at my solar plexus. It is, indeed, hard to give up almost thirty years of a comfortable, predictable relationship for an existence fraught with uncertainty and bizarre events. Was this whole craziness just a reaction on my part to something? Boredom? Doing all this out of boredom would be kind of extreme, even for me with my secret desire for an occasional burst of drama. And now, thanks to the family network, I was reminded of another whole set of people who wanted explanations. They were more than ready to add complications to the mix. Unsettled, I stuffed those thoughts far back in my head and took one more circuit of the pub. Nothing else to do, I sat on one of the stools to watch the indomitable Joan Crawford as Mildred Pierce on the television above the bar. I let my brain go idle.

As the movie ended, Alexis appeared, looking serious and concerned with Abel in tow. My heart leapt and my stomach clenched again. "What is it? What's wrong? Domn? Is he okay?"

"Oh, yes," Alexis said, waving a hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." A little relieved, I watched her settled back into brooding while I put her drink in front of her.

"Oh!" I had startled her with the sudden move. She saw the drink and nodded her thanks. "Okay, so when I got to the cottage with Kane this evening there was another woman there." She looked at me, probably to gauge my reaction. I kept my face still and waited for her to unwind her story in typical Alexis fashion. "Lord Domn introduced her as Rachel, one of the owners of the B&B?" I nodded. "I couldn't figure out why she was so odd...and clingy. Really clingy."

I bowed my head and sighed, not feeling terribly concerned, but tired of the whole mess. "She's becoming quite the pest," I said.

Alexis gazed at me seriously. "Does she know?"

"Without a doubt, Lexie. I'm sorry." Then it dawned on me whose footprints those were below the kitchen window. "She's been spying on us. Who knows what she's seen?"

"Phew. This could be a very bad thing," she said and sipped at her drink, deep in thought again.

Abel cleared his throat and said, "My Lady, I apologize, but the guys are comin' to pick me up in a few."

"Of course, Abel, I'm sorry." I came around the end of the bar and gestured him to a stool. Getting down to business, I pulled his collar aside, bared my teeth—then stopped myself. "God. Where are my manners?" I took his hand in both of mine and squeezed it. He gazed at me, a bemused expression on his face. "Abel," I said solemnly, "Thank you for your service to me."

"I'm honored, Lady Anastasia," he grinned awkwardly at me and I couldn't help but grin back.

"You can be sweet, you see?" I said and, without further ado, bit gently down and drank.

In a few minutes, with Abel cleaned up and dismissed, I turned back to the problem of Domn and Rachel. This time, the awareness almost escaped me of having supped from a man's blood, and then continuing a conversation without missing a beat. I seemed to be achieving a queer sort of normalcy finally.

I said, "What am I going to do, Lexie? She's fixated on Domn. It's becoming a pain in the ass."

Alexis stirred her drink, a dismayed look on her face. "I've seen this before, but usually it's a donor who becomes infatuated. We solve it, when we have to intervene, by letting the donor live out their misguided fantasy. We allow them to drink from the object of their obsession—it kills them, of course. There's no other solution I know of. Once obsessed, such a person become relentless, unstoppable."

"We can't do that with Rachel," I said. "I think Leah would raise a ruckus, to put it mildly."

"I'm sure you're right. My experience is limited since this behavior doesn't happen very often, thank God. I'm don't remember ever dealing with an obsession from anyone but a donor. Remember, too, that most of our donors are loners—mostly runaway kids whose families aren't keen to find them anyway. The exceptions are those like Jared and Noah—happily married, or at least partnered, and pretty stable in the community. Little chance they would become smitten by someone who couldn't maintain that stability for them."

"Shit." I toyed with the drink ticket spindle, spinning it and watching it teeter. "I would like to drain her," I muttered. I caught myself savagely stabbing the spike of the spindle into the top of the bar. Frowning, I stopped and set the thing down. "Well, maybe she'll get over it." But I knew there wasn't much hope of that. "Maybe she'll accidentally fall in the lake and drown. Maybe she'll accidentally swallow some of my blood."

Alexis put a hand on my arm. "Annie, girl, please don't do anything stupid. She's not one of those fringe of society people. The authorities would be unrelenting in their investigation which would not only put you in jeopardy, but Domn and quite possibly other people, too."

I looked up as the pub door opened and Domn entered as if summoned by our conversation. He looked less tired but his face was still drawn, and my heart thumped in sympathy. The smile he directed at us, though, was as sweet and loving as ever.

"Miss Alexis," he came over and kissed her lightly on the cheek, cupping her chin with his hand affectionately. I blinked—no stab of jealousy. Progress.

"Hello, My Lord," she said. "How are you this evening?"

"I am well," he sighed, "but beset with worry."

"I know. We were just talking about your troubles. I'm sorry."

"I hear she came by again today," I grumbled. Folding my arms across my chest, I glowered and considered all kinds of interesting ways to solve this problem, and quickly, too.

Domn came over and slipped his arms around me, burying his face in my neck. "I greatly fear her," he mumbled into my hair.

"I thought you only feared two things," I whispered, stroking his back and wishing I could help.

"It is now three." He turned and slid onto a bar stool.

We talked until quite late that night, or quite early in the morning actually, but we could not come up with a solution. We gave up, agreeing to table the matter and mull it over until we could find a useful remedy. Domn and I were both quiet on the way home, and I don't know about him, but I slept fitfully, unable to resolve anything in my tumbled thoughts. What could possibly happen to end this queer and potentially dangerous triangle?

