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Any male who marries more than two mates is ostracized from the pack. Most females would consider him a jinx at that point, anyway.
—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were
In order to avoid thinking about Zeb and inappropriate touching, I threw myself into ferreting out more information on my future step-grandpa. I figured of the two problems, Wilbur’s past was far less likely to come back and bite me on the butt.
Gabriel found me up to my elbows in cyberspace, searching through a not-quite-legal connection to the state’s vital-statistics database. The library was granted access for archive purposes, and Mrs. Stubblefield hadn’t bothered to change our password since I was fired. Honestly, what was she thinking?
I had access to birth certificates, marriage licenses, and death certificates, the only problem being that they were in abstract form, giving the barest essentials of names and dates.
After I gave only a cursory grunt for a greeting, Gabriel cautiously climbed onto the couch next to me and watched as my fingers flew over the keyboard.
“I’m fine, thank you, dear. How are you?” he said pointedly.
I made a kissing noise in his general direction but continued my search.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he grumped. When I finally looked at Gabriel, I saw that he was wearing a well-cut black suit with a blue silk tie. I’d never seen him in his “business” attire before. He would have been mouthwatering, if not for the anxious lines between his brows, the nervous glint in his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Stalking my future grampy via an obscenely fast wireless connection,” I said, tapping away at the keys.
He blinked at the wildly scrolling screen. “Is that slang or a Jane-ism?”
“A little of both,” I said. While the search engine compiled marriage records for Goosens between 1960 and 2007, I kissed his chin and rubbed my eyes. “I’m looking up old Mr. Goosen in the state archives. So far, all I’ve found is his birth certificate, which is normal. And his death certificate, which is, considering that he’s walking around, not normal.”
He stroked a hand across my shoulders. “You know, I’ve never seen this aggressively intellectual side of you before. It’s rather disturbing and yet somehow a little sexy.”
“Which is pretty much how we define our relationship,” I said, turning back to the screen.
I heard his delicate intake of breath beside me. “Was Zeb just here? His scent seems particularly strong in this room.”
“Please stop sniffing me for evidence of other people,” I groaned, cutting off my contrived, indignant response. Instead, I quietly said, “I had to feed from him.”
“Why are you making that face?” he asked, tucking his thumb under my chin. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t feed from Zeb.”
“I sort of vowed not to feed from humans, remember?” I said. “I was doing great, six months clean and passive … and then Zeb tried to kiss me, and it all just went to hell from there.”
“I’m sorry.” Gabriel shook his head, laughing. “For a minute, I thought you just said that Zeb tried to kiss you.” I gave him a look that was part wince but mostly cringe. “Oh.”
“I know,” I groaned. “I don’t know what’s going on. It’s like the whole world’s just gone cockeyed. And while I was feeding, I had all these weird thoughts. And they were … dark and hungry and sly. And they kept telling me to drink more, take more, turn him, keep him with me. Does that mean this is my fault? Did I accidentally put some of my subconscious thoughts in his head because I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to our relationship when he and Jolene get married? Is that why he tried to kiss me? Did I do this with my evil vampire temptress powers?”
Gabriel leveled me with his serious, paternal gaze. “Jane, do you want to have sex with Zeb?”
My eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “Lord, no.”
“So, this couldn’t be your fault. The voice in your head? That’s just a blood thought.” Gabriel laughed and cupped my face between his palms. “It’s the vampire brain’s response to live fresh blood, a physiological attempt to keep the vampire as well fed as possible for as long as possible. We never know when our next meal will be. So the receptors in your brain that interpret pleasure all start firing at once. You get overloaded with endorphins, and you start having thoughts … well, thoughts I’d rather you didn’t describe to me. But it’s perfectly natural, particularly for those who rarely feed on live blood. Your brain was just overcompensating for time lost.”
“So I don’t really have dark, hungry feelings for Zeb?”
“In a universe that is decent and good, no.” He shook his head.
“Thank you,” I breathed, leaning against him. “I thought I was having some sort of bizarre psychic reaction to the wedding. Or maybe an aneurysm. I was hoping for aneurysm.”
Gabriel’s voice tightened. “That does, however, mean that I must have a talk with Zeb about appropriate behavior for engaged men, particularly engaged men who expect to continue to spend time with you and retain the use of their limbs.”
I snorted. “And if that doesn’t work, what’s next? A paid chaperone?”
“If necessary. I’m sure Dick could use some extra cash,” Gabriel muttered, tensing when I shot him a warning look. “I am very fond of Zeb. He’s a fine young man, and I enjoy spending time with him. But if he thinks he can make advances toward you because of a misguided case of cold feet, he is sorely mistaken.”
“I’m pretty sure I got that point across when I made his nose bleed,” I told him.
