Much Ado About Vampires by Katie MacAlister Page B

that he was enjoying himself. Talking with her might be frustrating, but it was also stimulating, serving to eliminate the boredom that hung so heavily over him while he was being completely and utterly miserable.
    She stomped over the three steps to where he stood, poking him on the shoulder. “You killed a woman!”
    “So you said. Which one?” He wondered whether if he kissed her right then, she would kiss him back, or slap him. Perhaps she’d do both.
    She poked him again. “Who knows? She was driving an oxcart.”
    “A what?” Those lips were meant for kissing, even when they were tightened into a line, as they were now. He felt himself grow harder as her scent wrapped itself around him. He wished her legs would do the same.
    “Oxcart. You know, a cart . . . with oxen. And she ran over me and cut off my head, and then you came along, and—”
    “What the hell are you talking about? ” he interrupted, distracted almost to madness by the hot need that swelled inside him. It was tied to the hunger, part of it, yet separate. He stood watching her as she spoke, her hands waving in the air, her mouth—oh, that mouth—singing a sweet siren lure.
    What was this strange sense of want? he wondered to himself. He had felt hunger for blood before, of course. He’d felt the need for sex, as well. He’d even indulged himself with human relationships whenever the loneliness got to be too much to bear. But this strange sense of possession tied to her was all wrong. He didn’t want her, not really. He wanted her blood, nothing more.
    She poked him again and he took her hand, the touch swamping him with the knowledge that he was lying to himself.
    “It was a long time ago, all right? Like . . . at least a couple of hundred years ago. The ox lady was dressed in some sort of a brown skirt and leather bodice. And there was a town, and some sort of a castle on a hill, and you were wearing . . .” Cora bit her lower lip, hiding her thoughts from him.
    I like your Adam’s apple.
    Well, not hiding those thoughts. You truly are the strangest woman I ever met.
    I know. Why do I want so badly to kiss you even knowing you killed that woman right there in front of me?
    Instantly, his gaze dropped to that sweet mouth. I have an even better question. Who the hell are you?
    “My name is Corazon Esmeralda Ferreira, and I am a secretary with my ex-husband’s real estate agency. I am thirty-two, have a sister who’s married to a vampire, and I saw you kill a woman.”
    “An ox woman, yes, I know. What is the name of the Dark One?”
    “Avery Scott. Why did you attack her, Alec? Why did you bite her and bleed her dry?” She wrapped her arms around herself, moving away from him, the faintest hint of horror filling her eyes. “Why did you take what you wanted from her, and just leave her body there on the road like she was nothing?”
    “I don’t know what it is you’re . . .” He started to shake his head, then suddenly stopped. From the depths of his memory, he drew forth the scene she had described. He felt again the heat of the sun on him as he went to woo his Beloved, the scent of the newly turned earth, the sound of cattle lowing peacefully in the distant town where Eleanor lived. It was all idyllic, pastoral . . . until he came across the woman who had just killed his salvation. Slowly, he said, “A woman with an oxcart.”
    “You attacked her.” Cora stared at him, clearly willing him to make the horror go away.
    “How do you know what I did?”
    “I had a . . . for lack of a better word, a vision.”
    He said nothing, just closed his eyes, pain swamping him. He was aware that Cora had moved toward him, but stopped, making a little sound of frustration. He acknowledged it, but the bone-deep anguish the memory of that time stirred still held him tight in its grip.
    “She killed my Beloved,” he said, swaying slightly at all he had lost. Sorrow, agony, and pain burned deep in him, spilling out onto her, but he was