Chapter 21

It was late the next morning, and I was nearly finished changing up the last room in the big house when, glancing out the window, I saw Rachel slinking stealthily across the lawn to the cottage. Anger rose in me, but I wasn't about to go after her—it was nearly noon and the hollow was flooded with poisonous sunlight. There was little I could do but grind my teeth in impotent rage and fear. What the hell was this she-witch up to?

I considered running to Leah and begging her to stop the train wreck I could almost see coming, but I rejected that as petty and whiny. Looking back, I wish I had done it. I might have prevented the heartache that followed. Instead of giving in to my intuition, I loaded up my arms with dirty linens and towels and headed downstairs, passing through the front parlor where Leah held court with several guests.

"Ah!" she said, catching sight of me, my dark glasses, and my armload of dirty laundry. "Here's our resident vampire housekeeper!"

I twitched and ducked my head. _Is she nuts?_

"Kidding! I'm kidding, Anastasia," she said to me. Then she turned to her guests and explained, "The poor thing's plagued with photophobia." All clicked their tongues sympathetically.

I smiled and shrugged, saying, "It's not that big a deal, for heaven's sake. I get by okay. Miss Leah, rooms one and three are all set. If there's nothing else, I'll take myself to the cellar to await the sunset." I leered at the group then laughed. "Kidding! I'm kidding! Actually, I'm going to go get the laundry going." One of the elderly ladies' eyes went wide and I realized I had my grinning mouth wide open, dental deformity on full display. I sobered, hid my face in the laundry, and skulked away feeling two or three pairs of owlish eyes drilling into my back.

Down in the cool safety of the cellar, I stuffed the dirty linens into the washing machine, got the load started, then leaned against the machine and buried my face in my hands. I was so frickin' bad at this subtlety thing. I really expected to wind up in some scientist's lab somewhere getting poked and probed and dissected if I didn't get a grip. I lifted my head and turned around as I heard soft steps descend the stairs. Leah appeared, looking concerned.

"Hey, Leah. Just getting the laundry going. Really," I told her, consciously setting my face in a neutral expression.

"I believe you, Hon." She peered at my face; I had removed my sunglasses and my red-rimmed eyes shimmered in the gloom. "Look, it's none of my business, but you really don't look entirely human at the moment. I could almost believe you are a vampire, but in any case, you don't look at all well "

I pulled up an overturned milk crate and sat down, nervously rubbing my palms up and down my thighs. Leah lowered herself to the cellar steps and waited, seeming genuinely concerned. I could feel her extend a silent offer of trust and friendship as we sat there not speaking.

For one crazy moment, I wondered whether her passive inquiry was in violation of New York State labor laws, but I needed her on my side. Maybe she could help with my Rachel problem. My mouth opened and I heard my own voice, "Okay, here's the thing. I am a vam—" _Click_. "Shit. I am. One of them—what you said and so is Domn." _Oh, Ana. You just can't help yourself, can you?_ I watched Leah's face intently, my hand over my mouth and knew there was no going back now. It would all have to play out and I would never be able to put those words back where they came from. Now it was my turn to wait. _Shit shit shit._

Leah stared at me for a beat then hitched herself up a step. I saw her trying to work up a reasonable response that wouldn't provoke a violent reaction. How do you hold a conversation with a lunatic, let alone a vampire lunatic? Then she laughed a little nervously and said with more lightheartedness than I was sure she felt, "Oh, you're not serious. Ha. You had me going there for a second."

I sighed and shook my head. _In for a penny..._ "I am serious. And I'm not a wannabe or a pervert or crazy. I actually really and truly am. For real."

"Honey," she said speaking as though she were choosing her words with the utmost caution, "Do you think maybe I'm working you too hard?"

"No, Leah, I know this is surreal, but think about it a minute. Aversion to sunlight. I don't eat proper meals. Pale skin tone. Reddened eyes. Maybe you haven't noticed these." I hooked a finger in one corner of my mouth and yanked back my lip to reveal one of those razor-sharp and impossibly white fangs.

Leah's eyes widened and she put one hand to each side of her temple. "I'll be damned," she whispered.

"No," I laughed humorlessly. "If you ask Rachel, I'll be damned."

"Ha!" She sat up straight then and spoke pretty much to herself, "It makes sense, doesn't it? Her sudden hatred of you. She knows, doesn't she?"

"Yes," I said, "and that's why she's going after Domn. She wants _this_ ," I waved a hand around my head, "and she wants my lord."

"Your...lord?"

"It seems appropriate to treat him as nobility—he has survived so much for so long. He calls me Lady Anastasia. I don't feel too noble just yet. Maybe after eight hundred years, like him."

"Is that how old he is?" Leah asked in awe. "He must have some amazing stories."

I studied her, surprised at her reaction, or lack thereof. "Leah, either you are taking this freaky situation with abnormal calmness or you're just lulling me into a false sense of security so you can call those nice young men in their clean white coats."

"What do you want me to do?" She raised her hands, palms up. "Jump up and run screaming in terror? Come at you with a wooden stake and stab you through the heart? Or I could sympathize that you apparently belong to a really, really small minority." She leaned forward and patted my knee. "Hello...I know something of belonging to a small minority. Look at me! I'm black and a dyke. Maybe not as freaky as you, but freaky enough for most people, right?"

I chuckled and relaxed a little. "They've warned me about letting this secret slip but I have to say, with two or three exceptions, I've found nothing but really sweet people who just want to help."

"They? How many people—or should I call them humans? Mortals? How many know about this?"

"Well, I'm not sure exactly." I explained about the donor system; Leah was both impressed and slightly nauseated, dizzy with such odd facts and images. Then I ticked the last few off on my fingers. "My husband, my kids, my best friend, and my physician..."

