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tingle all the way to my toes. Then he whispered, “You really are a cruel woman.”
    I pushed him, and, to my relief, he backed up a couple of steps. “Just remember that,” I said primly.
    “Oh, I will,” he said, baring that feral grin. “I like it down and dirty. Rough. Hard. Mean.” His toothy grin widened. “I think you’re the perfect woman for me.”
    I drove Tez to his car, parked at the Thrifty Sip. The convenience store had been abandoned for a long time, and due to an accidental dragon fire, it was now just a burned-out shell. I gave Tez directions to the Old Sass Café and agreed to meet him there in a half an hour. He had no problem shedding the robe and redressing right there next to his car.
    I’d already seen him naked, and I very much enjoyed staring at his impressive form. The problem, of course, was resisting the urge to touch all those muscles. Not to mention the things my mouth wanted to do him.
    I looked in my rearview mirror. “Who are you?” I whispered. “Where’s proper Elizabeth Silverstone Bretton?”
    I left before Tez witnessed my drooling—and encouraged me to do something about it. I had lust issues, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do about my overwhelming attraction. I couldn’t recall ever imagining a lover falling into a vat of chocolate, which I then laved from him, ankles to lips. What about Tez inspired such fantastical thoughts?
    For a vampire with lack of body temperature, I felt unaccountably hot.
    I drove to my donor’s home, a five-bedroom ranch on Sanderson Street. Donors often shared domiciles since the turnover rate was so high; most spent limited time as vampire meals. Of course, humans who left Broken Heart had their memories wiped (and new memories implanted). Some stuck around for the long haul, though, and had homes of their own.
    Although some vampires preferred seeking out the same donors, I enjoyed the variety. I arrived at approximately the same time each evening and dined on whoever was available. Had I been given the choice to Turn or to die, I would’ve chosen Turning. Granted, there were sacrifices, but there were also wonderful benefits, and I embraced my vampire nature. Certainly, I sometimes thought about what life would’ve been like had I not become undead. In the more than five years since Henry’s death, if I had not become a vampire, what would I have done with my life? Despite Henry’s libidinous behavior, I did love him. We didn’t have the everlasting love I so often read about in my favorite books, but his passing did put my life into a tailspin. Maybe I would’ve traveled or found someone new to love or… well, the possibilities were many. But I couldn’t dwell on the life I didn’t get to have. I loved Broken Heart and its quirky residents, and I loved my vampire gifts. I did wish, however, that I had a larger purpose, a bigger role to fulfill in this world in which I now lived. But I had yet to figure what, exactly, would make me feel more useful.
    When I arrived at the donor house, Harold Panner met me at the door. He was in his forties with thinning blond hair and a slight paunch. He loved all variations of brown and beige, which frankly did nothing for his coloring. He needed more jeweled tones, more blue, green, or even purple. Harold had been a real estate agent in Tulsa who’d lost nearly everything—his job, his home, and his wife. He’d been on the precipice of suicide when Patrick O’Halloran found him and invited him to become a donor.
    I liked Harold. He was nice. We sat in the kitchen and talked for a little while. Then he shyly offered his neck, and I took my pint. Vampire saliva had a numbing agent to prevent pain, and healing properties to erase the marks left by our fangs.
    After the feeding was over, Harold walked me to the door. He shook my hand, his eyes bright—pleasure was often a residual effect of feeding—and we said our good-byes.
    “Elizabeth!” called a familiar voice. I paused on the