"Preying on patients is radically unethical."

Trust Britt to view the matter from a skewed angle! She didn't say a word about preying on anyone else. "It doesn't happen often.

And I've done them no physical harm."

Britt pulled into the condominium parking lot and shut off the motor. "Psychological harm?"

"Not that I've noticed. They don't remember, and I don't make a habit of repeating it with the same person. Well-until Alice."Why am I defending myself? Britt is absolutely right; I have no excuse.

"I still don't like it." She made no move to get out of the car. "Whatever you do, professionally, reflects on me. I can't condone exploitation of patients in my practice."

"I'm not arguing the point. I know it was wrong; I did it because I was desperate."

"Who knows, maybe we can discover an alternative. How often do you need to-?"

"Once every two or three weeks," he said. "Not quite enough, but I function on it. The fluid volume is small."

Curiosity danced in her eyes. "How much?"

"Well, I don't measure it!" The spasm of irritation faded. "Sorry, I'm d.a.m.n near exhausted."

She hastily handed him the car keys and unbuckled her belt. "Of course you are. I'm the one who should apologize. Let's go in."

Only the relief that washed over him at being safe behind locked doors told Roger how much anxiety he'd still been repressing. Britt watched in amus.e.m.e.nt as he secured the chain and both deadbolts. "A touch of paranoia?"

"In my situation, it's a survival trait." He poured two gla.s.ses of sherry and sat with Britt on one of the twin couches that faced each other in front of the fireplace. A single low-wattage lamp cast the only light.

"You drink alcohol," she said. "Bela Lugosi was off base. Then you won't mind it in my blood?"

Her coolness in discussing the subject amazed him. "Not in moderation. Listen carefully, Britt-I won't do this without a full disclosure of the risks and benefits. I want your informed consent."

"You sound like a cigarette carton. Fine. Tell me what's hazardous to my health. Anemia?"

"Not from one or two encounters," he said. "If it's repeated too often at close intervals, that could hardly be avoided. Weakening of the immune system can go along with it, leading to frequent minor illnesses. Proper nutrition can offset the effects of blood loss, and I'm told that with plenty of other nourishment, the vampire needs to take very little from the human partner." He took a sip of the sherry. The over-sweet taste made him a little queasy.

"Go on," Britt said. "So it's a matter of quality, not quant.i.ty?" He sensed excitement in her, with a trace of nervousness. The fine hairs in his palms quivered in response.

"That's right." Imagining the "quality" of feasting on Britt's vibrant energy made his jaws ache. "A healthy donor can compensate for the blood loss and energy drain. Other risks are more significant."

"Such as?" She leaned closer to brush her fingertips over his half-healed wound. He shifted away from her touch, unable to repress a visible tremor.

"A long-term donor loses her appet.i.te. Something to do with the mild anesthetic we secrete. But the appet.i.te loss is supposed to be a temporary phase; if one makes the effort to eat well, normal interest in food returns." He struggled to organize his thoughts, focus on everything she needed to know. The vermilion glow of her aura, pulsing in time with her heartbeat, undermined his concentration.

"However, there's a permanent metabolic speed-up. You'd lose weight, though not dangerously. You'd also become abnormally photosensitive."

"That could account for some of the superst.i.tions about vampires' victims becoming vampires."

The quickness of her mind delighted him. "No doubt. But the major negative side effect of our-venom, if you will-is addiction."

Britt leaned forward again, abandoning her drink on the coffee table. "Really? Does a tolerance develop?"

"No, in that sense it's a fairly benign addiction. No increased dose is required, and the euphoria doesn't diminish over time. In fact, it may get more intense."

"Interesting." Her pulse accelerated. Roger didn't dare probe the exact nature of her excitement, whether scientific ardor or something more personal. By now his control was so precarious that he was afraid to touch her.

"The-the vampire also becomes addicted. A powerful psychological dependence. Or so I've been told. The truth is, I only learned about my background a few days ago."