"Your _physician_? Well, I suppose he'd find it out somehow anyway. I just didn't know vampires had to get yearly physicals." She giggled.

I grinned. "She. And she's apparently already acquainted with my affliction. She was completely unfazed when she saw these," I poked at my shark teeth. "She was instrumental in getting Domn out of the psychiatric ward."

"Okay, wait," she interrupted. "You lost me. Psychiatric ward? You said he was out of town."

"Ugh. Yeah. Long story."

"Well," Leah leaned back, elbows on the step behind her, and grinned. "We've got until sunset."

I laughed and began, "Okay, it was a Monday night at the pub, about three weeks ago..."

We walked up the stairs as I finished bringing her through the last several weeks of my life. Leah stopped in the pantry with me as I got dressed for my dash back to the cottage. "Just tell me one thing, Miss Ana, to set my mind at ease. You didn't _really_ try to bite Dr. Stark, did you?"

I laughed wickedly and slipped out the back door. Let her chew on that for a while.

It was nearly six and the hollow was mottled with shadow when I made my way back toward the cottage to see my daughter, Karen's, minivan parked in the driveway; she and her two boys stood uncertainly beside it.

"Karen!" I gasped, and held out my arms. She hesitated, then came to me and hugged me tightly. Karen is my little dynamo—she's about four-foot-eleven and weighs maybe ninety pounds. She's tiny and yet, should anyone make the mistake of threatening anything or anyone near and dear to her, she would cheerfully rip them a new one. Or two. Her brilliant blue eyes appraised me. She held me at arm's length and I felt her taking stock.

"Mom," she pronounced finally, "you look kind of...awful."

"Thanks a bunch, Hon. I'm afraid the sun does nothing for my complexion." I stooped and gave the boys both a quick hug then turned to open the cottage door. "Inside, everyone," I said anxiously. I peeled off my sunglasses and gloves as I entered.

Domn looked up from the easy chair, a book in his hand. "They knocked earlier," he said, "but declined to enter."

I looked askance at Karen and she defended her decision, "Mom, I'm sorry, but it felt really awkward without you here."

The boys had brushed past us both to climb eagerly into Domn's lap and make themselves at home. "Mister Don! Read that!" Mark, the four-year-old, pointed at the book in Domn's hand.

"Read that!" echoed Luke, a year younger, settling in with his thumb in his mouth, he leaned his head on Domn's shoulder.

Domn smiled up at us. "From the mouths of babes," he said and cocked an eyebrow at Karen, then bent his head to the task at hand. None of the three apparently needed much time to get used to each other.

"Well," I said, "seems the boys think he's alright."

Karen had the good grace to look ashamed. "If you knew how much it took for me to even come over here," she said as we went to the kitchen.

"I think I know," I said quietly. "I'm happy you did. Tea? Coffee? Wine? I've got some left over from the other night."

"Glass of wine, yes. _Big_ glass of wine." She sat at the counter and leveled a look at me. I grew self-conscious and put a hand to my face. Worrying that something was amiss, I poured Karen her glass of wine, then scrabbled in my pocketbook for the small mirror I had taken to carrying with me. I held it up. Nothing. A little sunburned, no blisters. Yike! My eyes were a mess, the pupils crowding out the irises and the whites shot with blood. I lowered the mirror and sighed, "Sorry," as I put my dark glasses back on.

My daughter took a gulp of wine and shook her head, swallowing it as though it could protect her. "It's not like it's your fault. Sort of not." Then she burst out, "Mom! What the hell? What were you thinking?"

Domn paused in his reading to look over at us. I shook my head at him and then turned back to Karen. "This is not something I can explain easily, Sweetheart. The whole thing with your dad, the house, my job, it all came crashing down on me at once and he," I pointed a chin toward Domn, "showed up in the right place at the right time. He rescued me."

"Rescued you? Or enabled you?"

"Enabled?"

"To dump your responsibilities and run away with this, what? What is he, anyway?" she whispered.

"Miss Karen," Domn spoke up mildly from his chair, "I can well hear you. If you wish, My Lady, I will help."

"My lady?" Karen squinted at me.

This was not going well. "Domn shows his respect for me," I said, catching his gaze and shaking my head again. "Listen, he needs me more than your father does."

"Well, as far as that goes," Karen said, sarcasm creeping in, "Dad's so grief-stricken, he can barely drag himself out on dates. Seriously, Mom, he's not happy. He's putting up a front, taking all these women out."

" _All_ these women?"

"Well, two—two so far. You should see him when he talks about you. He gets kinda teared-up, and he keeps saying maybe he shouldn't have pushed you away like he did. He misses you."

"Sweetheart, if this is your way of trying to get us back together, it's not going to work. We've grown too far apart." I touched one of my teeth with my tongue, smirked, and said, "Literally."

Karen contemplated the counter in front of her and sighed. "Well, I'll tell him I tried."

"He put you up to this?"

"Not really, but I know he regrets the breakup. I know he does. He just wants everything to go back to normal."

I removed the glasses and looked straight at her. "Even if I wanted to go back to him, even if he really wanted me back, how could things ever be normal again?"

"Okay, as normal as you can make it!"

"No, my place is here now." I looked over to see Domn gazing at me with an odd mixture of sadness and joy on his face. I knew he truly got what I felt. I loved Domn. I should miss Ethan, and maybe I did miss him. Dates indeed. "When you see your dad, Hon, tell him I hope he's well. If he needs anything, well, he knows where I am."

"Yeah." Karen tipped her head back to drink the rest of her wine, then set the glass down decisively. "Okay, I ought to get the kids home. They haven't had their dinner."

