The sound of the toast popping caught his ear, and G.G. turned to snatch the hot pieces of crusty bread out of the toaster. He dropped them on the plate and began to slather them with butter.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
G.G. shook his head in answer, but then realizing she was watching what she was doing and not looking up to see the smallmovement, he said, “No. Only child.”
“Your mother and Robert haven’t had a child of their own yet?” she asked with surprise.
“Not yet,” he said easily, and then smiled faintly and added, “But I’m sure they will. I think my mother just wanted to waituntil I was grown up. Or maybe they just wanted to enjoy each other for a while before getting into diapers and teething.”Finished buttering the toast, he set the knife aside and carried the plate to where she was working, adding, “I can’t imagineteething is fun with fangs.”
Ildaria chuckled at the suggestion. “No. I don’t suppose it is.”
He watched her finish with the onions and gather those up to throw in with the peppers and then commented, “Come to that,I doubt breastfeeding is fun with fangs either.” After a brief pause he added thoughtfully, “Or maybe not. Like mortal babies,immortal ones probably don’t have teeth when they’re born.”
Ildaria seemed to consider his words seriously for a moment, and then confessed, “I don’t know. But the job of the nanos isto see to our well-being. That means getting blood. Immortal babies need blood too, so they might be born with fangs alreadyin place.”
G.G. grimaced at the thought of a cute little cuddly baby with fangs. Except . . . “Your fangs don’t show though. I mean, unless you’re using them. They just look like normal canines until they shift and drop or whatever it is they do.”
“True.” She grabbed a spatula from the metal canister full of cooking utensils and used it to move the diced peppers and onionsaround in the pan. “So maybe they’re born with their fangs looking like canines as ours do.”
“I’m guessing from your words that you’ve never seen an immortal baby either?” G.G. asked now, curious.
“No,” Ildaria said quietly. “I lived in the poorer areas of the Dominican Republic. The immortals I knew couldn’t afford tobuy enough blood to feed themselves properly, let alone a baby. And unlike mortals, they don’t expect the government or othersto pay for them or their offspring. They simply do not have children.”
“And lure tourists out to international waters to feed themselves,” he suggested dryly.
Her gaze slid to meet his, unrepentant and a little cold. “Do not expect me to apologize for doing what I had to, to survive.A lion doesn’t feel guilty for eating a zebra, and I don’t feel guilty for what I’ve done. At least, my donors survived, andI made sure they always left with the memory that they had fun and were happy. Which is more than you can say for the poorzebra.”
“Even the ones who attacked you?” he asked.
Ildaria’s mouth firmed, anger flashing briefly across her face before she had it under control. “Even they left feeling happyand believing they had a good time.” Turning back to the pan, she muttered, “Though they didn’t deserve it.”
G.G. immediately felt bad, but when he opened his mouth to apologize, she suggested, “You should put your toast in the oven on low so it doesn’t get cold. This will be another minute.”
Sighing, he carried the plate to the oven, set it inside and turned the knob to warm. Feeling something rub against his legthen, he glanced down and spotted H.D. pawing at him.
“Hey, buddy,” he murmured, scooping him up again. Rubbing the little beast affectionately between the ears, he carried himback to where Ildaria was working. She’d turned the heat down under the peppers and onions, and was now grating cheddar cheese.
“I can do that for you,” G.G. offered.
Ildaria hesitated, but then set the grater and cheese in the bowl, and pushed the whole thing toward him before reaching foranother bowl and the eggs.
Setting H.D. down again, G.G. began to grate cheese, but his mind was chasing itself in circles in search of something tosay to get them back to the relaxed and happier state they’d been in before he’d said something stupid. In the end, stickingto business seemed the safest bet and he began to explain the accounting methods he used in England and what would have tobe done to satisfy the Canadian government when it came to taxes. She listened, occasionally commenting, or asking a questionas she continued to cook, and it seemed like no time at all had passed before she was sliding a beautiful, perfectly formedomelet stuffed with cheese, peppers, and onions onto a plate and topping it with a dollop of salsa.
“Grab your toast, and sit down wherever you’re going to eat. I’ll fetch you a coffee,” Ildaria said as she pushed the plate toward him.
G.G. didn’t argue. The aroma coming off the omelet was heavenly and he couldn’t wait to try it. Carrying the plate to theoven, he opened the door and started to reach in, but paused when a dish towel appeared in front of his face.
“It will probably be hot,” Ildaria pointed out, placing the folded dish towel in his hand.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and used the cloth to grab the plate. Since he could feel the heat through the layered material, itseemed obvious the cloth