"Then you've never had that kind of attachment?" Britt said. The question seemed to hold strong interest for her.

"No, I haven't dared return to a single donor-oh, h.e.l.l, victim-more than twice. Too much risk of discovery." He felt Britt's pleasure in that answer. Could he hope that she'd offered herself out of some stronger motive than curiosity?

"You mentioned benefits, too," she prompted.

He watched her take a sip of sherry and thoughtfully lick the corners of her lips. Did she guess how she was torturing him? "Enzymes in our saliva are supposed to guard against cardiovascular problems, cancer-minimize the outward signs of aging-" He could hardly think straight, much less deliver a physiology lecture. "Understand, all this applies only to long-term donors."

Britt said, "You're telling me that, contrary to the movies, a single encounter with a vampire isn't likely to have any lasting effect at all. And a long-term relationship isn't necessarily bad."

He nodded. "Is there anything you'd like to ask?" Silly question. "I mean, anything that can't wait?"

Her tone became more serious. "Sandor made certain comments about you-about your feelings for me. Were his observations accurate?"

The pulse pounded in Roger's head. He recognized the feeling as sheer irrational panic. Somehow he managed to say, "Yes, completely."

Britt slumped back against the couch, relaxing into a broad smile. "Well, thank goodness! I didn't really like the idea of being just a snack-any more than I see you as just a parapsychology experiment. Next question: Where's your shower? I'm a mess."

He stood up, dizzy with relief at her open desire for him. Now he recognized part of her excitement as s.e.xual, which solved the quandary that had been buzzing in the back of his mind-whether to complete the act here or invite her upstairs. "Good idea," he said. "You can use the one in the upstairs hall. I'll meet you in the bedroom whenever you're ready."

He carried both their gla.s.ses up with him and got out a towel and a terrycloth robe for Britt. On the way he switched on the thermostat; Britt might feel chilly on an October night without central heating. While she was busy, he showered in the bath attached to his bedroom. By the time he'd dressed in shorts and his royal blue lounging robe, doubts nibbled at him again. Could Britt actually feel as much enthusiasm as he had imagined? Had wishful thinking made him misinterpret her emotions?

And what would she think of the rather garish decor he'd begun to use as a setting for these encounters? He hesitated in the act of spreading an emerald green satin cover on the bed. (Crimson would clash with Britt's hair.) After all, she was far from just one more encounter.

Stop dithering, Roger! As a demon lover, you rate about a one on a four-point scale. Better take lessons from Claude's movies.

After a moment's thought, he decided the atmospheric touches might amuse her. He went ahead and lit the mildly scented candles.

Finally Britt emerged from the guest bathroom. When she halted at the bedroom door, he feasted on the sight of her, with her copper-gold hair tumbling around her shoulders just as he'd fantasized. The terrycloth wrap clung to her lean curves, revealing more than her office wardrobe ever did. The vision made his head spin. Fortunately for his self-control, she broke the spell by bursting into delighted laughter. "Oh, colleague, what is this? Dracula's House of Ill Repute?"

"It is a bit overdone, isn't it?" he said. "The-atmosphere-is supposed to enhance the emotional component of the-exchange."

"Relax, colleague, I love it." She sat beside him on the edge of the bed, picking up her gla.s.s and giving him the other one. "Are you saying you feed on emotions?"

"Exactly. That's why a conscious, partic.i.p.ating donor makes such a great difference."

"Don't worry, I fully intend to partic.i.p.ate. Only you'll have to give me some hints; I've never done this before."

Her flippant tone eased some of his nervousness. "This is a first for me, too. I've never-taken-from anyone who knew what I was. I've always had to put them into a trance, or at least blur their memories afterward."

She placed her free hand gently on his. "The isolation must be-difficult." The sympathy that emanated from her warmed the very marrow of his bones. She drained her drink and said more lightly, "Don't you dare even think about fogging my memory. I plan to concentrate on every detail. Come on, finish your sherry. Maybe it'll reduce some of your inhibitions." He set the gla.s.s on the nightstand. "No, my threshold for alcohol is higher than yours-" He trailed off as she stared at him in mock fascination. "The h.e.l.l with this! If you want uninhibited, you'll d.a.m.n well get it! I'm ravenous-and I want you desperately!"

