Adam huffed, “But I thought we talked about that!”

I chose my words deliberately, in that even voice that seemed to soothe Fitz when he was riled. I ended up sounding like a mother talking her toddler down from a tantrum. “You said if my situation ever changed, I should come talk to you. My situation hasn’t changed. I’m still with Gabriel.”

“But I thought you were going to change that. I thought you were going to leave him so we … I thought we were building on something, Jane, this tension between the two of us. We’re good for each other. I can make you happy. Like that kiss the other night, that meant something.”

“It was a kiss on the cheek, Adam,” I said, alarmed by how quickly he’d gone from a normal tone of voice to this angry whine.

“But it meant something to me, Jane,” he insisted, wrapping his fingers around mine.

“I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression. I’m not the kind of person who dumps one man to be with another.”

Adam’s blue eyes flashed. “But that’s exactly why you should leave him. He’s never around. I’m here. I’m right here. If he cared, he’d never leave you alone.”

Adam’s words stung. And the fact that they were probably true didn’t make me any happier with him for saying them. This was all wrong. It was nothing like what I’d pictured. In my efforts to get away, somehow Adam had maneuvered so that I was backed up against the counter, trapped. With a feverish glint in his eyes, he plunged his hands into my hair and pulled my mouth against his. All of my emotional channels opened wide, sending a flood of images into my head. Adam kissing me in my kitchen. Adam standing in the florist, wondering what sort of flowers I would like. Adam sitting by the phone, dialing my number, and then hanging up before it rang. Adam and me talking at the funeral. But even in these fragile, human memories, I could tell that Adam didn’t really see me, just an exaggerated version of me. My smiles were sharper. My eyes shone with a vicious glint. My boobs were much bigger.

Tentatively, I flexed the invisible muscles in my mind, reaching into Adam’s memory. Images raced through my head, so quickly I couldn’t grab onto any of them. Like a spinner on a child’s game, the muddled pictures slowed to a stop. On Adam, walking into Whitlow’s Funeral Home with his mother’s layered salad. He was wondering how much time he had to spend at Bob’s visitation to satisfy his family’s obligation to the deceased and whether he would be able to catch the final quarter of the ball game when he got home. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me standing across the room with dishes in my hands. I looked vaguely familiar and definitely hot. There was something intriguing about my smile, something sharp and slightly intimidating. He knew he’d seen me around town before, but he couldn’t remember my name. In the corner of my mind where I was able to feel my own emotions, this hurt. He hadn’t had any clue who I was.

In Adam’s memory, he spotted some church friend of his mother’s at the visitation and snagged her arm politely.

“Hi, Mrs. Morse,” he said, displaying his most winning smile. Adam offered a few platitudes about the sadness of the occasion and inquired after Mrs. Morse’s health, even listening and making the appropriate sympathetic noises over her sciatica, before he finally looked in my direction and asked, “That girl over there, holding the coffee cups? Who is that?”

Mrs. Morse, who was a bridge friend of my grandmother’s and therefore had heard a detailed account of every stupid thing I had ever done, made a sour face. “That’s Jane Jameson, Sherry’s girl. I can’t believe she had the nerve to show her face here. And that Ruthie is letting her mix with decent people.” Mrs. Morse sniffed. “Some women just have no sense when it comes to their grandchildren.”

“Why do you say that?” Adam asked.

“She’s a …” Mrs. Morse looked around to see who might be listening and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Vampire. Let herself get turned a few months ago.”

Adam’s eyes zipped back across the room to my face. Jameson—that name sounded familiar to him. He thought maybe he’d gone to school with a Jenny Jameson, a pretty blond cheerleader who was a few years ahead of him. She’d had a sister named Jane. Come to think of it, he thought, I looked a little like that klutzy egghead girl who used to stare at him in math class. God, that girl used to annoy him, always had her hand up, sometimes before the teacher asked a question. But I sure looked good now, and I was a vampire, which was even better. He’d always wondered how far he could get with a vampire, without being bitten. And if I did bite, all the better.

He crossed the room while I had my back turned and deliberately bumped into me. In his mind, I saw my embarrassed smile flash, white and gleaming. “A-Adam, hi!” I stuttered.

Inside his head, he cringed at the sound of my voice. That much he remembered. I was definitely the know-it-all band geek. And I remembered him, as most of his former classmates did, even if he couldn’t recall half of their names. That could definitely work to his advantage—

I broke away from him before I could hear any more. What was worse than the direct memories were the subconscious desires I felt filtering through his brain. Adam wanted to be my pet. Well, not my pet, necessarily, but any vampire’s pet. He wanted the blood play, the dangerous, possibly injurious sex, the whole dominant female package. He could live his normal life every day but explore his darker compulsions at night. He wanted what I could give him.

I felt vaguely nauseated, glaring up at Adam as he grinned expectantly. I’d focused so much energy on this man. I’d thought of him almost constantly for years, never really getting over my infatuation with him, even as an adult. And he couldn’t even remember my name.

This was one of those defining life moments where you feel as if you’re standing on the edge of a slippery cliff with barbells tied around your neck. I could do this. I could be a Marianne. I could be impetuous and adventurous, live in the moment. I had wanted Adam for years. And I could have him, even for a short while. I could throw myself headlong into a fling without thinking of the future or how it would affect the people around me. I could think about me for once. And it wouldn’t be completely superficial. A part of me still hoped for something as human and seminormal as a relationship with Adam. Maybe we could make it work …

And then the Elinor part of my brain kicked in. I would lose Gabriel. I would lose his friendship, his compassion, our conversations, everything I loved about spending time with him. Everything I’d built with him in the last few months would be gone. I would be trading someone who had saved a total stranger for someone who didn’t care enough to remember the name of a girl he’d known since kindergarten. Adam was only interested in me now that I was dangerous. And he was kind of a tool.

