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The real ones, not the myth.”
    Good question. Maybe garlic didn’t really work. “I know you bite.”
    He gave her a nod that was almost gallant. “We do indeed. What the legends fail to reveal is that not all vampires feed entirely on blood.”
    “You eat food, too?”
    “I do, though not for sustenance. Only for pleasure.” He pushed away from the door and took a step into the room. Her grip on the bedpost tightened. “I was not speaking of food.”
    Quinn’s shoulders hunched reflexively. “What else do you need, then?” Dammit . . . if he said sex . . .
    “Fear.”
    The word reverberated in her head, sending chills rippling over her skin. “What do you mean?”
    “Vampires are not all the same. I am an Emora vamp, as are most within Vamp City. Emoras, like the name would suggest, feed on emotion as well as blood. And require both to survive.”
    “Fear.”
    “For me, yes. Each is different. My master, Cristoff, feeds on pain.”
    Her stomach clenched.
    “A good friend of mine feeds on pleasure.”
    That would be better. Probably. “And you feed on fear.”
    He gave her another of those slow nods just short of a bow. “I do. I scared you intentionally, piccola. And I fed quite well. But I did so with the full belief I would soon glamour you and steal your memory of it. And that is where I failed.”
    She frowned at him. “Why steal my memory of it? Why not keep me afraid if you need fear to survive?” And was she an idiot? Was she trying to talk him into scaring the crap out of her again?
    “Terrified slaves make poor servants. Quaking hands drop things.” He shrugged. “I had believed I could take your memory. Hence my apology for terrifying you when I had no ability to remove that terror.”
    His regret rang true. Which was . . . startling.
    Quinn shrugged. “You weren’t that scary.” Which was an out-and-out lie, but she had her pride.
    To her surprise, the vampire grinned, transforming his face, giving it a boyish charm that did funny things to her insides. Things that had nothing to do with fear. “Now you insult me.”
    She found herself almost smiling in return, which was extraordinary. “Don’t get me wrong, it was a damn good effort.”
    He nodded. “My thanks.” But his amusement remained.
    “So . . .” Her fingers lost their death grip on the bedpost. “You’re not going to bite me again?”
    His smile darkened. “I most certainly will bite you. But I will bring you pleasure when I do so, cara. I have no intention of hurting you.”
    A cool shiver trembled down her spine as she remembered a still from a movie, Dracula holding a scantily clad woman in rapturous thrall as he drained the life from her. Is that to be my fate? Why toy with me if he’s only going to kill me in the end?
    She released the bedpost, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to show her fear even if he seemed to be able to sense it. Feed off of it. Her gaze traveled the room, noting the simple old-fashioned furnishings—a plain maple dresser with an oil lamp, an overstuffed chair upholstered in faded yellow-and-white stripes, the ivory walls dotted with framed floral needlework, and a hardwood floor without rugs.
    “What did you taste when you bit me?” she asked, turning back to him. “Why were you surprised?”
    His amusement faded. “Your blood is nectar. Your taste exquisite, a rare sweetness that laces the blood of far too few humans and makes them particularly desirable to vampires. It is why your attacker nearly drained you.”
    Quinn frowned. “How could he have almost drained me? I feel fine. It takes weeks to recover from that kind of blood loss.”
    “Not if you’ve been bitten by a vampire. A few days. Four at most.”
    Her eyes widened. “How long have I been asleep?”
    “Nearly three days.”
    “Three . . .” She gaped at him, the words sticking in her throat. Three days? Zack. He could be anywhere. He could be dead. No. No, he wasn’t dead. She’d know.