“It was near dawn when Lisiana told me good-bye. When I asked where she was going, she told me she was over a thousand years old and she was tired of living. ‘I’m going out to meet the sun,’ she said. ‘Do what you wish with the house. Keep it, sell it, burn it down.’” He paused a moment. “Before I could ask her anything else, she was gone. When I woke up that night, I was a vampire. I never saw her again.”
Kay stared up at him. It was an incredible tale, she thought, and then she grinned. “You seem to be a magnet for older women. What are you doing with me?”
Gideon threw back his head and laughed. “Damned if I know.”
Moving to the sofa, Kay sat down and crossed her legs. “You seem to like being a vampire.”
“No sense being miserable over something that can’t be changed,” he said, sitting beside her. But the truth was, once he’d gotten over the fear and the shock, he did like it. “What about you? You like being a werewolf?”
She tossed his words back at him. “‘No sense being miserable over something that can’t be changed.’ I was born this way.”
“So, basically, when the moon’s full, you turn furry.”
She nodded.
“How does it usually affect you? You didn’t go all Lon Chaney the other night and start killing everything on two legs, so I’m assuming you have at least some control.”
“Yes. I’ve never had the overpowering urge to go on any kind of killing spree, although”—a faint blush heated her cheeks—“I feel the need to hunt, but only deer or rabbits and the occasional squirrel.”
He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers lightly stroking her bare shoulder. Her skin was soft, and warm, and baby smooth. “So, are all werewolves as benign as you are?”
“The civilized ones. I’ve heard there are a few who go totally feral and kill anything they come across, but, thankfully, I’ve never met one.”
He mulled that over a moment before asking, “If you bite someone, do they turn fanged and furry?”
“No. That only works with vampires. Werewolves are born, not made.”
He grinned wryly. What would happen, he wondered, if a very old vampire tried to turn a very young werewolf?
During the next week, Kay gradually changed her sleeping habits so that instead of sleeping until eight or nine in the morning, she slept until one or two in the afternoon, which meant she ate breakfast about the time she would normally have been eating lunch, which she skipped altogether. Gideon took her out to dinner except when he needed to feed. On those nights, she dined alone, and then they spent the rest of the evening together.
Kay had never been to New York before and each night brought a new adventure. One evening, after dining at the Savoy, he took her to the top of the Empire State Building. She had stared in awe at the bird’s-eye view of the city spread out below. The next night, they went walking through Central Park, and even though the Conservatory Gardens were closed, Gideon whisked her inside for a private tour, and then he transported them to the Bronx Zoo, which was also closed.
“Not much to see,” she remarked as they passed exhibit after exhibit of sleeping lions, tigers, bears, camels, zebras, elephants, and monkeys.
“I guess the animals need their beauty rest,” he replied, grinning as they paused to watch a pair of sleeping pandas.
“They aren’t the only ones,” Kay said, yawning behind her hand.
“Don’t tell me you’re tired?”
“A little.”
A moment later, she was in his car, with no memory of how she had gotten there. “I wish I could do that,” she exclaimed. “How does it work?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just think of where I’d like to be and I’m there, and so is anyone I happen to be touching—or holding—at the time. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Very.”
The next night, he presented her with two tickets to the Phantom of the Opera.
It was the most amazing play she had ever seen. Sitting in the front row, she was close enough to see the actors’ facial expressions, to feel the flames when one of the actors lit the footlights. She lost herself in the play, totally caught up in the Phantom’s anguish as he told Christine good-bye. Gideon obligingly offered her his handkerchief so she could dry her tears.
She was still crying when they left the theater.
“Hey,” he chided with a smile, “it was just a play.”
“But it was so sad! How could she leave him like that when he loved her so much?”
Gideon snorted. “Are you serious? Did you really expect her to give up a life of ease with a rich, handsome count to live in a drafty old cellar with a disfigured madman?”