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“Who made you into a vampire?” I asked.
His expression was as bland as bread pudding. “That’s a discussion for another time.”
“How many vampires have you made?”
“Three, including you,” he said.
“What happened to the other two?”
“That’s a discussion for another time.”
I scowled. “Do you practice being enigmatic, or does it come naturally?”
“It comes naturally,” he said. He sprang from his seat, offering his outstretched hand. “Come with me.”
He led me outside onto the porch, where we stood, soaking in the night sounds. He stood behind me, cupping his fingers over my eyes. His lips hovered near my ear. “You are the night.”
“I am the night,” I repeated.
“You are the night.”
I cocked my head, sending him a questioning look. “I am the night?”
“Jane!”
“Why is it that when you say my name, it sounds like a curse word?” I asked, turning toward him.
He sighed and pushed me back to face the yard. “Please stop talking.”
I giggled, bumping the back of my head into his chin. He was doing that hair-smelling thing again, which I didn’t dignify with a response. I turned to face him, finding myself nose-to-nose with my sire. He had that irritated look Mrs. Truman used to get when I passed notes in third-grade math. I giggled again, which was becoming an annoying habit.
“I’m sorry, I have a hard time with this vampire Yoda routine. I don’t sit around listening to one hand clapping for my inner-selfness. I have never read a single Chicken Soup for the Soul book, and, God willing, I’ll never have to. I look at the big picture.
If I don’t like it, I change it, or I’m paralyzed by the fear of change, which is more often than not. It’s the one area where I’m sort of complicated.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, turning me back to his darkened yard. “You’re more and more complicated with every word that comes out of your mouth. It’s time to see the picture in small pieces, Jane. Every blade of grass. The croaking of every frog.
The scent of honeysuckle. Let each of these elements wash over you until you can see the whole of the landscape before you without opening your eyes. Feel the heartbeat of every animal that skitters across the dirt. Focus on the flow of its blood, the pulse of it through its veins. Don’t settle for the prey that’s closest to you or the easiest to catch, find the right animal. The size and speed you need. Focus every fiber of your considerable musculature on that creature, and throw your body into action.”
I felt this was not the moment to tell Gabriel that was exactly what Yoda would have said (in a slightly less grammatically sound manner), so I focused on the night sounds. It was like a combination of night vision and a thermal camera, all shifting colors and pulsing warmth. I shut out the coldblooded creatures, the frogs and snakes, because my culinary courage does not run that far.
I could feel coyotes, and deep in the trees I saw a deer, an eight-pointer. But given my recent steps in his hooves, I wasn’t planning to hunt him anytime soon.
As if he sensed my interest, the buck raised his head and met my gaze. It felt as if I could reach out and stroke his coat. I raised my hand, and the buck started, disappearing with a flash of white tail through the trees.
“All of my life, I’ve wanted to be more interesting than I am, special,” I said, turning to Gabriel and, I’m sure, grinning like an idiot. “And now it seems I’ve got ‘special’ out the ying-yang. I don’t know if I can handle it.”>He smiled that “pitiful creature, you amuse me” smile. “Jane, your innocence is one of the many things that make you so interesting. It wounds me that you would even think that.”
“First of all, I’m not that innocent. I shoplifted Bonnie Bell lip gloss from the Woolworth ’s when I was eight. So there. And second, why are you so interested in who and what I eat?” I demanded, again with the jabbing. “And if you use that ‘I’m your sire’
crap, you will be using your vampire strength to pull a size-nine sneaker out of your ass.”
“Though it’s an entertaining mental image, that was truly vulgar,” he said. “Now, sit, please.”
I flopped back on a cozy tooled-leather couch the color of old wine. A toasty fire licked the hearth despite the midsummer heat. Even in my snit, I enjoyed bathing my face in the warm light. I hadn ’t had a chance to appreciate Gabriel’s fine parlor while I was zipping toward freedom. It was just as welcoming and well decorated as the bedroom. Polished, honey-colored wood floors, a thick navy and maroon rug, deep cushy sofas and chairs. This was definitely a wine-and-cheese sort of room.
Watching my mood mellow to just south of truly pissed, Gabriel smiled, his canines gleaming in the firelight. He sat near but not next to me, giving me just enough room to feel comfortable but definitely aware that he could reach out for me at any moment.
“So, how was your day?”
