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“It’s fine,” I said quietly. Dick stepped back into the office, to be near Andrea. But he was watching over us. I didn’t have to be psychic to see the protective anger he felt toward Adam.
“Is this some sort of punishment?” Adam demanded, flexing his bruised fingers. “Because I didn’t notice you when we were kids? Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t see you. But things are different now. You’re different now, special. I see you. I don’t see anything but you. It’s crazy. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“I was something special back then, Adam,” I told him sternly, shoving him back.
“Look, Jane, I’m sorry. We can make this work.”
Adam advanced on me, his intent to kiss me again burning in his eyes. In the best persuasion voice I had ever used, I growled as he scrambled back toward me. “Adam, stop!”
Dutifully, he froze in his tracks. And I had no idea what to tell him. It seemed to go against all of my instincts to send him away, but I didn’t want him anywhere near me anymore. I couldn’t be terribly angry with him. He didn’t want me. As much as that hurt, it wasn’t the crime of the century. Adam didn’t want me. He didn’t know who I was. He wanted some image of me, some imagined persona that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Adam wanting to buck against the hometown-boy role in which he’d been cast. Well, his self-image issues were not my problem.
I led him, biddable as a sacrificial lamb, to the door. I took his shoulders in my hands and forced him to meet my gaze. “I want you to forget about me. Forget about me being a vampire. Forget about you being fascinated with vampires and the whole dark-side-of-the-tracks thing. You should find someone more like you. I want you to find a nice, normal girl, a girl you really like. Not just because she’s sexy but because you genuinely enjoy her company. Get married, have lots of babies, and be happy.”
Denial flickered across Adam’s features. His eyes clenched closed, then sprang open. He shook his head slightly. In a distracted, addled tone, he said, “I have to go.”
“I know.” I nodded and opened the door for him. With my wounded pride, I couldn’t help but feel that it was better than he deserved, telling him to find someone he was compatible with. Part of me regretted not commanding him to stand on the corner of Main Street, naked, singing “I’m a Little Teapot.”
“I have to go,” he repeated. He hesitated as he walked toward the door.
“Yeah,” I said, patting his shoulder, and he stumbled out.
I watched Adam stagger down the sidewalk to his SUV, struggle to pull his keys out of his pocket, and drive away. And I bid good-bye to my last mortal wish.
18
There is no information available on the inner workings of a were bachelor fete. It is assumed that the theory of mutually assured destruction prevents discussion by the participants.
—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were
By Adam standards, Gabriel was downright charming, even when you took the blood drinking and tree related killing into account. Now well aware of how good I really had it, I launched myself at him when he knocked on my door that night.
And he promptly untangled himself from my arms and set me on my feet.
Crap.
“Jane, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
Gabriel had that “You’ve disappointed me” look on his face, which put me in an immediate confessional mode. “I forgot to tell my grandmother that she’s marrying a ghoul.”
Gabriel shot me a withering glare. “Jane.”
“Fine, fine, I didn’t forget. I just haven’t found a way to do it yet. I’ve had a lot of other stuff on my mind. Mr. Wainwright’s funeral, the shop—”
“Let me rephrase. Would you like to tell me why Dick called me to recommend that I track down an Adam Morrow and, quote, ‘put a boot up his ass’ because of something he did at the shop?” he demanded, fangs fully extended, eyes flashing silver. “Or why you positively reek of another man?”
“I’m sensing an uncalled-for tone,” I warned him.
“What do I have to do to make my feelings clear to you, Jane?” he thundered. “Are you deliberately trying to drive me insane? Am I going to have to follow you around town, staking my claim against your many admirers?”
“Which question do you want me to answer first?” I asked.
“I would like to know what your plans are for Mr. Morrow,” he spat. “You said yourself that you had fantasies about him when you were young.”
“Schoolgirl fantasies,” I corrected him. “I said ‘schoolgirl fantasies,’ emphasis on the schoolgirl. I haven’t been a schoolgirl in several years.”
Gabriel’s voice softened, responding to my quiet, cool tone. “He was the first boy you ever loved, even if it wasn’t reciprocated.”
“Thank you for putting it that way, very sensitive.” I glared at him.
