"You'd best go let him in before he breaks down the door," Gabriel said dryly.
"Don't go," she said, and left the room, closing the bedroom door behind her before he could reply.
She ran to the front door and opened it, forcing a smile. "Good evening, Maurice."
"Sara." He frowned. "You're not dressed," he said, taking in her disheveled appearance. "Am I early?"
"No, I'm late. Sit down. Have some wine. I won't be but a moment."
"Hurry, cheri. We dine at seven."
"I will."
She paused outside her bedroom door, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
Gabriel was standing at the window. He glanced at her over his shoulder as she closed the door behind her.
He didn't look like a demon now, she thought. That horrible red glow was gone from his eyes; his skin no longer looked like old parchment. He looked like Gabriel again, human, masculine, and devastatingly attractive. Suddenly she yearned to be in his arms once more, to hear his voice whispering her name, to taste his kisses. Man or monster, she loved him, would always love him.
Gabriel met her gaze, though it was difficult for him to look at her now. Only a short time ago, she had seen him at his worst, seen him as he really was. Few people had ever seen him when the hunger was fast upon him and lived to tell the tale.
He wished he could hold her.
He wished she would go away.
"Was there something you wanted, Sara?"
"I... Maurice is here. We're going out to dinner."
The faintest glimmer of amusement flickered in Gabriel's dark eyes.
"Yes," he murmured dryly, "I was thinking of going out for... dinner... myself."
He watched the color drain from her face as she absorbed his meaning.
"How can you make jokes about... about what you do?"
"Believe me, Sara, there's nothing funny about it."
"Have you... ?"
"Have I what?"
"Have you killed a great many people?"
He shrugged, trying not to be offended by the revulsion in her voice, by the morbid curiosity in her eyes.
"Not many," he replied coldly. "Are you in fear for your life now?"
"No! I just thought... I mean..."
"It isn't necessary for me to kill to survive. I no longer require a great deal of blood, nor do I need it each day."
His gaze held hers. He wanted suddenly to hurt her, to shock her, or perhaps he merely needed to remind himself of the vast gulf between them.
"If I'm desperate, the blood of animals will suffice. In extreme cases, I've been known to dine on the blood of rats."
"Why are you telling me this? Do you think it will make me love you less? Are you still trying to drive me away?"
He couldn't look at her any longer, couldn't abide the overwhelming pity, the faint glimmer of revulsion, that lingered in her eyes.
Cursing softly, he turned to stare out the window again. "You'd better go," he said tersely. "Your young man is waiting for you."
She wasn't much company at dinner that night. She picked at her food, remembering what Gabriel had said. If I'm desperate, the blood of animals will suffice. In extreme cases, I've been known to dine on the blood of rats... Had he been serious, or was he merely trying to drive her away? And yet, deep down, she knew that everything he had said was true. He lived only by night. He fed off the blood of other living creatures. How could he exist like that?
She stared at the dark red wine in her glass. Gabriel drank wine. It was the only nourishment she had ever seen him take. How could he drink blood?
"Sara Jayne?"
She glanced up, aware that Maurice had asked her a question. "What?"
"You seem distracted."
"I'm sorry."
"Is anything wrong?"
"No."
"Have you by chance been out to the cottage?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Have you?"
"Yes. I assume that's your handiwork, all those crosses, and the garlic?"
Maurice nodded.
"What did you hope to prove?"
"He's a vampire, Sara Jayne. I'm sure of it."
"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "There's no such thing."
Maurice shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But if he isn't a vampire, then all I've done is waste my time. And if he is..."
"If he is?"
"Then he won't be able to leave the cottage." Maurice sat back in his chair, his expression suddenly suspicious. "You didn't touch anything, did you?"
"No," she said quickly. Too quickly.
"You're a terrible liar, Sara Jayne."
"That's what Gabriel says."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know. When I saw him last, he said he was leaving Paris."
"Are you sorry he's going?"
"I don't know." She looked at Maurice, her gaze unwavering.