forehead. "This is just a little too public for what I plan to... " Slightly elongated canines became visible for an instant between parted lips. "... discuss."
"And?"
Henry stood at the window, one hand flat against the cool glass. Although he seemed to be looking down at the lights of the city, he was actually watching the reflection of the woman seated on the couch behind him. "And what?"
"Henry, stop being an undead pain in the ass. Did you convince Mr. O'Conner/Simmons to stay put until the police arrive?"
He loved to watch her; loved to watch emotions play across her face, loved to watch her move, loved to watch her in repose. Loved her. But as that was a topic not to be discussed, all he said was, "Yes."
"Good. I hope you scared the living shit out of him while you were at it."
"Vicki." He turned, arms crossed on his chest, and frowned in what was only partially mock disapproval. "I am not your personal bogeyman, to be pulled out of the closet every time you think someone needs to have the fear of God... "
Vicki snorted. "Think highly of yourself, don't you?"
"... put into them," he continued, ignoring the interruption.
"Have I ever treated you like my 'personal bogeyman'?" She raised a hand to cut off his immediate reply. "Be honest. You have certain skills, just like I have certain skills, and when I think it's necessary, I use them. Besides," she pushed her glasses back into place on the bridge of her nose, "you said you wanted to be more involved in my business. Help out with more cases now that you've handed in Purple Passion's Pinnacle and aren't due to start another romantic masterpiece until next month."
"Love Labors On." Henry saw no reason to be ashamed of writing historical romances; it paid well and he was good at it. He doubted, however, that Vicki had ever read one. She wasn't the type to enjoy, or even desire, escape through fiction. "Tonight, it wasn't what I had in mind when I said I wanted to be more involved."
"Henry, it's been over a year." She sounded amused. "You should know by now that most private investigating consists of days and days of boring, tedious research. Thrilling and exciting life-threatening situations are few and far between."
Henry raised one red-gold brow.
Vicki looked a little sheepish. "Look, it's not my fault people keep trying to kill me. And you. And anyway, you know those were the exceptions that prove the rule." She straightened, tucking one sneakered foot up under her butt. "Tonight, I needed to convince a sleazebag, who deserved to be terrified after what he put his wife and kids through, to stay put until the police arrive. Tonight, I needed you. Henry Fitzroy, vampire. No one else could've done it."
Upon reflection, he was willing to grant her that no one else could have done the job as well although a couple of burly mortals and fifty feet of rope would have had the same general effect. "You really didn't like him, did you?"
"No. I didn't." Her lip curled. "It's one thing to walk out of your responsibilities, but it takes a special kind of asshole to do it in such a way that everyone thinks he's dead. They mourned him, Henry. Cried for him. And the son of a bitch was off building a new life, fancy-free, while they were bringing flowers, every Saturday, to an empty grave. If he hadn't gotten into the background of that national news report, they'd still be crying for him. He owes them. In my book, he owes them big."
"Well, then, you'll be happy to know that I did, as you so inelegantly put it, scare the living shit out of him."
"Good." She loosened her grip on the throw pillow. "Did you... uh... feed?"
"Would it matter if I had?" Would she admit it if it mattered. "Blood's blood, Vicki. And his fear was enough to raise the Hunger."
"I know. And I know you feed from others. It's just..." She dragged one hand through her hair, standing it up in dark blonde spikes. "It's just that... "
"No. I didn't feed from him." Her involuntary smile was all he could have asked, so he crossed the room to see it better.
"You're probably hungry, then."
"Yes." He took her hand and gently caressed the inner skin of her wrist with his thumb. Her pulse leapt under his touch.
She tried to stand, but he pushed her back, bent his head, and