"Oh! We could go over to the big house and get something! I'd love to show the place to you, and you could meet Leah and Rachel."

"Sure, Mom, like one big happy, freaky family."

I looked down, trying to keep calm. I failed and skewered Karen's eyes with mine. "Look," I said sharply, "I am trying to keep it together as much as possible, for the boys' sake, okay? Now, can you swallow your sarcasm for a couple of hours and join us at the big house for some dinner? I still know how to cook."

Karen bit her lip and looked slightly shamed. "Yes, Mother," she murmured meekly, "we'd love to."

The boys elected to ride Domn to the big house, one on his back and one hanging in front from his neck. "Boys!" I cried. "Domn's an old man! He can't carry both of you!"

"My Lady," he said, catching his breath, "I am never so very old I cannot carry such a delightful burden." He strode ahead, the boys dangling and giggling all the way.

"Exactly how old is he?" Karen asked.

"Dunno," I said. "Nearest we all can guess, he's eight-hundred—ish."

"We all?"

"Oh, yeah." I looked thoughtful. "There seems to be quite the support system. There's a whole group of people who offer themselves for, ahhh, for..."

"I can guess, thanks!" She peered at me curiously. "So, you don't go around sucking people dry and tossing their desiccated corpses aside?"

I coughed guiltily, and said, "Not usually, no. It's amazing. Not like the movies or books would have you believe. Domn is the sweetest, most loving man."

"Man?"

"Oh, yes. Man." I blushed and grinned wickedly.

It was Karen's turn to cough. "Okay, TMI."

As we entered the kitchen through the pantry, we could already hear Leah exclaiming over the boys. "Such fine young men! Where'd you find these stout fellows, Domn?"

"They are my lady's grandsons," he said, not without some pride.

"This Mister Don!" Mark exclaimed.

"Mister Don!" Luke echoed.

Karen gave me a look, I gave her a look back and sailed into the kitchen, all smiles. "Leah, I know it's short notice, but I wonder if I could make good on one of those meals I have coming to me."

Leah straightened up from handing the boys cups of milk she had poured and frowned at me. "Real food?"

"What else would you like me to feed them?" I peered at her over my glasses.

"Oh! Them! Of course!" She laughed then waved a hand around the kitchen. "It's all yours, Ana honey."

"Good! I'd be honored if you and Rachel would join us."

"Okay! Yeah! That would be great."

I pulled Karen forward. "My younger daughter, Karen," I said. "She's responsible for these punks."

"Pleased to meet you," Leah held out a hand, which Karen shook. "Karen, let me show you my pride and joy—how about a tour of the old lady? You want the ten-cent tour or the five-dollar or the let's go all the way up to the attic and get scared by the ghosts tour?"

Karen finally got it, smiled and said, "Oh, the five-dollar, please. I warn you, though, I'm beyond getting scared by some lame old ghosts." She cocked an eyebrow at me. Leah took Karen's arm and off they went, the boys following.

I had no idea if Karen was getting used to my new life or just stifling her feelings, but I was glad she seemed more relaxed.

I sighed and said to Domn, "I best get cookin'. You can either help me if you know how to take orders, or you can sit at the table and keep out of my way."

"I have not partaken of food in many years, Love. I shall sit at table out of your way."

Half an hour later, I had a decent spread of spaghetti, homemade marinara, garlic bread. _Whew, garlic surely did smell. No wonder we avoided it._ I set out a huge salad just as the tour group returned.

"Rachel?" I inquired, wondering where my nemesis was, but I dropped the subject when Leah shook her head angrily.

"Gram Ana, eat!" Mark commanded, seeing there were no plates in front of me or Domn.

"Eat, Gram Ana!" Luke's faithful echo.

"Oh, Gram Ana's not hungry, Sweet. You eat! I made this especially for you!"

Karen picked at her food, then suddenly sat up straight and fixed me with a piercing glare. "Here's one thing you haven't thought about," she said accusingly; then she stopped and glanced at Leah.

"Karen," Leah said just above a whisper, "I know about your mom and Domn."

Domn stared at me. I flushed guiltily.

"Oh, well great—so, what about the future, Mom? When the boys grow up? When they and I and Dad and everyone else grow older and you don't?"

I opened my mouth to answer, discovered I had no idea, and looked helplessly at Domn. "You must leave," he said to me simply.

"Just leave?" Karen shook her head. "And, what do I tell the boys? That you just up and left one day?"

"Miss Karen, what difference if the one you love grows old and dies or must leave without warning one day? Both ways, your love is gone forever."

"But I'd know she was alive somewhere, that I could see her again."

"Ah, but how could you know that? She could leave and meet an unfortunate end."

"Wait. You can die?"

"Of course, I am flesh and blood, as you are. If you cut me, I bleed. If you strike me, I bruise. If you cut me too deeply or strike me too hard, I can die of the injury. We are not gods, nor are we demons. We are people."

"Very odd people," Karen muttered, looking down at her untouched plate.

"What people are not odd until you know them? I find your American people very odd, indeed. Though I have been here in this United States for," he looked confused, glanced at me for help, and I helpfully shrugged, "ah, many years. Much mystifies me."

"Like skinny-dipping," I murmured at my lap. Domn clicked his tongue at me, but smiled.

"Ugh, TMI again," this from my daughter.

Leah had been watching and listening to this exchange, chin in hand, eyes soft. At the mention of skinny-dipping she perked up. "You too? Lemme guess, Officer Holmwood?"

I made a disgusted face and nodded. "I suspect he watched most of the show before deciding he'd better ring down the curtain."

"Mom!" Karen, her hands over her eyes, was shaking her head.

