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  With his words and his departure, Claire's spirit tumbled down again as she became certain that the room would be for her alone while Matthew slept with Diane. It would certainly fit with the distance he had put between them since they had left.

  Trying not to think, she transferred the clothes to the nearest dresser. She stepped out of her shoes, then undressed and stood in the middle of the room for a moment, torn between the desire to take a shower after the long trip and the bleakness that had draped over her and made even the smallest effort seem beyond her power. She climbed onto the bed and curled up, drawing the comforter over her. She felt cold but it had nothing to do with the coolness of the fabric on her skin, a tactile memory rather than actual sensation. On the edge of her consciousness, she could hear Matthew's voice, and Laura's, then the click of a door being locked. Next came the buzzing of an appliance, and Matthew's voice again, this time talking to Diane. Claire hummed quietly to herself to drown out their words, then their steps in the apartment. She wasn't sure she'd be able to ignore them if they started doing more than talking.

  Not if. When.

  "I brought you ... Claire? You're asleep?"

  Claire's fist tightened where she clutched the edge of the comforter over her. She kept her eyes closed despite what her other senses were telling her. Matthew was close, so very close, and he had brought her blood. She was hungry, she had been for hours, but she preferred not to see Matthew again before he abandoned her.

  He had to know she was only pretending to be asleep, her clenched fist and eyelids had to give her away, but his gestures were gentle as he opened the bed and shifted Claire until she was lying beneath the cover rather than on top of it. Her body involuntarily tensed then, waiting for his footsteps as he left the room. Instead, she heard the soft rustling of fabric falling to the floor before the bed dipped under his weight. He came right behind her, molding his body to hers, and wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer.

  "It'll be all right, sweetheart,” he murmured against the base of her skull. “I'm sorry I couldn't stop it, but it'll be all right. I'm here for you, as long as you need me."

  Claire wanted to weep with joy. She wanted to tell him that she wouldn't forget his words, and that she'd always need him. She wanted to tell him, again, that she loved him until he believed her. All she could do however was turn in his embrace to face him and lay her lips upon his, hoping that a kiss might tell him even half of what was running through her mind.

  "It'll be all right,” he repeated after a little while. He had guided her head to rest at the crook of his neck and was running a slow hand up and down her back. “Tomorrow night, I'll start showing you what it's like to be a vampire. You'll feel better when it starts making sense."

  She opened her mouth to ask if the lessons would include an explanation of what Diane was to him exactly, or how Claire fit into their relationship, but the words refused to pass her throat and she closed her mouth again, her teeth clicking lightly, then pressed her lips to his skin.

  His hand stopped in the middle of her back. “Are you hungry?"

  "Yes."

  She knew there was a glass of blood nearby, probably on the bedside table, and she expected Matthew to remind her of it. Instead, his hand slid to cup the back of her head.

  "First lesson, then. Extend your fangs, then bite. Do not hesitate, but do not go too fast either. Nice and easy."

  She followed his directions and sank her fangs in the curve of his shoulder.

  "That's it. If you go too fast or if you hesitate, they'll tense up and you'll hurt them. Now retract your fangs, still nice and easy. Take slow pulls on my blood, as regular as you can."

  She continued to do as he said, vaguely aware that she had been much rougher when she had drunk from him before; she had to have hurt him. She would apologize, later, and thank him for teaching her. She was determined to learn everything he decided she needed to know, and to prove herself the best pupil he could possibly have.

  Over the course of the following weeks, she had many occasions to show how well she could listen, with every night bringing a new lesson on how to hunt, how to feed, how to defend herself or how to use her enhanced senses. Matthew's praises, however hard Claire tried to make him proud, remained few and far between.

  * * * *

  It was a good thing that vampires couldn't throw up; if they could, Matthew would have when he observed Claire biting her first human.

  "Slowly now.” He forced the words out and fought to keep watching. “If you drink too fast, you'll hurt him and you're more likely to take too much. Remember, three or four slow mouthfuls, no more."

