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the main house and slain her mother. Afterward
Doris and Allen had informally adopted her, posing as her grandparents to avoid
questions in the town where they’d made a new home for her. Her mother’s murder
was another reason why some of her kind viewed her bloodline with suspicion. If
a vampire couldn’t protect herself against a couple of mere mortals, did her
genes deserve transmission to the next generation?
    Ingrid sipped the brandy and turned her attention back to
the email. “However, I’ve managed to persuade Leon Marcato to serve as stud for
you. He’ll meet you tomorrow night at a cabin I’ve reserved for you on Big Bear
Lake.” The address followed.
    “Managed to persuade.” I guess I should wallow in
gratitude. She gnashed her teeth. She’d never met Leon but that scarcely
mattered. Any male vampire would ignite with lust when exposed to her
pheromones and that response would ensure that he’d supply what she needed. As
for the cold tone of Morella’s note, that came as no surprise. She’d accepted
the role of Ingrid’s adviser only because, as a distant cousin of Ingrid’s
mother, she considered that task her duty. Morella didn’t try too hard to hide
the fact that she shared the disdain for Ingrid’s “excessively human” behavior,
such as rewarding her victims for their unwitting donations.
    Shaking off these negative thoughts, Ingrid closed the
browser and stood up with a long stretch. She could hardly stand the idea of
waiting until the following night to quench the heat that sizzled in her veins.
Her nerves twanged. She pressed a hand to her mound and moaned aloud. She
couldn’t appease her own arousal the way a human female could. She’d already
tried and only made the torment worse. Maybe a brisk run along the beach
followed by a swim in the chilly Pacific would help after all. Not in the nude,
though. No point in shocking any ephemerals she might encounter and having to
wipe their memories. She hurried into the bedroom and switched her blouse and
jeans for a bikini.
    * * * * *
    Early the next evening, after a restless day of sleep
plagued by scarlet-tinged dreams, she drank a warmed-up unit of blood from the
supply in the refrigerator, followed by a vanilla milkshake for dessert. Milk
gave her sustenance too, though it couldn’t replace blood. Next she flipped
through her closet for something to wear to the rendezvous with her prospective
stud. She settled on a lilac sheath dress that highlighted the violet flecks in
her silver-gray eyes, clung to her willowy shape and contrasted vividly with
the sable hair cascading to the middle of her back. Checking her reflection
after she finished dressing, she had to laugh at herself. What difference did
it make how she looked? Appearance had little effect on a vampire’s appetites.
Her scent would goad her mate to instant lust and the outfit wouldn’t last more
than half a minute.
    Bron would understand why I care how I look. He’d take a
second to compliment the dress before he ripped it off.
    Not that she would consider inviting Bron Griffin to
initiate her. She wouldn’t risk distorting their relationship that way. It had
been Bron, a friend of her mother’s, who’d searched for her after the hunters’
attack, refusing to give up until he’d found her. Grandma Doris and Granddad
Allen had hidden their new home so carefully it had taken Bron ten years to
unearth them. Bron, not Morella, had supplied most of Ingrid’s instruction in
how real vampires behaved. Her foster grandparents had conscientiously ensured
that she knew her true nature despite the human guise she had to live under.
They’d taught her she belonged to a naturally evolved species at the top of the
food chain, not an undead creature diabolically resurrected from the grave.
They’d made sure she didn’t pick up any of the superstitions that handicapped
some of her kind, such as fear of crosses and silver. They’d supplied animals
to nourish her with their blood