“Touchy subject,” he muttered.
“Obviously.” Deciding a change of subject was in order, Lana said, “So what does your trip planner have in store for us tonight? Where are we stopping?”
“Somewhere around Durango. I haven’t done much business in that area, so we’ll have to check it out.”
“No Marisol waiting to greet you tonight?”
“I’m afraid not. But Durango’s a big town. I’d rather not go into the town itself, but there are bound to be smaller communities within a few miles. Just enough for a motel, and a cantina or two.”
He gave her a grin that said he knew what she was thinking. But since she was thinking it would be nice to have a room to herself tonight, she figured if he really did know her thoughts, he wouldn’t be grinning like that. Whatever their motel accommodations, though, she doubted he’d be lonely. As long as the town was big enough, there’d be plenty of women waiting to welcome him to their blood supply . . . and their beds. Not that she cared either way. If he wanted to be a man slut, that was his business, not hers.
“You want me to find a place and call ahead?” she asked.
“Call if you want, but it’s not necessary this time of year.”
Lana shrugged. Fine with her. She’d rather set eyes on a motel before committing anyway.
They rode in silence for a while, Vincent’s attitude noticeably cooler than it had been. She’d obviously offended him with the kiss-ass remark, and maybe she’d done that on purpose. She’d needed to gain some emotional distance after hearing the story about his brother dying. She didn’t want to feel sympathy for Vincent, didn’t want to feel anything other than a businesslike . . . courtesy. Yeah, that’s what it was. Two people doing business together, who would go their separate ways in the end.
“Does Enrique live in Hermosillo, too?” she asked, and immediately wondered why the hell she’d said anything. What happened to the idea of courteous silence?
“Enrique lives wherever he wants. He has places all over Mexico.”
“Including Hermosillo?” she asked, pushing the subject now, because it was so obvious that he didn’t want her to.
Vincent glanced at her briefly, then said, “He hasn’t been to Hermosillo in a very long time, which is why I live there.”
“So where does Enrique live?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious. Why? You think I’m going to attack Enrique and take him down?” She laughed, then had an idea. “Wait, if I did kill him, would that make me your boss? Didn’t you say that’s how one advances up the ranks among vampires?”
Vincent didn’t pretend to hide his disdain for that idea. “Yeah, right. You’d last all of three minutes before a real vampire removed you from office.”
“Spoilsport.”
He snorted dismissively. “You learn to deal with reality very quickly when you’re a vampire.”
Lana thought about that, thought about a young Vincent waking up to find his world torn apart.
“Did it hurt when you became a vampire?” she asked him quietly.
“I don’t remember much of the actual process. It hurt like hell when I woke up the first time, though.”
“What about the first time you . . . you know, drank blood. Was that weird?”
Vincent shot her a suspicious look. “What’s with the fifty questions? You writing a tell-all or something?”
“Just making conversation. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“Good. I think it’s my turn anyway. You owe me some answers.”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Ask away.”
“When did you lose your virginity?”
Lana gasped loudly and turned to stare at him in disbelief, which only made him laugh. “I’m not telling you that,” she said.