  "She's doing fine,” her willing prey drawled. “Why don't you quiet down and let us enjoy the moment?"

  Matthew's gaze drifted from the man's wrist in the cradle of Claire's hands and lips to his face. His heavy eyelids and silly smile made it clear that he did enjoy her touch, but if anything they annoyed Matthew. He could only blame himself, though. He was the one who had brought Claire to this bar and who had chosen her first prey for her.

  He could see the instant when she stopped pulling on the man's blood. Her mouth stayed in place a few more seconds, just like he had taught her. She was the perfect student, so eager to show she had listened to him and had understood what he wanted her to do. So eager to please him.

  His stomach roiled, the feeling as unpleasant as it was impossible. Finally done, Claire exchanged a few words with her prey before he left their table, issuing an invitation for her to look for him on her own, next time. She looked up at Matthew, eyes and smile shining bright.

  "That was ... I'd never have thought..."

  "So you liked it, then?"

  "Of course I did! It's a hundred times better than blood bags!"

  There was a bounce to her step when she stood and pulled Matthew to his feet with a gentle tug on his arm.

  "Let's find another one. Have you eaten yet?"

  The simple thought of her watching him feed was making Matthew nauseous.

  "I'm not hungry."

  * * * *

  "You want me to do what?"

  Eyes wide, Claire stared at Matthew with incomprehension. She had gone along with the practice biting because he had said she needed to control her bite, but this...

  "Hit me. Or try to."

  "But I don't want to—"

  "Wanting has nothing to do with it. And don't believe for a second that you're going to hurt me. I know you took martial arts lessons when you were a child, I want to see how much you remember."

  Claire still stood frozen in the middle of the living room, still unable to comprehend what Matthew expected of her. He had pushed the furniture to the perimeter of the room, freeing a large space in the middle, and then made his strange request for her to attack him.

  "He hasn't lost his mind,” Diane commented from the side of the room.

  Claire looked at her. Leaning against the wall near the kitchen, she seemed very close to laughing aloud.

  "You know firsthand that not all Special Enforcers play by the rules,” she continued. “And some vampires are highly protective of what they think of as their territory or hunting grounds. Sooner or later, you'll have to fight, and how well you do will determine how long you live."

  When she returned her attention to Matthew, he was nodding. She wished he had explained his strange request himself rather than waited for Diane to do it.

  "Come on, sweetie. Show me what you can do."

  It had been more than fifteen years since she had taken her last karate lesson, and Claire wasn't sure she remembered anything at all. With hesitation still coursing through her, she gave an absentminded little bow and, without much enthusiasm, launched her first attack. Her right foot flew through the air toward Matthew's midsection. He not only avoided it, but he also caught her bare ankle and held it up. Claire had to hop and flail in a rather undignified fashion not to fall on her behind.

  "How about you try again,” Matthew said with a snor
t. “And this time you actually try to hit me?"

  He let go of her foot and Claire felt embarrassment sweep through her. The feeling only worsened when Diane chuckled behind her. On her second try, she put more force behind her blow, and while she still didn't touch Matthew, he nodded his approval.

  "Better. I'm sure with a little training, it'll all come back to you. You'll be faster, have better reflexes and more strength to put behind your blows, so you should be able to defend yourself if you ever have to."

  There was more to his words, a hidden but very obvious, “if I'm not there to help you,” that made Claire want to scoff and protest at the same time. Scoff because she had never hidden behind a man before and wasn't about to start now. Protest because he'd always be there for her. He had promised as much. But as was so often the case, she kept her thoughts to herself rather than reveal them where Diane could hear, and at Matthew's prompt launched another attack. Before long, they were sparring, Matthew showing her new moves, and Claire found herself almost eager to be given a reason to truly fight. She would make her Sire proud.

