got so crazy so quickly - "
"I'm still not caring," I interrupted, feeling like a broken record.
Another stranger appeared at the top end of the street. I rang the bell and he looked up briefly, his face ghostly in the darkness. He shook his head and huddled deeper into his coat, before crossing the road and walking down the other side of the footpath. Great, now prospective donors were avoiding me.
That said a whole lot about my appearance. Or my mood.
I took a deep breath and tried to look happy about the whole situation.
I don't think I succeeded.
"Look," Brodie tried again. "I'm a rat, I know, and I don't really have a good excuse for doing what I did. It was thoughtless and inconsiderate and I'd really like the chance to make it up to you."
No, I told my hormones, which were suddenly dancing at the thought of some hot Brodie action. Remember Christmas past? He's bad for us. We don't like him.
Unfortunately, what came out of my mouth was, "Why?"
"Because it's Christmas, and because I've missed you horribly."
Of all the damn things to say, I thought, as my treacherous heart did a little sideways lurch. It was just as well parts of me were still holding on to anger, otherwise I'd be putty in his hands. And oh, wouldn't his hands feel so good.
"Yeah, you missed me so horribly," I replied, irritated at myself, "that you couldn't pick up a phone and talk to me."
"I did," he said mildly. "You hung up on me. Several times."
Oh. Yeah. "That was when I was in my hurt and angry stage. You should have tried once I'd rolled into my not caring stage. You might have had more luck."
"You've been saying you don't care for the last ten minutes, and I'm still having no luck."
"That's because I've now rolled into the no-longer-caring-but-aiming-to-make-you-grovel stage. It's just not your night, I'm afraid."
"Ah," he said, the deepening amusement in his rich tones making my toes curl ever so slightly. "And if I do grovel? Will that get you sharing a cup of coffee with me?"
"No, because I can't stand men who beg." The wind chose that moment to blast down the street. I hunched my shoulders against it and wondered if my legs were turning as blue as they felt.
Maybe coffee was a good idea.
No. He's bad for our health and we don't like him, remember?
Across the street, the pale-faced stranger grabbed the fly-away ends of his coat and wrapped them around his body, his hands so white they almost appeared skeletal.
Gloves, I thought, even as a chill ran down my spine. Had to be. No hands were that white, no matter how cold. Unless you were a vampire.
My psychic radar hadn't yet sensed anything out of the ordinary, but I'd learned long ago never to ignore the little niggles of wrongness - and that man across the street definitely felt wrong.
"Does he smell funny to you?" I asked Brodie softly.
There was a sharp intake of breath, and I had a vision of his nostrils flaring, sucking in the scents of the night and rolling them across his taste buds, sorting and categorizing them. I'd seen him do it a hundred times in the few months we'd been together, and I found it as sexy now as I had then. Which was odd, because until I'd met him, I'd never considered nostrils to be remotely alluring.
But then, the whole package connected to this man's nostrils was beyond fine.
"He reeks of booze and cigarettes." Another intake of breath. "And he hasn't washed for a few days, either."
"So he's not the scent you've caught at the last three crime scenes?"
"No." He hesitated. "It's similar, though, meaning he could be related to our killer."
"Being related doesn't mean he knows anything about the killings."
"Doesn't mean he doesn't, either."
The stranger lumbered sideways, crashing shoulder first into a wall. He muttered something I couldn't catch, then glanced over his shoulder.
Our gazes met, and my psychic senses roared to life. There was no life in that blue gaze, but there was unlife. And hatred, so much hatred, mixed with anger, and the need to shed blood and taste revenge.
But, deeper than that, there was evil. The sort of evil that likes to rip and tear and drain.
"He may not smell exactly like our quarry," I whispered. "But I'm sure he's connected to these murders somehow."
The words were barely out of my mouth when the vampire snarled. I had a brief glimpse of