"For heaven's sake, Karen, after having two children of your own, you should know about sex."

"I don't want to think about my mom and Mr. Don here getting it on, okay?"

If Domn wasn't confounded before, he was now. His gaze moved from one of us to the other.

"Miss Karen," he said, "I am not familiar with this phrase. What is it that we are getting on?"

We three women burst out laughing and he shook his head. "It is as I said," he told the two spaghetti-covered boys, "any man who professes to understand the female cannot be counted an honest man." Mark nodded enthusiastically and painted the table a lovely marinara red.

When dinner was over, we cleaned up the kitchen and the boys, and then we strolled out to Karen's van. "I really should get back," she had said. "Joe's going to think you recruited me and the boys to your unholy army of blood-sucking fiends."

I smirked, but then something pricked my conscience. "Say, Karen, has Jemmie called you?"

"Oh, yes, boy, did she." Karen sighed. "She never wants to see or talk to you again. I'm sorry, Mom."

I blinked back the threat of tears and nodded. "I can't blame her, really. When you talk to her again, tell her I love her and I'll wait until whenever she's ready, please? Even if it takes forever."

"Of course." She stopped short of the van and took me by the arms. "If you're happy—and, in spite of your gruesome appearance, you look happy—then I could get used to this, I guess."

I tilted my head and laughed shortly. "Gosh, thank you, Honey. That sort of means a lot to me." She hugged me tightly. I couldn't help the tears at this point, so I stooped to give the boys kisses and hugs and lift them into their car seats, hoping no one would notice my distress. I straightened to see Karen confronting Domn.

"You better treat my mom well," she said fearlessly, toe to toe with him, her sapphire-blue eyes glaring into his ice-blue ones, "or I'll come find you, wooden stake in hand with your name on it."

He met her gaze seriously. "Miss Karen, always I hold your mother in highest esteem. She is my world."

They held each other's stare for a moment longer. Then Karen suddenly hugged Domn. He found my gaze and smiled, tears starting in his eyes as he put his arms around her and returned the hug. He nodded and my family drove out of sight a few minutes later—I felt somewhat relieved that we had made progress, but my gut still told me I hadn't reached the last boulder in my path. I was grateful, though, that they had driven off before our own dinner arrived.

_Finally_ , I thought after Seth and Zillah had come and gone, _we'll have an evening to ourselves._ I folded the futon to make a couch and Domn and I sat side-by-side. I was reading to him from an anthology of Edgar Allen Poe I had found while attempting to unpack more of my boxes. As usual, I had become distracted and Domn wasn't inclined to help me get back on track. As a matter of fact, it was his fault we were sitting and reading instead of getting work done.

We must have been a cozy picture of domestic tranquility to Rachel, for from the corner of my eye I glimpsed her hateful face peering into the kitchen window. A second later, she knocked at the door. Domn rose, and I felt a strong urge to reach out and pull him back to me. "Don't answer it," I said aloud, but too late. He already stood at the door, pulling it open.

"Mistress Rachel." Courteous as ever, Domn took her hand and bowed over it.

"Domn, I'm ready! I think it's time!" Rachel's eyes shone as she gazed avidly at him and, keeping hold of his hand, she drew herself up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. I rose indignantly and moved forward as Domn took a wary step back. I knew he sensed trouble, because he put an arm out to block me. He held me behind him as I glared over his shoulder at this presumptuous woman.

"Good evening, Rachel," I said softly, dangerously. "To what do we owe this rare visit?"

"Not rare," Domn admitted. "Mistress Rachel has been to visit many a time."

"Oh?" I tried to get past him, but Domn held me at bay with a firm arm.

"Why yes, _Lady_ Anastasia." Rachel smiled with mocking eyes, "I've been getting to know your _lord_ very well."

"Have you?" Again I pushed forward, and again Domn held me back.

"Be calm. It is nothing."

"Nothing?" Rachel's eyes grew huge and she moved close to Domn. "The promise of eternal life is nothing?" Rachel peered around Domn and nailed me with her triumphant glare. "Yes! That's right! He offered to turn me! To make me one of you!"

"You delusional little bitch," I snarled, straining to get at her. "Why would we want to be plagued with the likes of you forever?"

"My love," Domn turned to face me and held my shoulders, shaking me a little, "You must calm yourself."

"Don't worry, Anastasia, my dear," Rachel said in a suddenly syrupy, dangerous voice. "You won't be around forever."

Domn and I turned in time to see her aim a gun more or less at me, the barrel wavering in her badly shaking hand. I froze and Domn pushed me behind him again, stepping closer to Rachel. She giggled a high-pitched, unnerving kind of giggle, and said "I've even got silver bullets in it!"

_Silver bullets? My God, my life was to end with a crazy woman shooting me with crazy fictional bullets._ "Jesus, Rachel," I stammered, stupidly trying to reason with a mad woman, "you've got your mythologies mixed up. Silver bullets are for werewolves and only in movies! You can't actually make bullets out of silver..."

"Stop. Hush," Domn hissed at me, and I did. Speaking quietly and evenly, he focused on Rachel, "Mistress, there are no silver bullets and even were there, a bullet of lead would kill just as surely. Do not do this. No good will come of it. Be assured, if you harm my lady, I would never consent to place you in her stead."

Rachel's eyes, filled with hatred a moment before, now filled with tears and her hand trembled worse than before. Unable to move or to help Domn, I watched the woman's sanity crumble before my eyes as she babbled, "But, you said...you promised...you lied to me, you bastard!"

"No, Mistress." I heard Domn's voice, still amazingly calm, soothing the woman—and I thought he would succeed. "I never did," he told her, reaching his free hand toward her. "I think I told you of a myth I heard as a child."