Her eyes widened in shock when he pushed her down on the pillow. He dove for her throat. His teeth barely touched the tender skin; just in time, Britt's m.u.f.fled gasp brought him to his senses.

He drew back with an effort that left him shaking.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she said, "It's all right, you just startled me. Don't stop."

Humbled by her fearless offering, Roger forced himself to lick the smooth curve of her neck with his customary gentleness. He kissed the thin scratch, then moved a few centimeters over to taste unmarred skin. With his upper body pinning hers beneath him, he felt the hammering of her heart, the expansion and contraction of her lungs. Britt's excitement built more rapidly than he'd expected. Within a minute or two her pa.s.sion had so inflamed his that he couldn't hold back. He nipped her flesh and lapped the trickle of blood in a slow, caressing rhythm.

The ecstasy drowned all discrete perceptions in a single delirious rush. Vaguely he noticed Britt clutching his shoulders, writhing, arching her back. He shifted position to cover her body completely with his, giving her the contact she demanded. He almost blacked out when the explosion of her climax hit him.

She clung to him, trembling, until her pa.s.sion exhausted itself. Immediately Roger broke contact, though his body screamed for more. If he didn't stop now, he feared he might go on drinking forever.

He lay on his back, Britt's head pillowed on his left arm. Applying direct pressure to stop the scant flow of blood, he said, "I apologize-I don't usually behave that-precipitously. You hurried me, with your infernal teasing."

"The h.e.l.l I did!" With a lazy smile she rubbed her head against his shoulder. "Oh, colleague, don't look so distressed. I'll think you didn't like it."

He hugged her close. "But I wanted to give you the kind of experience you must have antic.i.p.ated. I didn't mean to rush."

"Well, the night isn't over yet. Anyway, I have no complaints." She slipped her hand inside his robe to rub his chest. "Is it my imagination that your skin is measurably cooler than mine?"

Good grief, she'd probably go on making scientific observations at the foot of the guillotine! "No, that's accurate. My normal body temperature is around ninety."

"And you aren't perspiring." Britt was; he wanted to lick the salt from her damp forehead but didn't trust himself to stop there.

"We have a more efficient temperature control mechanism than you. It takes a lot more exertion than this to make me sweat visibly.

It evaporates so rapidly you don't notice it."

After a few minutes' silence, during which Britt tickled his chest hair in a tantalizing way that he didn't have the will to make her stop, she said, "You surprised me. Oh, I don't mean when you swooped down on me that way. I mean I didn't expect it to be so- s.e.xual."

"Our libido is less-diffuse-than yours. Everything focuses on the taking of blood."

"An entire species with an oral fixation! How Freudian!" She added more seriously, "What about conventional s.e.xual intercourse?"

Roger's chest tightened. He couldn't start lying to her now. "I'm incapable of it. Vampires breed very seldom, and I'm nonhuman in that respect." Would she withdraw because he couldn't satisfy her?

Britt, however, showed no sign of disappointment. "Then taking blood is like an o.r.g.a.s.m for you?" "Itis an o.r.g.a.s.m, indescribably more intense than the standard model. I share your climax and amplify it-my satisfaction depends on yours."

"Interesting. I've been wondering since the day we met how you'd be in bed, but I never imagined it like this." Her open hand skimmed up and down his chest like stroking a cat. He wished he knew how to purr.

"Youwhat ? Why on earth didn't you-a.s.sert yourself-sooner? You're supposed to be a hard-line feminist."

She dissolved into a fit of laughter. Recovering, she said, "How could I make advances, the way you advertise your fear of intimacy? It was hard enough getting you to go out to lunch once in a while. Besides, if you can read emotions, why didn't you pick up on my interest and save us all this trouble?"

