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flushed from their exertions.
Katrina's face showed the burn of his goatee from his aggressive kisses. Perhaps
he should shave it off, anything for her. Now came the part he dreaded. Would
she run screaming from the house? Laugh cruelly in his face? Perhaps yell,
rail, curse and spit? Or would she cry? Georgiana pretty much ran the gambit
when he told her.
    With his own glass
filled, he sat next to Katrina.
    Get it out, tell her. "I am older
than you may think," he began. "Much older. I was born here in
Bennington Bay. In 1851."
    He let the year
dangle out there. She stared at him, her eyes wide and not blinking.
Interesting response. Did she even hear him?
    "I am the result
of a rare pairing of a human female and a male Vampire. I am Dhampyre. Half-Vampire."
    Katrina gazed down
into her wine glass as if looking for answers or maybe liquid courage. She
tipped the glass and almost drank the whole thing in one swallow. Her hand
shook.
    She set the glass
down on the end table. "I see. I knew all this—was too good to be true.
There had to be something wrong. Wrong with you. You’re one of those sick,
deluded emo-goth guys, aren't you? With the fake fangs and the gothic
surroundings, probably even drink real blood. I saw it on Supernatural . These bat-shit crazy—no pun intended—" She
laughed a little too loudly, then sobered. "People who belong to these
secret clubs. And the women who screw them are fang-bangers. Oh damn, that's
me. That's what I get for picking up a guy in a pub." She reached for her
purse as if to leave. Tristan reached out and stilled her hand.
    "Wait. Let me
explain." She dropped her purse and lowered her head again. "Please,
Katrina. I speak the truth. My father is a Vampire, there are a few of us
living in this village, and I am not the only Dhampyre. Look around you. Do you
see a gothic castle with cobwebs and torches on the wall? That is Hollywood
myth, pure Bela Lugosi. Not my Clan, not in any way. My father is not from
Romania or Transylvania, he's Irish. I do have fangs and they are not
fake."
    She looked up at him
then with tears in her eyes, her eyebrows knotted in confused anger.
    "Then show me.
The fangs."
    He closed his eyes
briefly and exhaled. "I can't command them. This isn't stupid pet-tricks.
They descend for a myriad of reasons."
    Katrina crossed her arms.
She was clearly miffed and disbelieving. He supposed he should be thankful she
hadn't run out of the house yet but he could sense she was ready to bolt.
    "They lower when
I crave blood, but since I am only half-Vampire, the need varies from a few
times a month to a few times a week. If I feel threatened or when I am
extremely turned on, like last night. Vampires when in the zone experience what
we call ‘The Rapture.’ Dhampyres can experience it as well. It is a total and
complete joining of body, heart and soul. It is like we are in another
world."
    Katrina's head
snapped up. "Is that your explanation for not answering me while you were
pounding into me last night?"
    He winced. "Yes,
we lose all track of time. I didn't even know how long we had sex or how many
times I made you come. It is like I am floating in an artery surging with
blood, all I see is red—"
    Katrina stood then
and grabbed her purse. "Oh for Christ's sake! This is stupid! I'm not
listening to any more of this. And for your information, it was six
times."
    Tristan reached for
her wrist so fast she gasped aloud.
    "Do not
leave," he growled.
    Katrina struggled in
his iron grip. "Oh, is this where you rip my throat out and drink my
blood?"
    A vision of Raynor's
bloody night came roaring back, and he tamped down the horrific images.
    "Of course not.
We are not killers. Please—" He softened his voice. "All I ask is you
hear me out. I will answer any questions you may have. Sit."
    Katrina plopped down
on the sofa again and dropped her purse. "I can't believe I 'm listening
to this. Okay, Count Chocula, are there other Vampires besides your little 'Clan'?"
She made