Gretchen shuddered. 'Maybe my body is tricking me into reproducing again.'
'To replace Ashley. Not funny, lambkin. But possibly true. I ask again, why this man? Doesn't madness frighten you?'
Next day, Gretchen followed him to his car. It seemed natural to get in, uninvited, ride home with him, follow him up two flights of stairs covered with cracked treads.
He let her perch on a stool in his kitchen darkroom while he printed peculiar old architectural photographs. The room smelled of chemicals, vinegary. An old Commodore 64 propped the pantry door open. She had seen a new computer in his living-room, running a screen saver of Giger babies holding grenades, and wraiths dancing an agony dance.
'I never eat here,' he said. 'As a kitchen, it's useless.'
He emptied trays, washed solutions down the drain, rinsed. Her heart beat hard under the sleazy angora. His body, sleek as a lion's, gave off a male scent, faintly predatory.
While his back was turned, she undid her cardigan. The buttons too easily slipped out of the cheap fuzzy fabric, conspiring with lust.
She slipped it off as he turned around. And felt the draught of the cold kitchen and the surprise of his gaze on her inadequate chest.
He turned away, dried his hands on the kitchen towel. 'Don't fall in love with me.'
'Not at all arrogant, are you?' She wouldn't, wouldn't fall in love. No. That wasn't quite it.
'Not arrogance. A warning. I'm territorial; predators have to be. For a while, yes, I'd keep you around. But sooner or later, you'd interfere with my hunting. I'd kill you or drive you away to prevent myself from killing you.'
'I won't fall in love with you.' Level. Convincing.
'All right.' He threw the towel into the sink, came to her. Covered her mouth with his.
She responded clumsily, overreacting after the long dry spell, clawing his back.
The kiss ended. He stroked her hair. 'Don't worry. I won't draw blood. I can control the impulse.'
She half pretended to play along with him. Half of her did believe. 'It doesn't matter. I want to be like you.' A joke?
He sat on the kitchen chair, pulled her to him and put his cheek against her breasts. 'It doesn't work that way. You have to have the right genes to be susceptible.'
'It really is an infection?' Still half pretending to believe, still almost joking.
'A virus that gives you cancer. All I know is that of all the thousands I've preyed upon, only a few have got the fever and lived to become — like me.'
'Vampire?'
'As good a word as any. One who I infected and who lived on was my son. He got the fever and turned. That's why I think it's genetic.' He pulled her nearer, as if for warmth.
'What happens if the prey doesn't have the genes?'
'Nothing. Nothing happens. I never take enough to kill. I haven't killed a human in over a hundred years. You're safe.'
She slid to her knees, wrapping her arms around his waist. He held her head to him, stroking her bare arms and shoulders. 'Silk,' he said finally, pulling her up, touching her breast. She had nursed Ashley, but it hadn't stopped her from getting leukaemia. Fire and ice sizzled across her breasts, as if her milk were letting down.
'Are you lonely?'
'God, yes. That's the only reason I was even tempted to let you do this. You know, I have the instincts of a predator, it does that. But I was born human.'
'How did you infect your son?'
'Accident. I was infected soon after I was married. Pietra, my wife, is long dead.'
'Pietra. Strange name.'
'Not so strange in thirteenth-century Florence. I turned shortly after I was married. I was very ill. I knew I needed blood, but no knowledge of why or how to control my thirst. I took blood from a priest who came to give me last rites. My thirst was so voracious, I killed him. Not murder, Gretchen. I was no more guilty than a baby suckling at breast. The first thirst is overpowering. I took too much, and when I saw that he was dead, I put on my clothes and ran away.'
'Leaving your wife.'
'Never saw her again. But years later I encountered this young man at a gambling table. Pretended to befriend him. Overpowered him in a narrow dark street. Drank to slake my thirst. Later I encountered him, changed. As a rival for the blood of the neighbourhood. I had infected him, he had got the fever, developed into — what I am. Later I put the pieces together; I had left Pietra pregnant, this was our son, you see. He had the right genes. If he hadn't, he would have never even noticed that modest blood loss.' His hand stroked her naked shoulder.
'Where is he now?'
'I often wonder. I drove him off soon after he finished the change. Vampires can't stand one another. They interfere with each other's hunting.'
'Why have you chosen to tell me this?' She tried to control her voice, but heard it thicken.
'I tell people all the time what I am. Nobody ever believes it.' He stood, pulling her to her feet, kissed her