"I've gone to great lengths to keep from getting close to you-avoided touching, barriered myself against your emotions. I-desired you too much to stand that kind of temptation." Confessing his feelings to Britt wasn't as hard as he'd expected. "That accounts for my occasional discourtesy toward you."

"Occasional! Roger, I love your gift of understatement." Her nails grazed his chest. "You know what turned me on about you first?"

He surprised himself by attempting a joke. "If it wasn't my irresistible vampire magnetism, I have no idea."

"It was the 'Haavuhd' accent. Gives me chills-I could listen to you talk for hours."

"From my viewpoint," he said dryly, "you have the accent."

"It's pure Baltimore, hon," she said in an exaggerated drawl.

"That's one piece of culture shock I had to adjust to when I moved here-supermarket clerks I'd never met before calling me 'hon.'"

She raised her head and looked at him quizzically for a second, before snuggling into the curve of his arm again. "You shop at the grocery store?" She answered herself, "Silly me, of course you must. Aside from all the non-food supplies, I've seen you drink milk. Not to mention those vanilla diet shakes at lunchtime. I always wondered why; you sure don't need to lose weight." She ran a hand over the taut muscles that covered his ribs.

"As you've noticed, I can't eat most solid foods. Never have been able to."

"Did you drink blood all your life? I can't imagine how your adopted parents would've dealt with that."

"Good grief, no." The things they had been required to deal with were bad enough. "It started during my internship. I began having dreams of blood. Tried to a.n.a.lyze them out of existence by myself-not exactly something I wanted to mention to the hospital staff, when I was trying to get into a psych residency. I'd wake up with erections, but I'd lost the ability to-ah-relieve the pressure-"

To his dismay, he blushed. "I tried to convince myself the craving was not what it was. I became quite adept at self-deception."

"I bet you did," said Britt. "When did you finally figure out what you needed?"

"Well, it came to a head during my training therapy." He narrated the same experience he'd told to Volnar the previous week.

"You fed on your training therapist? Oh, Roger!" She burst into helpless giggles. When she recovered, she said, "By the way, why are you lying here half dressed?"

"For one thing, I can't move while you're immobilizing my arm."

Britt sat up and untied her wrap. "Well, I'd like to look at you, please. You can look, too, if you want." She leaned over to hang the robe on the bedpost.

Roger was pleased that her professional neatness carried over into her personal habits, but at the moment he was captivated by her bold sensuality. Her nakedness gave him the incentive to remove his robe and shorts. He'd never had any reason to share that intimacy with a donor before. To his distress, he reddened under Britt's direct gaze.

"Maybe you aren't interested in looking?" she said.

"Where did you get that idea? Just because the visual stimulus isn't primary doesn't mean it has no effect." Her full, firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s, flat abdomen, and long legs embodied the perfection he'd always imagined her to possess.

She knelt beside him on the bed. "Sit back and relax; I want to get a hands-on sense of our differences." He humored her, plumping a pillow behind him and leaning against the headboard. Britt's fingers encircled his wrist, while her other hand explored his jawline.

"If you're counting my pulse," he said, "you won't get an accurate reading. Contact with you distorts the results."

"Why, colleague, is that a compliment?" He stiffened as her fingertips played at the corners of his mouth. "Don't be so tense, Roger.

Won't you let me examine your teeth?" He obligingly bared them for her. "No fangs."

"Not necessary. The incisors and canines are razor-edged." She ran her index finger along the front teeth, hazardously close to that cutting edge. He flinched. "Don't-I might-"

Her hand moved to his shoulder. "It's all right, I trust you."

"If I accidentally drew blood, I wouldn't be able to stop. You-tempt me-too much."

"Trust yourself, colleague," she said earnestly, her eyes holding his. "I know you'd never hurt me." She let go of his wrist to trace the inverted triangle of hair on his chest, down to where it tapered to a point at his navel. "Unusual pattern of hair growth. And it's like silk-mmm."