Now his voice changed to a sing-song cadence I recognized and he pinned his gaze to hers as he continued, moving his hand closer, ever so slowly. Was I imaging the motion? "A story of eternal love which is told in my country to children to help them sleep. It is not real, only a story."

"No," Rachel whispered. "No, it's real. I've seen you and," she glowered at me, " _her_. You don't eat. You drink blood, human blood. I've seen you feed on people. You'll live forever. I've seen you."

Domn maintained his locked gaze and chanting tone, "It was a dream, Mistress Rachel. You dreamed it. What you say you have seen—it is not a possibility." As he spoke, his hand was within an inch of the gun and she had not noticed. My lord would prevent this tragedy. He would save me. I heard his soothing voice, "You do not truly wish to do this, Mistress." I watched his hand close over hers. I watched her eyes close.

A stunning concussion rent the air and I felt myself knocked backwards as Domn's body collided with mine and we crumpled to the floor.

When my head cleared, I stared up at Rachel who stood like a statue. The gun dangled limply in her hand. Her empty eyes were fixed on Domn. I followed her gaze to a bright scarlet patch growing across his chest and I choked out a sobbing gasp. I felt as though I would never again suck in enough air to fill my lungs. Someone was screaming, and I knew it was me.

"Oh! Oh, no! No! Please no." I scrambled from under my love's prone form and knelt beside him. His eyes stared back at me, bright with shock and pain. Frantically, I clamped my hands over the bloody hole, trying to stem the flow of his life's fluid.

I begged, "My Lord! Feed! Feed from me!"

I had a desperate, hopeless notion that if he drank my blood he'd be miraculously healed. Hadn't it happened before? I could fix this. I lifted his head and struggled with my neckline. But Domn raised his hands and held my wrists, fixing his eyes on mine. "Lady," he managed weakly, "there is no hope. You want magic, but we have run out of our magic. I fear to leave you, so now you must be strong for me. Be well, my Ana." I watched the light leave his eyes and I felt his body go heavy and limp against mine.

*~*~*

I don't know how long I knelt there not believing what lay plainly in front of me. My lord was gone, suddenly and finally, in a crash of thunder. A bubble of pain exploded in my chest, and I turned ragged eyes to see Rachel backing slowly away, the gun still dangling from her flaccid hand. In a flash, I leapt up and pinned her to the wall. My eyes spewed fire, and my lips dragged back in a snarl; I was seconds away from sinking my fangs into her jugular. I heard the dull thud of her gun hitting the floor.

"You worthless piece of shit," I snarled, "I will tear your throat out." But my vengeance was cut short when the door flew open, and Leah stood there, taking in the surreal tableau.

"What. The. Fuck." She spotted Domn's body. "Sweet Jesus." She fumbled in her pocket and retrieved her cell phone. I knew then that it was all over and no one else would die.

I released Rachel and turned to drop down again beside Domn's lifeless body. Blood saturated his shirt, but his face looked peacefully at odds with the violence that had taken him from me. I barely heard Leah's frantic diatribe to the 911 operator because I could only focus on my lord's gentle face and the repose I saw there. It was no comfort to me.

Suddenly my tiny cottage teemed with people—all making noise, all busily doing things I couldn't understand. I heard metal instruments and emergency equipment clinking. Staccato voices clipped out syllables I couldn't understand. The blur of faces blended into a nebulous composite, but at some point I recognized the face and voice of Joanne Seward.

"Oh, Ms. Trent. Oh, my dear." Pulling me away from Domn's body so the EMTs could get at him to perform their pointless ritual, she took me aside to the kitchen. One of the deputies followed and tried to get information out of me, but my throat had closed up and I couldn't speak. I still couldn't fill my lungs, and I stood panting like a wounded dog.

Finding me unresponsive, the man said to Dr. Seward, "The perpetrator has confessed, in any case. I don't think there's much question about what happened here." He faded into the background with the rest of them, and I was glad.

I overheard the coroner tell the sheriff's deputy, "We'll let you know the results of the autopsy as soon as possible."

"No!" I screamed, shaking off the doctor's hands and pushing my way through the crowd in the tiny living room. "Isn't it obvious? He was shot! The cause of death was a bullet! A fucking bullet! He has to be cremated," I babbled hysterically, "He must be cremated. It's what he would have wanted!"

Dr. Seward followed me and laid a restraining hand on my shoulder. "Ms. Trent, I will see what I can do about this as his physician." She turned me away from the cowering coroner to face her. "Now," she said evenly, "Is there someone I can call for you?"

_Call? Adah? Alexis? Ethan, for fuck's sake?_ I felt like my brain was boiling.

"No!" I clutched the sides of my head and felt the room tilt. My legs gave out and I dropped to my knees, wrapped my arms around myself, and rocked. "There's no-one. No-one. I'm alone." My lips drew back in a painful rictus.

Dr. Seward crouched down beside me and put an arm across my shoulders, shielding me from the others. "Ms. Trent," she said, trying to reach me through the buzzing red haze that engulfed me. "Anastasia. I know it seems impossible, but you must get hold of yourself."

I rocked and moaned, moaned and rocked, until Dr. Seward's urgent voice got through my grief and into my consciousness. I drew in all the air I could and willed myself to be still. I looked up in time to see the EMTs, their efforts complete, lift Domn's bloody dead body onto their gurney, cover it with a white sheet, and begin to secure the restraints. Before they covered his face, I rose unsteadily and went to him. The EMTs stepped back as I put a trembling hand to his cheek.