  * * * *

  The balcony had always been Matthew's favorite feature of this apartment. Standing there, seven floors above the noisy downtown streets, he could see not only the town, but also its suburbs. On very clear nights, the view extended all the way to the ocean.

  "Tell me. What do you smell?"

  At his side, Claire took a deep breath in through her nose. Her hands tightened a little on the railing as though she needed the support to stand upright.

  "It's too much,” she sighed after a few seconds. “It's all ... jumbled together. And it's not nice."

  She rubbed at her nose with the back of two fingers before clutching the railing again. Matthew leaned against it, resting his forearms on the wide metal guard. Like she had an instant earlier, he took a deep breath in. The scents that had been lurking just beyond his consciousness leaped forward and he grabbed at one of them.

  "There's a bakery down the street. They make the most wonderful bread from scratch. Can you smell it?"

  From the corner of his eye, he could see Claire shaking her head.

  "You know what bread smells like, don't you? Warm bread, just out of the oven, the wheat perfuming the air all around ... Focus on that smell. Remember it, and look for it in the mix of scents of the city. Untangle the threads until you can—"

  "I have it!"

  He turned toward her at her exclamation. Her face radiated both surprise and joy, and he couldn't help smiling at her pleasure.

  "Good. Now that you have it, hold it tight and push it away. Out of your mind. Push it back until you're not aware of it anymore."

  Long moments passed. Matthew could see the struggle in the tension of her body and in her rigid knuckles, still grabbing the railing. Then all at once, her stance loosened and she breathed a heavy sigh.

  "Good,” Matthew murmured. “Now the next scent. This time, you find it."

  And she did.

  * * * *

  Low ceilings and dark velvet draperies covering the walls made the bar appear smaller than it truly was. After the large, bright open spaces of On The Edge, it was oppressive enough to make Claire feel claustrophobic. She had thought she would get used to it, but after seven nights of visiting the bar, the feeling was only getting stronger.

  She was seated alone in a small booth, her hands splayed on the table, framing the half empty glass in front of her. The marble was black silk beneath her fingers. She followed the veins of gray with her eyes, focusing on them so she wouldn't look up and see the humans passing by. The first nights, she had watched with both trepidation and interest, taking in the sight and scent of the customers, wondering what they saw in her when they returned her scrutiny. She had quickly tired of the elegant clothes and haughty looks of the town's finest citizens.

  Even without looking, she was all too aware of their presence. She could hear them, soft steps on the lush carpet and excited heartbeats that drowned the piano notes descending from the scene in the middle of the bar. Sitting in the open, where she could have seen the skilled hands of the musician playing over the keys, might have helped her not feel caged. However, when they had arrived the first time, Matthew had explained in hushed tones that sitting in a booth signaled that she wanted nothing more than blood, while sitting in the open broadened the invitation. His hand had been firm on her arm when he had guided her to a booth and left her there as he slid into a nearby one. One vampire per booth, waiting for a human to show his or her interest, that was the rule of the establishment. One of the many rules.

  "Hello. May I sit down?"

  The woman standing just past Claire's table looked at her with a nervous smile, her hands clenched on a drink she held in front of her. Numerous fine lines over her face and silver threads woven through her dark hair gave away her age, somewhere in her fifties. Claire had always felt she was one of the oldest customers of On The Edge; she wouldn't have imagined finding someone that much older in a blood bar.

  She waved her hand in an inviting gesture. “Please do."

  The woman sat down on the cushioned bench across from Claire. The glass of soda clanked softly when her shaky hand deposited it on the table. Claire observed her, trying to understand what had brought her there. Her conservative clothes and discreet jewelry did not point toward a woman who sought thrills to spice up her life like so many other customers here. As for her scent, it was laced with fear but without the anticipation Claire had learned to associate with the humans coming to such a place.

  "Hardly the place for a lady,” Claire commented before taking a sip of her beer.

  The woman's cheeks colored lightly, but when she talked her voice was firm. “On the contrary. This is the most upscale establishment of this type in town."

