"Is that guilt I hear in your voice?" he asked with surprise. While he himself would rather think she used bagged blood like the others than that she ran around biting people like some ghoulish female version of Dracula, he hadn't expected it to bother her.
"Blood banks became the main source of feeding for my people some fifty years ago. Everyone switched over, and I started to be fed intravenously," she explained. "After fifty years of not feeding directly from mortals you can almost convince yourself that they and the bag of blood hooked up to the IV have nothing to do with each other. Mortals just become neighbors and friends and--"
"I understand," Greg interrupted, and he did. He supposed it was similar to the phenomenon humans enjoyed, where meat came wrapped in neat little packages and one could forget that the veal they were eating came from the cute little calf with spindly legs and big eyes.
Greg's mind went back to the conversation he'd had with Thomas his first night here, when the man had pleaded Lissianna's case, explaining that her phobia was causing them all to worry she might turn out like her father. He puzzled over the matter, his mind slowly putting things together. Lissianna had struggled to be less dependent on her mother, she'd got a degree, a job, and her own apartment. She--
"You work at the shelter," he said with realization.
"Yes," she said warily.
"You feed there." It wasn't a question. This was the only thing that made sense. If she was feeding the old-fashioned way and had got a degree and a job to do so, she had probably picked a job where she thought she'd best be able to feed.
"I thought I could help people and take care of my own needs at the same time," she explained.
Greg nodded to himself. It made sense. It would help ease any guilt she felt about feeding after doing so intravenously for so long.
"I also thought the people at the shelter would change nightly."
"Don't they?" Greg asked with surprise. He didn't know much about shelters.
"Unfortunately, no. It's often the same people over and over for months at a time, though there are a few who come and go quickly."
"But a lot of the homeless have drinking or drug problems," he said, understanding what was concerning the family. If a large percentage of the clientele at the shelter had a substance abuse problem, and she was regularly feeding from them...
"Some do," she said quietly. "Not all. For some the alcohol or drugs are what helped them become homeless; they lost their jobs, families, homes... For others, circumstances left them homeless, and they may now drink or take drugs to forget their situations for a while. But they aren't all substance abusers."
Greg smiled faintly at her defensive tone. She obviously cared about the people at the shelter as more than just dinner. That was good to know.
"But many of them aren't healthy either," she went on. "They have little or no money and aren't eating properly. Some only get one meal a day, breakfast at the shelter in the mornings."
"Which is why your family are worried and want me to cure your phobia," Greg guessed. "If you aren't feeding from people who have alcohol or drugs in their systems you're feeding off people who aren't eating healthily, so you aren't eating healthily."
"Yes." She grimaced. "I exist on the equivalent of a fast-food diet; filling, but containing very little in the way of nutrients. But I really don't think that bothers Mother as much as the alcohol."
Greg nodded, but he couldn't seem to take his gaze away from her mouth. He'd never paid much attention to her teeth, his attention until now had always been focused on her lips and what he'd like her to do with them. Still, he thought he should have noticed her fangs at some point. "Can I see your teeth?"
Lissianna stilled, her eyes locking on his face. "Why?"
"Well..." Greg shifted his weight and frowned. "I mostly believe you people are what you say you are. I saw the bite marks, I know I've been being controlled, but..."
"But you want more proof. Physical proof," she guessed when he hesitated.
"I'm sorry, but what we're talking about here is pretty incredible," he pointed out. "Vampires from Atlantis who aren't cursed or soulless, but live forever and stay young and healthy-looking? It's rather like being asked to believe in the Easter Bunny."
Lissianna nodded in understanding, but still hesitated another moment before opening her mouth, revealing her teeth. They were straight, pearly white, but--
"No fangs," he said with disappointment.
In response to his comment, Lissianna leaned a little closer. He saw her nostrils flare slightly as she inhaled, and her canines shifted, sliding smoothly out as is if on tracks under the outer teeth. Two long, pointed fangs suddenly protruded from her mouth.
Greg felt himself pale and went still. "Does--" He paused to clear his throat when his voice came out unnaturally high, then tried again, "Does that hurt?"
Lissianna let her teeth slide back into their resting position before trying to speak. "You mean the teeth extending and retracting?"
He nodded, his eyes still fixed on her mouth.
"No."