Sex and the Single Vampire

"I see privacy is a relative term in London," I commented as I closed the door behind me. Christian was in possession of the sole comfortable armchair in the room, his legs crossed with casual elegance, the fingers of one hand rubbing his chin as he watched the three-legged cat roll on its back and bat with ineffectual paws at the fringe of the bedspread. "How did you get in here, what do you think you're doing, what was your little game last night, who were those people who ran off, how dare you think I knew anything about that madwoman with the gun, and are you or are you not a vampire?"

Sleek sable eyebrows pulled together as he rose gracefully to his feet and made an exquisite bow. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I am Christian Johann Dante. Your name is…" He frowned. "Allie?"

"It is. It's short for Allegra."

"Ah. I dislike diminutives; they are so common. I will use Allegra."

My hackles went up instantly. I crossed the room to snag the wooden seat sitting before the dressing table, hauling it into a position from which I could more effectively glare at him. "Is that so? Well for your information, Mr. Stuck-up, my twin brother gave me that nickname. My brother who died eighteen years later in the same accident that crippled my right leg. So you'll have to pardon me if I don't find it at all common."

He stood watching me for a moment until I made an annoyed sound and told him to sit down.

"I am sorry that you lost your brother. I, too, lost a dearly loved brother in my youth. It took me many years to forgive myself for living when he died."

I glanced up at him, startled that he felt the same way about his brother's death that I did when Leslie died.

"Tell me of this accident. How old were you when it occurred?"

I slammed the guards on my mind down tight against the gentle probes I could feel him sending out. No one played in my head without an invitation. "Why don't you try answering a few questions before you start asking them? Namely, how did you get in here?"

He shrugged, an elegant move that matched all of his other elegant moves. Even though he was dressed in a simple black sweater with simple black pants, I had the strangest sense that I wasn't seeing him as he really was—he should be dressed in silk shirts with ruffled fronts and lace on the cuffs, I thought, with those colorful vests that men wore a couple hundred years ago, and tight breeches and boots that reached to his knees. And a riding crop—he looked very much like a riding crop kind of guy.

"I wished to speak with you. I had no idea that your room was already occupied." This he said looking at the cat, now engaged in licking its belly, "or that you would find my presence so objectionable. I felt that after the evening's deplorable event we had some unfinished business to settle."

"Uh-huh," I said, not in the least bit convinced. "Unfinished business like just what were you doing last night? And how did you get out of there so quickly? Wait a minute—answer my last question first: Are you a vampire?"

His eyes glittered mahogany and gold at me, but other than the slight incline of one eyebrow, he didn't look at all perturbed to be having this conversation. "I am Moravian, what is commonly referred to as a Dark One."

Well, that was a big help. "So you're a vampire?"

His fingers made an elegant gesture that left the question unanswered.

"Okay, let's try this: Do you drink people's blood to survive?"

He sat extremely still. "Yes," he finally answered, the velvet of his voice giving the word a power I'd never felt before.

"Are you immortal?"

Again the hesitation. "I can be killed."

"Most living beings can. Let me rephrase that—what year were you born?"

His gaze never left my face. "In the year of our Lord eleven hundred and twelve."

I did a bit of quick mental subtraction. "That sounds pretty immortal to me. Do you burn to a crisp in the light of the sun?"

A slight smile played around on the corners of his lips. I suddenly wanted to be that smile. "Burn to a crisp? No, but I do not find sunlight particularly healthy."

"Fine. So you"—I ticked the items off on my fingers—"drink blood to survive, are more or less immortal, and avoid sunlight. Well, you know, that sounds like a vampire to me!"

"Dark Ones are frequently referred to as vampires," he allowed.

"I hear a 'but' in there."

The smile grew, making me feel a bit too warm in my comfy sweats. "The mythology of vampires and the history of Dark Ones is similar, but not identical."

"Oh. So you're like, what, a benign vampire? A quasi-vampire? Vamp light? Do you go around doing good deeds? Or are you merely a vampire with a really big chip on his shoulder who likes to push people around and slice himself up for fun and profit?"

He actually had the nerve to look martyred at my words. "You are the most irreverent woman I have ever met."

"And you're changing the subject."

"I shall do so again: Why do you have the spirit of a cat in your hotel room?"