  Matthew had told Claire as much, promising her sophisticated prey to feed on, and she had since realized he had been right. She still wasn't sure how that mattered exactly; blood was blood.

  "I have a feeling tonight is your first time here. Can I ask what you're looking for?"

  The fear was still in her scent when the woman extended her arm over the narrow table, offering the inside of her wrist to Claire, but she wasn't shaking anymore.

  "I want to understand what would bring my son to places like this one. Now will you do this for me, or not?"

  Smiling at the reluctant impatience now coloring her prey's voice, Claire nodded. With gentle hands, she took hold of the proffered wrist and pulled it up toward her mouth, leaning forward at the same time. The skin felt a little like dry parchment against her lips. It parted easily when she sank in her fangs and pierced the wrist. The woman gasped, then again when Claire started pulling on her blood, slow but strong sucks.

  Four mouthfuls, no more, Matthew had warned her over and over, and she obeyed his instructions to the letter even when she wanted more. Then, for a few seconds, she pressed the flat of her tongue to the wounds, waiting for the flow of blood to cease. When it did, she pulled back and gently laid the woman's hand on the table. For the first time since biting her, she looked up at her face. Her features reflected shock and some pain, but, more than that, it showed the incomprehension Claire had expected.

  "You won't understand him,” she said, trying to soften her words with a gentle tone. “Not like this. If he allows vampires to bite him, it isn't with the same fear you're feeling right now. You'd have to actually want the bite itself to begin to understand, want to be prey, and to both seduce and be seduced, and to—but if you wanted all that, you wouldn't be wondering why he does it."

  The woman drew her arm back to her and traced the two puckered bite marks with a finger. Her heartbeat slowly calmed down, at the same time as her scent slowly shifted from the spice of fear to the sourness of despair. Tears began filling her eyes, but she blinked them away.

  "Did you ... I mean ... Is this how you became a vampire? By going to ... to places like this one? Is this going to happen to him too?"

 
Claire opened her mouth, ready to reply it had been the case for her but it didn't mean the woman's son would be killed too. A quiet laugh, somewhere in the club, stopped her. It wasn't Diane's; she wasn't here tonight, having rolled her eyes when Matthew had told her where he was taking Claire once again. But the laugh reminded Claire that her visits to On The Edge weren't to blame for what she was now. She had been perfectly safe until Diane had decided Matthew ought to turn her.

  "I have no answer for you,” Claire said as she slipped out of the booth. “The only one who does is your son."

  With a quiet word of thanks, she walked over to the coat check. Matthew joined her before she had even slipped her jacket on.

  "You've fed enough?"

  The doubtful edge of his words clearly let her know what he thought. She shrugged off the hand that was trying to straighten the collar of her jacket and went for the double doors, knowing he would follow.

  "I don't like this place."

  She took a deep breath when she stepped into the street, as deep as it was useless. The cold air, even laced with the many scents of a town she had learned to ignore, was refreshing and cleared her head. She could feel the weight of Matthew's eyes on her, inquisitive and puzzled.

  "It's one of the nicest blood bars I've ever been in. What else do you need?"

  "I guess I don't like blood bars in general, then.” She started walking, and looped her arm with Matthew's when he fell into step with her. “It's too...” She hesitated, finding it difficult to put a word on her discomfort. “It makes me feel ... cheap. Like I was on display for someone to buy me with a little blood."

  She shook her head, but the feeling still clung to her. Matthew ran a soothing hand over her arm.

  "Think of it as an offering they make to you."

  She tried to wrap her mind around the idea, but it wasn't working. Her thoughts kept drifting back to On The Edge, and the flirting games she had witnessed there, and even played. Predator and prey, each aware of what they were, dancing around each other and enjoying the chase and the anticipation as much as whatever finally came out of it. That was what hunting ought to be, a game of seduction rather than a scared human choosing her as she put herself on display in a velvet-lined booth.