Besides, Marianne ended up with Colonel Brandon, the handsome older guy with the mysterious background. And I already had one of those waiting for me. If I lost him, it would be because Gabriel left me, not because I ruined it all for my own personal Willoughby.

“You faked it,” I said, laughing bitterly. “You pretended to remember me at the funeral. All you knew was that I looked like that ‘annoying band geek’ who used to sit behind you in math. You had no idea who I was. You didn’t care enough to remember my name.”

“Yeah, but then I got to know you again,” Adam protested. “And I’m so glad I did, because otherwise, I might have missed out on us.”

“There is no us,” I said, peeling his fingers from my arm with just a tiny bit more force than necessary. “There’s me, and there’s you. And you are about to leave.”

“Jane?”

Dick’s voice sounded to my left, from the back of the shop. He was glaring darkly at Adam, who hadn’t even noticed that someone else had entered the room.

“It’s fine,” I said quietly. Dick stepped back into the office, to be near Andrea. But he was watching over us. I didn’t have to be psychic to see the protective anger he felt toward Adam.

“Is this some sort of punishment?” Adam demanded, flexing his bruised fingers. “Because I didn’t notice you when we were kids? Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t see you. But things are different now. You’re different now, special. I see you. I don’t see anything but you. It’s crazy. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I was something special back then, Adam,” I told him sternly, shoving him back.

“Look, Jane, I’m sorry. We can make this work.”

Adam advanced on me, his intent to kiss me again burning in his eyes. In the best persuasion voice I had ever used, I growled as he scrambled back toward me. “Adam, stop!”

Dutifully, he froze in his tracks. And I had no idea what to tell him. It seemed to go against all of my instincts to send him away, but I didn’t want him anywhere near me anymore. I couldn’t be terribly angry with him. He didn’t want me. As much as that hurt, it wasn’t the crime of the century. Adam didn’t want me. He didn’t know who I was. He wanted some image of me, some imagined persona that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Adam wanting to buck against the hometown-boy role in which he’d been cast. Well, his self-image issues were not my problem.

I led him, biddable as a sacrificial lamb, to the door. I took his shoulders in my hands and forced him to meet my gaze. “I want you to forget about me. Forget about me being a vampire. Forget about you being fascinated with vampires and the whole dark-side-of-the-tracks thing. You should find someone more like you. I want you to find a nice, normal girl, a girl you really like. Not just because she’s sexy but because you genuinely enjoy her company. Get married, have lots of babies, and be happy.”

Denial flickered across Adam’s features. His eyes clenched closed, then sprang open. He shook his head slightly. In a distracted, addled tone, he said, “I have to go.”

“I know.” I nodded and opened the door for him. With my wounded pride, I couldn’t help but feel that it was better than he deserved, telling him to find someone he was compatible with. Part of me regretted not commanding him to stand on the corner of Main Street, naked, singing “I’m a Little Teapot.”

“I have to go,” he repeated. He hesitated as he walked toward the door.

“Yeah,” I said, patting his shoulder, and he stumbled out.

I watched Adam stagger down the sidewalk to his SUV, struggle to pull his keys out of his pocket, and drive away. And I bid good-bye to my last mortal wish.

18

There is no information available on the inner workings of a were bachelor fete. It is assumed that the theory of mutually assured destruction prevents discussion by the participants.

—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were

By Adam standards, Gabriel was downright charming, even when you took the blood drinking and tree related killing into account. Now well aware of how good I really had it, I launched myself at him when he knocked on my door that night.

And he promptly untangled himself from my arms and set me on my feet.

Crap.

“Jane, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Gabriel had that “You’ve disappointed me” look on his face, which put me in an immediate confessional mode. “I forgot to tell my grandmother that she’s marrying a ghoul.”

Gabriel shot me a withering glare. “Jane.”

“Fine, fine, I didn’t forget. I just haven’t found a way to do it yet. I’ve had a lot of other stuff on my mind. Mr. Wainwright’s funeral, the shop—”

“Let me rephrase. Would you like to tell me why Dick called me to recommend that I track down an Adam Morrow and, quote, ‘put a boot up his ass’ because of something he did at the shop?” he demanded, fangs fully extended, eyes flashing silver. “Or why you positively reek of another man?”

“I’m sensing an uncalled-for tone,” I warned him.

“What do I have to do to make my feelings clear to you, Jane?” he thundered. “Are you deliberately trying to drive me insane? Am I going to have to follow you around town, staking my claim against your many admirers?”

“Which question do you want me to answer first?” I asked.

“I would like to know what your plans are for Mr. Morrow,” he spat. “You said yourself that you had fantasies about him when you were young.”

“Schoolgirl fantasies,” I corrected him. “I said ‘schoolgirl fantasies,’ emphasis on the schoolgirl. I haven’t been a schoolgirl in several years.”

Gabriel’s voice softened, responding to my quiet, cool tone. “He was the first boy you ever loved, even if it wasn’t reciprocated.”

“Thank you for putting it that way, very sensitive.” I glared at him.

“And maybe some part of you is encouraging his attentions,” he said, “whether it’s to fulfill those fantasies or to avenge the rejected gawky girl you once were.”

I stood gazing at him in shocked silence.

“You said you were gawky. Those were your words, not mine.” Gabriel said, sounding slightly panicked when faced with my angry expression.

And suddenly, I was exhausted. All of the confidence in our relationship that I’d felt before just evaporated. Was this ever going to end? Couldn’t I just have a normal, calm conversation with my boyfriend? Would he ever stop using that disappointed-father voice on me? I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice as calm and even as possible. “I thought we’d settled this. I don’t want to be with anyone else, Gabriel. I only want you. Adam made an overture, and I let him know that I didn’t want anything to do with him.”