This was the real treat, or at least one of the real treats—having someone with whom to share the day’s events. Eric was a good listener, at least in his postcoital relaxed state. I told him about Andy and Lattesta’s visit, about Diantha’s appearance while I was sunbathing.

“I thought I tasted the sun on your skin,” he said, stroking my side. “Go on.”

So off I babbled like a brook in the spring, telling him about my rendezvous with Claude and Claudine and all they’d told me about Breandan and Dermot.

Eric was more alert when I was talking about the fairies. “I smelled fairies around the house,” he said. “But in my overwhelming anger at seeing your tiger-striped suitor, I put the thought aside. Who came here?”

“Well, this bad fairy named Murry, but don’t worry, I killed him,” I said. If I’d ever doubted I had Eric’s full attention, I didn’t doubt it any longer.

“How did you do that, my lover?” he asked very gently.

I explained, and by the time I got to the part where my great-grandfather and Dillon showed up, Eric sat up, the blanket falling away. He was completely serious and alert.

“The body is gone?” he asked for the third time, and I said, “Yes, Eric, it is.”

“It might be a good idea for you to stay in Shreveport,” Eric said. “You could even stay in my house.”

That was a first. I’d never been invited to Eric’s house before. I had no idea where it was. I was astonished and sort of touched.

“I really appreciate that,” I said, “but it would be awful hard for me to commute from Shreveport back here to work.”

“You would be much safer if you left your job until this problem with the fairies is resolved.” Eric cocked his head while he looked at me, his face quite expressionless.

“No, thanks,” I said. “Nice of you to offer. But it would be really inconvenient for you, I bet, and I know it would be for me.”

“Pam is the only other person I’ve invited to my home.”

I said brightly, “Only blondes permitted, huh?”

“I honor you with the invitation.” Still not a clue on his face. If I hadn’t been so used to reading peoples’ minds, maybe I could have interpreted his body language better. I was too accustomed to knowing what peoplereally meant, no matter what words they spoke.

“Eric, I’m clueless,” I said. “Cards on the table, okay? I can tell you’re waiting for me to give you a certain reaction, but I have no idea what it is.”

He looked baffled; that’s what he looked.

“What are you after?” he asked me, shaking his head. The beautiful golden hair tumbled around his face in tangles. He was a total mess since we’d made love. He looked better than ever. Grossly unfair.

“What am I after?” He lay back down, and I turned on my side to face him. “I don’t think I’m after anything,” I said carefully. “I was after an orgasm, and I got plenty of those.” I smiled at him, hoping that was the right answer.

“You don’t want to quit your job?”

“Why would I quit my job? How would I live?” I asked blankly. Then, finally, I got it. “Did you think that since we made whoopee and you said I was yours, I’d want to quit work and keep house for you? Eat candy all day, let you eat me all night?”

Yep, that was it. His face confirmed it. I didn’t know how to feel. Hurt? Angry? No, I’d had enough of all that today. I couldn’t pump another strong emotion to the surface if I had all night. “Eric, I like to work,” I said mildly. “I need to get out of the house every day and mingle with people. If I stay away, it’s like a deafening clamor when I get back. It’s much better for me to deal with people, to stay used to keeping all those voices in the background.” I wasn’t explaining very well. “Plus, I like being at the bar. I like seeing everyone I work with. I guess giving people alcohol isn’t exactly noble or a public service; maybe the opposite. But I’m good at what I do, and it suits me. Are you saying . . . What are you saying?”

Eric looked uncertain, an expression that sat oddly on his normally self-assured face. “This is what other women have wanted from me,” he said. “I was trying to offer it before you asked for it.”

“I’m not anyone else,” I said. It was hard to shrug in my position on the bed, but I tried.

“You’re mine,” he said. Then he noticed my frown and amended his words hastily. “You’re only my lover. Not Quinn’s, not Sam’s, not Bill’s.” There was a long pause. “Aren’t you?” he said.

A relationship discussion initiated by the guy. This was different, if I went by the stories I’d heard from the other barmaids.

“I don’t know if the—comfort—I feel with you is the blood exchange or a feeling I would’ve had naturally,” I said, picking each word carefully. “I don’t think I would have been so ready to have sex with you tonight if we didn’t have a blood bond, because today has been one hell of a day. I can’t say, ‘Oh, Eric, I love you, carry me away,’ because I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. Until I’m sure, I have no intention of changing my life drastically.”

Eric’s brows began to draw together, a sure sign of displeasure.

“Am I happy when I’m with you?” I put my hand against his cheek. “Yes, I am. Do I think making love with you is the greatest thing ever? Yes, I do. Do I want to do it again? You bet, though not right now since I’m sleepy. But soon. And often. Am I having sex with anyone else? No. And I won’t, unless I decide the bond is all we have.”

He looked as if he were thinking of several different responses. Finally he said, “Do you regret Quinn?”

“Yes,” I said, because I had to be honest. “Because we had the beginning of something good going, and I may have made a huge mistake sending him away. But I’ve never been seriously involved with two men at the same time, and I’m not starting now. Right now, that man is you.”

“You love me,” he said, and he nodded.

“I appreciate you,” I said cautiously. “I have big lust for you. I enjoy your company.”

“There’s a difference,” Eric said.

“Yes, there is. But you don’t see me bugging you to spell out how you feel about me, right? Because I’m pretty damn sure I wouldn’t like the answer. So maybe you better rein it in a little yourself.”

“You don’t want to know how I feel about you?” Eric looked incredulous. “I can’t believe you’re a human woman. Womenalways want to know how you feel about them.”

“And I’ll bet they’re sorry when you tell them, huh?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “If I tell them the truth.”

“That’s supposed to put me in a confiding mood?”

“I always tell you the truth,” he said. And there wasn’t a trace of that smile left on his face. “I may not tell you everything I know, but what I tell you . . . it’s true.”

“Why?”

“The blood exchange has worked both ways,” he said. “I’ve had the blood of many women. I’ve had almost utter control over them. But they never drank mine. It’s been decades, maybe centuries since I gave any woman my blood. Maybe not since I turned Pam.”

“Is this the general policy among vampires you know?” I wasn’t quite sure how to ask what I wanted to know.

He hesitated, nodded. “For the most part. There are some vampires who like to take total control over a human . . . make that human their Renfield.” He used the term with distaste.

“That’s fromDracula , right?”

“Yes, Dracula’s human servant. A degraded creature . . . Why someone of Dracula’s eminence would want so debased a man as that . . .” Eric shook his head disgustedly. “But it does happen. The best of us look askance at a vampire who makes servant after servant. The human is lost when the vampire assumes too much control. When the human goes completely under, he isn’t worth turning. He isn’t worth anything at all. Sooner or later, he has to be killed.”

“Killed! Why?”

“If the vampire who’s assumed so much control abandons the Renfield, or if the vampire himself is killed . . . the Renfield’s life is not worth living after that.”