That was what she hated most about being a vampire: feeding from humans.

But it was a necessary evil to survive.

Rose looked around the foyer, trying to orient herself. A small sign saying Kitchen pointed toward the back of the house. She followed it.

Even before she pushed the double-hinged swinging door open, she knew the kitchen wasn’t empty. Her stomach instantly lurched at the smell of the blood that emanated from the room.

Her eyes flew to the person who stood in front of the open refrigerator, a bottle with red liquid at his lips, his head tilted back as he gulped it down. Drops of blood ran down his chin as he drank greedily. He was young, his hair a messy dark mane. He was barefoot and only wore a pair of jeans, exposing his lean hairless chest. His muscles weren’t as defined as Quinn’s; nevertheless his chest was something nice to look at.

The vampire’s head whipped toward her, his eyes flashing red, his fangs extended as he issued a warning growl. Instinctively she backed away. Interrupting a vampire while feeding could be ugly, even though she wondered why he was drinking from a bottle. Had he drained a human earlier and then stored the excess in the refrigerator for a later snack?

“Excuse me,” she whispered and pushed against the door behind her.

With one move he was on her, pinning her against the door frame. She readied herself to counterattack, but he didn’t strike her. He merely sniffed, then pulled back instantly.

Suddenly the color of his eyes changed and his fangs receded. His demeanor turned from predator to shy young man in a second.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Then he shrugged. “Not used to all this yet, you know.”

Rose nodded, not exactly sure what he meant. “No harm done.” She stared past him, where the refrigerator door was still open. On the shelves, neatly lined up stood at least a couple of dozen bottles of red liquid. She pointed her hand toward them. “Are those—?”

“You must be Quinn’s wife,” the man said.

The bottles in the refrigerator were immediately forgotten.

“Quinn’s . . . ?” she choked out. She hadn’t expected Quinn to tell everybody about their relationship. After all, hadn’t he said only hours earlier that they weren’t a couple?

He gave her a startled look. “Well, he said . . . I mean . . . oh God, you’d better leave quickly. He said his wife would join us here, but if you’re not her, then you should get out of here before she shows up. Who knows what she’s like.”

The young vampire nervously looked about the room, then toward the window. “Oh, crap, it’s still daylight.” His eyes darted to the telephone on the counter. “I can call you a blackout van.”

Rose raised her hand. “Hold it.”

“No, you don’t understand. Once his wife is here, I’m sure she’s not gonna be pleased to see that he had some . . . uh . . . some . . . other woman over.”

“I’m not some—”

He cut her off. “Listen, I could hear you fucking when he brought you back, no offense, so don’t deny it. I know he’s a playboy. We all accept that, but for as long as his wife is staying, I’ll make sure none of you . . . uh, women, mess things up. Is that clear?”

Playboy? Great, that was just peachy! Quinn was known as a womanizer. What else was new?

The vampire reached for the phone.

Rose slammed her hand over his, preventing him from picking it up. “I’m his fucking wife!”

As soon as the words were out, she wanted to clamp her hand over her mouth and take the words back. She might be his wife on paper, but she was nothing to him.

The young vampire winced.

“So you are,” a voice came from the door.

Rose stiffened. Oh, shit! Quinn had heard her outburst. It appeared voices carried well in the old house.

“Oliver, may I introduce Rose to you, my wife, who rejected me after I returned from the war as a vampire.”

Despite the calmness with which he’d spoken the words, the accusation was clear. Yes, she had rejected him. Out of fear for her and her daughter’s safety. She needed no reminder of it.

“There is no need to air our grievances with strangers,” she hissed without turning to him.

Quinn’s steps advanced on her until he stood next to her. “But Oliver isn’t a stranger. He’s my prodigy, my son if you wish.”

Oliver stretched his hand toward her. “It’s nice to meet you. Sorry about . . . you know. I didn’t mean what I said. He’s not—”

“You don’t need to make excuses for me, Oliver,” Quinn interrupted. “Rose already has a bad opinion of me. I doubt it can get any worse.”