they do.”
“True.” She grabbed a spatula from the metal canister full of cooking utensils and used it to move the diced peppers and onions around in the pan. “So maybe they’re born with their fangs looking like canines as ours do.”
“I’m guessing from your words that you’ve never seen an immortal baby either?” G.G. asked now, curious.
“No,” Ildaria said quietly. “I lived in the poorer areas of the Dominican Republic. The immortals I knew couldn’t afford to buy enough blood to feed themselves properly, let alone a baby. And unlike mortals, they don’t expect the government or others to pay for them or their offspring. They simply do not have children.”
“And lure tourists out to international waters to feed themselves,” he suggested dryly.
Her gaze slid to meet his, unrepentant and a little cold. “Do not expect me to apologize for doing what I had to, to survive. A lion doesn’t feel guilty for eating a zebra, and I don’t feel guilty for what I’ve done. At least, my donors survived, and I made sure they always left with the memory that they had fun and were happy. Which is more than you can say for the poor zebra.”
“Even the ones who attacked you?” he asked.
Ildaria’s mouth firmed, anger flashing briefly across her face before she had it under control. “Even they left feeling happy and believing they had a good time.” Turning back to the pan, she muttered, “Though they didn’t deserve it.”
G.G. immediately felt bad, but when he opened his mouth to apologize, she suggested, “You should put your toast in the oven on low so it doesn’t get cold. This will be another minute.”
Sighing, he carried the plate to the oven, set it inside and turned the knob to warm. Feeling something rub against his leg then, he glanced down and spotted H.D. pawing at him.
“Hey, buddy,” he murmured, scooping him up again. Rubbing the little beast affectionately between the ears, he carried him back to where Ildaria was working. She’d turned the heat down under the peppers and onions, and was now grating cheddar cheese.
“I can do that for you,” G.G. offered.
Ildaria hesitated, but then set the grater and cheese in the bowl, and pushed the whole thing toward him before reaching for another bowl and the eggs.
Setting H.D. down again, G.G. began to grate cheese, but his mind was chasing itself in circles in search of something to say to get them back to the relaxed and happier state they’d been in before he’d said something stupid. In the end, sticking to business seemed the safest bet and he began to explain the accounting methods he used in England and what would have to be done to satisfy the Canadian government when it came to taxes. She listened, occasionally commenting, or asking a question as she continued to cook, and it seemed like no time at all had passed before she was sliding a beautiful, perfectly formed omelet stuffed with cheese, peppers, and onions onto a plate and topping it with a dollop of salsa.
“Grab your toast, and sit down wherever you’re going to eat. I’ll fetch you a coffee,” Ildaria said as she pushed the plate toward him.
G.G. didn’t argue. The aroma coming off the omelet was heavenly and he couldn’t wait to try it. Carrying the plate to the oven, he opened the door and started to reach in, but paused when a dish towel appeared in front of his face.
“It will probably be hot,” Ildaria pointed out, placing the folded dish towel in his hand.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and used the cloth to grab the plate. Since he could feel the heat through the layered material, it seemed obvious the cloth had been a good idea. Shaking his head at his own thoughtlessness, he pushed the oven door closed with his elbow and then paused to stare at the knobs, debating how to turn the oven off with his hands full. Perhaps if he set the toast plate on—
“I’ll get it. You go on and start eating before your breakfast gets cold,” Ildaria called from her position by the coffeepot.
G.G. didn’t have to be told twice. He turned and carried his plates out to the bar, pausing with the swing door open long enough for H.D. to scoot through. He chose one of the booths rather than the bar. That way, H.D. could curl up on the seat next to him. He’d barely settled himself and the dog when he realized he didn’t have