Greg hadn't begun shouting and struggling until they'd finished tying him, and Martine had released his arm. His thoughts had been his own again at once, and he'd been frustrated and furious to find himself tied to that bed again. Greg had ranted and raved at them, but the women had simply ignored him and walked away. That hadn't stopped him, though; he'd continued bellowing at the top of his lungs until he was hoarse before failing silent.
He was feeling much calmer this morning. Greg suspected he should be terrified or something, but he found it kind of hard to work up any fear of Lissianna... Or any of her cousins for that matter. It was hard to be scared of people you've seen in their pajamas. Baby dolls and Spider-Man PJs just weren't fear-inspiring. He would re-serve his judgment on Martine and Marguerite. For some reason, he found both of them a tad more intimidating.
"So," he said finally, "you all look pretty good for dead people."
Lissianna blinked, obviously shocked at his words. Not as shocked as he was, Greg couldn't believe he'd said that. God! He was such a smooth talker. No wonder his family thought he needed help finding women.
"We aren't dead," Lissianna said, and Greg stopped mentally kicking himself in the butt for his stupidity to peer at her blankly.
"But you're vampires. Nosferatu. The undead..." He blinked at his own words, then said, "Oh, yes, I see. You are the undead." Before Lissianna could confirm or deny that, he asked, "Now that you've bitten me, will I become a vampire, too? Or am I just at the Renfield type stage where I'll start eating bugs?"
"You haven't turned into a vampire, and no, you won't suddenly have an unexplainable urge to eat bugs," Lissianna assured him patiently.
"That's good. I hate bugs. Truth is, I have a phobia about them."
She blinked in surprise. "You treat phobias, and you have one?"
He shrugged, looking chagrined. "It's the old saw, a plumber has leaky pipes, the accountant's always late with his taxes..."
"And the phobia expert has a phobia of his own," she finished with amusement, then added solemnly, "We're not dead, Greg."
Greg raised his eyebrows. "So, you're vampires, but not dead or even undead?"
"Right, though I wouldn't use the term vampire around
Mother, she hates it," Lissianna informed him. "Most of the older vampires do."
"Why? It's what you are, isn't it?" he asked.
She hesitated, then explained, "Vampire is a mortal term. We didn't choose it. Besides, the word carries a lot of unpleasant connotations... Dracula, demon-faced beings." She shrugged.
"So you aren't demons, that's good to know," he said wryly, then asked, "How old are you?"
Lissianna was silent so long, he didn't think she was going to answer, then she sat down on the side of the bed, peered at her hands, pursed her lips, and admitted, "I was born in 1798."
Greg lay perfectly still, his mind boggling--1798? Dear God, she was two hundred and two, that made her old, he realized, and wryly recalled worrying that she might think he was too old for her? Shaking his head, he asked, "But you aren't dead?"
"No," she said firmly.
Greg frowned and pointed out, "But according to all the books and movies, vampires are dead."
"According to a lot of books and movies, psychologists and psychiatrists are psycho killers," she responded. "Think Dressed to Kill or Silence of the Lambs."
"Touche," he said with amusement.
They were both silent for a minute, then Lissianna said, "As with everything, the tales of our kind have been corrupted over the centuries."
Greg considered that briefly, then asked, "How corrupted are the tales? Are you cursed and soulless?"
She smiled with real amusement. "No, we aren't cursed, we aren't soulless, and garlic and religious symbols have no effect on us."
"But you drink blood?"
"We need blood to survive," she admitted.
"This is crazy," Greg said aloud, his mind rebelling at accepting the unacceptable. "Vampires, living forever, feeding on blood... It's fiction, a myth, legend."
"Most legends and myths are based on some truth," she said calmly.