"Goodbye, my noble Domn, my sweet lord," I breathed, then leaned down and pressed my lips to his cold mouth. I pulled the sheet gently over his face then turned away. For the second time in our too short love, I couldn't bear to watch as they carried him away. This time there would be no reuniting us.

One by one, the actors in this tragedy left the stage and closed my cottage door behind them. Silence dropped like the final curtain and I lowered myself to the easy chair, having no idea what to do next.

For hours, maybe for days, I sat in the darkness—my mind a blank, my limbs too heavy to move. There was nothing left. Once again, I stared into a bleak future, a future of just existing. I didn't want this life or, indeed, any life now. I would have wept, but I had nothing left inside me.

At some point, and I have no clue when it was, I became aware of a tentative knocking at the door. I considered responding, but the effort required to rise from my chair was beyond my capabilities. Whoever it was would go away and I would still sit here. Nothing mattered. My existence was in shambles. Minutes went by, I suppose, and though I had assumed whoever had been on the porch was gone, the door opened.

The intruding daylight hurt, but I raised my eyes to see, of all people, Ethan step in and shut the door behind him, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. "Ana?" he called softly, then spied me in the chair. He felt his way through the gloomy dim room and crouched in front of me, taking my cold hand in his and gazing up at my dark, reddened eyes. "Ana, girl, you look completely awful."

Leave it to Ethan. "Thanks," I rasped. "Can't imagine why. I feel fantastic."

"Oh, Sweetheart." He gently pulled me, unresisting, out of the chair, down to his lap, and he wrapped his arms around me, rocking me as if I were a very young child. "I heard," he whispered. "I am so sorry for you. I'm here for you, though I don't know quite what to..."

I broke down and buried my face in his chest, sobs wracking my body, tears soaking his shirt. I gripped him desperately and keened softly as he tightened his hold on me, as if he were trying to absorb my misery. It seemed like it took forever, but gradually my pain and sobbing subsided and Ethan's warm comfort seeped into my cold, starved psyche. At last, I faded into sleep, blessed dreamless sleep, and I clung to his body, not knowing one single thing except that Ethan would watch over me.

~*~*~*~

The relentless sun peered over the rim of the hollow. I opened my eyes to find myself laying on the futon while Ethan still slept, slumped uncomfortably in the easy chair. An unexpected and intense wave of love and gratitude washed over me and left me feeling breathless, and profoundly humbled. I imagined the courage it had taken for him to find his way here, to the person who had soundly rejected him, just to offer what help he could give. It occurred to me that, perhaps, I wasn't as alone as I had felt. As tragic as Domn's end had been, it might still be possible for me to make a life with my husband. His appearance here seemed to indicate that he was willing to give our marriage another try. For the first time since the shooting, I felt a surge of hope—faint, but very real. I slid off the futon and, going to Ethan, took his hands and gently pulled him to his feet, marveling again at my newly acquired strength.

He opened his eyes groggily, worked to focus on my face, and gave me a sleepy, crooked smile. "How're you feeling this morning, Ana?"

"Very much better, Ethan, love," I whispered. "Come," I steered him to the futon and lowered him to a more comfortable position on the mattress. Wearily, he lay back, his eyelids drooping. Then he opened them again and held out his arms to me.

"Ana, my love," he grinned, "You may be some sort of evil blood-sucking fiend from hell, but you're still my wife and I love you."

I went to him joyfully and without another thought.

###

### Acknowledgements

I am deeply indebted to my best friend in all the world, Annmarie, who proofread over and over and over and over...

And to my editor/mentor, Ms. Maryan Pelland, who patiently guided me through the growing pains.

And to my ever-suffering, mostly patient husband, Dennis, who put up with a lot of hair-clutching angst.

And, of course, to the many friends and relatives who admitted to reading the first edition and who will be compelled to read the second: Dan, John, Tom, Anthony, Heather, Kim, and Mom.

### Connect with me on-line!

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Coming soon!

### The Loyal Man

### Chapter 1

"So, have you bitten him yet?"

I came quietly into the pantry off the kitchen of the Dellville Inn just in time to hear Leah pose that question to Anastasia Trent, my wife.

Leah's inquiry gave me pause.

I stood silently, shamelessly eavesdropping, as Ana answered, sounding amused and slightly embarrassed, "Jeeze, Lee. What a question. Though, I must admit, it adds a certain element of danger to our lovemaking. He's never certain of what I might do while in the throes of passion. But, no. I won't allow myself to. I can't help thinking he might reject me again if I did." There was a pause, then she said quietly, "and I can't risk that."

Four months ago, my wife was an unassuming, 52-year-old systems analyst and part-time bartender. She lost the systems analyst job, a victim of another round of layoffs at the University. So, nowadays, she works as a housekeeper, night innkeeper, and still a part-time bartender. She's also _suflet nocturn,_ a night soul. Or, in the vulgate, a vampire.

Give me a minute while I get over how absolutely weird it is that I just said that.

Let me tell you a couple of things about Ana. She's spent most of her life jumping into situations feet first and _then_ stopping to gauge the depth. To call her impulsive would be like admitting that maybe Liberace was, indeed, gay. Pretty self-evident, in other words.

She also has a habit of collecting poor, lost souls, and trying to help them with their troubles. A few months ago, she brought one of these lost souls home from the bar where she works part-time. A very strange, very old, lost soul named Domn who promptly and willfully turned our lives upside down and sideways, then was gone as suddenly, and as loudly, as a clap of thunder, leaving me to clean up the emotional mess.

I was happy to give it a try, of course. In spite of Ana's tendency to disrupt my status quo, I still loved her, missed her, and wanted her back. So, when her demon lover was shot by Rachel, Leah's ex-girlfriend, I was glad to go to her to offer what comfort I could. But I knew I could not completely fill the role of soul mate that this Domn creature had commanded. Every once in a while, I could see the dark despair in my Ana's eyes: she was missing that part of herself and I just wasn't it.

Then there was a constant worry that lurked in the back of my mind: what will happen to her when I inevitably aged and died and she didn't? I have a good ten years on her and, while I considered myself fairly well preserved for an old man, the years were beginning to show in my well-lined face and salt-and-pepper hair. Ana says I look like Humphrey Bogart if he had lived to be sixty. I refuse to wear a fedora, though, and I never quite got the hang of cigarette smoking.

Ana, herself, looks like she's in her mid-forties. An exclusive diet of human blood has smoothed her porcelain white skin and thinned out her figure. She may be on the small side, an inch shorter than my five-foot six, but I wouldn't want to cross her. Already, she's stronger than I am and, although I'm certain she'd never lash out in anger, it's best not to test that theory.

From my hiding place in the pantry, I could hear the steady _snick_ of a knife against some sort of vegetable and imagined one of them was peeling potatoes. Sounds like the vegetable peeler had gone AWOL again. I stilled my breath and continued my spying, hoping for more insights into Ana's psyche.

"I'm glad you moved into the Inn," Leah continued. "You probably wanted to tell me to go straight to hell, but I really do hate rattling around in here like a loose ball bearing. And I feel safer with another, um, warm? body in the house."

"It fluctuates with the sun," Ana said. "Between ninety-five and a hundred last I checked." She chuckled. "Hope it doesn't go much lower or winters are going to be a bitch."

"How does it feel, I wonder?"

"How does what feel? The temperature changes? Kind of like menopause on crack."

"No, you know. The whole not human thing."

"Oh, Leah. I'm still human. Just a different sort of human, I guess." She paused a moment then, in a thoughtful voice, said "if anything, I feel _more_ human. There's more light, more sound, more smells, more emotions. Pain is more intense, so is pleasure—,"

I blushed at that, knowing it to be very true. Ana had always had a much higher libido than I and now it was sex drive on steroids with her. I'll admit it, I'm kind of a lazy lover; it takes a bit of effort to get me motivated. But Ana, in her almost constant need for the intimacy of another human being, found new and interesting ways to motivate me.

I heard Leah take a sip of something, then say with a cautious tone, "Still, here I am, sitting across from you having a quiet conversation, and I can't help thinking that, if you so chose, you could just up and rip my throat out."

"Oh, ugh, Leah!" The _snick_ of the knife stopped, and Ana sounded aggrieved. "Even if I weren't—what I am, I could just as easily do the same with this knife. People can be dangerous, no matter who, or what, they are."

"Wow," Leah sounded embarrassed. "I guess I'm a damned bigot after all, huh?"

"Ah, it's okay. I can't blame you. It's not easy when every time I smile, you're reminded of just how freaky I am."

"Huh. You got _that_ right," Leah said. "But I like it when you smile. You smile all the way from your freaky little mouth to your freaky little eyes. I can tell you mean it."

Ana does love to laugh, as evidenced by the faint lines that still frame her steely blue eyes and pale rose lips. She doesn't laugh openly in mixed company anymore, though. She doesn't even dare grin. It causes those who don't know her secret to stare and back away, hands unconsciously stealing up to protect their necks. It's a rude and uncomfortable reaction, but completely understandable, even though she would never—Well, not without permission, anyway. And even then, she's got to actually be thirsty, and you'd have to be someone she knows and respects.

I decided that was enough snooping and, pulling my mud-caked boots off, entered the kitchen through the pantry to find the two of them seated at the table, Leah with a cup of tea and Ana with a pile of potatoes and peelings in front of her. Ana's eyes lit up when she saw me and she brushed her thick auburn hair away from her forehead with the back of her thin white hand. She gave me the ghost of a wink, letting me know she damned well knew I had been skulking in the pantry. I grinned sheepishly.

"Got that flower bed in back cleaned out, Leah. It's starting to rain again, too." I eyed the teapot. "Anything left in there?"

"Help yourself," Leah rose gracefully, evoking in me the image of a tall, slender African princess, her long tight black and red-streaked hair restrained in cornrows. She fetched me a cup, then leaned over as I slid into a seat at the table and gave me a noisy smooch on the cheek. "I appreciate all the work you're doing around here, sweetie."

"Aw, shucks, ma'am. 't aint nuthin'. I miss having my own gardens, I think."

Ana winced a little at that—we had to sell our house a few months ago when she was laid off from Cornell and lost the lucrative salary that paid the mortgage. Surprisingly, some mysterious person snapped it up right away, paying cash, which helped us out of a sticky financial situation.

Seeing the guilty look on Ana's face, Leah clicked her tongue at her and scolded, "Not your fault, Miss Annie. When're you going to let it go, hon?"

Leah was the proprietor of the Dellville Inn and Ana's boss. Though she was a good twenty years younger, she had appointed herself to the position of Yet Another Older Sister for Ana, and helps me keep her sane and out of trouble. Or, at least tries to.

Ana ducked her head and swiped the knife at the potato in her hand viciously. I knew it was time to stop the teasing and scolding, so I smiled at her and said, "Hey, I've got a really exciting idea for this gloomy afternoon. How about we go see a movie?"

She relaxed and brightened immediately. "Sure, why not?"

"Anything in particular you want to see?"

"I don't really care as long as we can sit in the back and make out." Good humor restored, she leered at me.

I felt myself blush again and grinned back. "As you wish."

