He had their interest now. Again the two shared a look, this one both dubious and intrigued.

Nelson spoke. “If you’re talking about steroids or—”

“Steroids don’t make you heal spontaneously when shot. They don’t enable you to see in the dark without night vision goggles either.”

“What the hell does?”

“Before I show you, I want to know one thing: If I can deliver what I promise, I want our companies to merge. I have the product. You have the capital and the connections.”

Nelson opened his mouth.

Donald placed a hand on his arm. “If you can deliver what you’ve described . . . we’ll get you the money you need. It will be a joint venture.”

“We have a verbal agreement then?”

“We do.”

Emrys rose. “Then I suggest you come with me.”

Bastien watched Melanie wolf down the pot pie and felt guilty that he hadn’t offered her food earlier. “I’m sorry.” He took another bite of the tasty dish.

Sheldon hadn’t lied. The shit was good. Richart was an excellent cook.

What was it with the Immortal Guardians? Wasn’t there anything they didn’t do well?

“For what?” Melanie asked between bites.

They were ensconced in Richart’s cozy dining room. Melanie sat at the head of the table, which was about half the length of David’s, with Bastien on her left.

“I didn’t think to ask if you had dined before you went hunting with Richart and I.”

She waved her fork. “Don’t worry about it. To be honest, I forgot. I do that sometimes.” She sipped her tea. “I get busy, get distracted, go hours without looking at the clock, and just forget to eat.”

“And today was busier and more distracting than most, I would imagine.”

She laughed. “Yes, it was.” She scooped a small brown square onto her fork. “If this pot pie doesn’t contain meat, what do you suppose these little things are?”

He smiled. She must not be a health food nut like the immortals. “Tofu.”

Her face lit with surprise. “This is tofu?”

He nodded.

“I thought tofu tasted like feet. This is delicious.”

He laughed. “I imagine anything can taste like feet if it isn’t seasoned properly.” He sipped his own tea, took another bite of pot pie, and watched her do the same.

When was the last time he had shared a meal with a woman?

As best as he could recall, he had not done so since his transformation. Everything after that had been about survival and avenging his sister Cat’s death.

And helping his fellow vampires.

Inwardly he cursed. He’d been with the immortals for almost two years now and still thought of himself as a vampire on most days.

Melanie grinned. “Which is why I’ve never invited you to dinner. I can’t cook worth a crap.”

As Bastien took another drink, he studied her over the rim of his glass. “You considered asking me to dinner?” He lowered the glass to the table. “Before . . . all of this, I mean?”

She nodded and moved the vegetables around with her fork, eyes on her plate. “I liked talking with you when you came to visit Cliff and Joe.”

He had, too. And, though it shamed him to admit it, he had looked forward to seeing Melanie more than his friends. And not just because she was prettier. “I enjoyed it, too.”

She looked up with a smile. “I probably would have gotten up the nerve to ask you out eventually. I assume you guys are allowed to date?”

Were they? “Richart does.”

She nodded. “And tonight he saved me from having to comb the Internet for a recipe I could actually follow that might satisfy you.”

He smiled. “Cheese and crackers would satisfy me as long as you were my dining companion.”

Melanie reached over and rested a hand on his forearm. “That’s so sweet.”

Bastien took her hand in his and stroked her fingers. “If you say that in front of the immortals, they’ll swear you’re delusional.”

She shrugged. “That’s just because they don’t know you like I do.”

If she thought him sweet, then she didn’t know him as well as they did. And part of him hoped she never would. He didn’t want her to see that side of him.

“Should we consider this a date then?” he teased.

She smiled. “The first of many, I hope.”

Hope had long since abandoned Bastien. “I can’t resist asking . . . how am I doing?”

She squeezed his hand. “Very well. I freely admit I’m smitten. Isn’t that a word someone from your era would use?”

“It is.” And he was beyond smitten.

They tucked into their meal again, hands still clasped.

“I’m curious about something,” he said after awhile, almost afraid to break the silence it was so pleasant.

She raised her brows in question.

“How did you come to work for the network? I’ve never learned how exactly they go about recruiting members.”

“They didn’t so much recruit me as find me,” she said. “My freshman year in college, my roommate was killed in our dorm room.”

Considering how prevalent violence was in society, he didn’t know why that surprised him as much as it did. “I’m sorry. Were you harmed?”

“No. It happened while I was out cramming with my study group. I found her body when I returned to our room.”

“Were you close?”

“Not really. She pretty much annoyed the crap out of me, always blasting music and bringing guys over to screw while I was trying to study my ass off so I could keep my academic scholarship. I was the nerd to her party girl, I guess you could say. She had moments when she wasn’t the worst roommate in the world. Not nearly as many as I would’ve liked, but . . .” She shook her head. “Irritating or not, I would never have wished that on her.”

“Of course not.”

“Usually the cops look first at the boyfriend, but she hadn’t been seeing any one guy exclusively. MPDC ruled me out quickly because everyone in my study group alibied me. Detectives asked me to submit a DNA sample, though, so they could run it against the DNA the crime scene unit collected, exclude me and Dana, and see what they were left with. When I did, all hell broke loose. They said there was something up with my DNA, that they had found something in it that didn’t make sense or didn’t belong.”

Bastien tightened his hold on her hand. “Are you a gifted one, Melanie?”

She nodded. “They wanted me to go to the hospital so they could run some tests. I was freaking out, thinking I had some sort of incurable genetic disease or something.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Then two men showed up and introduced themselves as Chris Reordon and Seth. All of the medical personnel got these weird blank looks on their faces, turned, and filed out of the room.”

“Seth erased their memory of you?”

“Yes. And Mr. Reordon took care of the physical evidence, both that collected by the police and any mention of it in their computers. I still don’t know how he did that.”

“He may be an asshole, but I’ve heard he can work wonders.”

“He did. They explained what I was, why I was different and, when I mentioned I was interested in studying medicine, Mr. Reordon asked me if I’d like a job. I said, hell yes. The network took over paying my college tuition and . . . the rest is history.”

Bastien wondered if Chris’s knowing her so long would be a plus or a minus now that she wished to pursue her attraction to him. Would Chris feel betrayed and be all the more pissed? Or would he be less inclined to extend his distrust of Bastien to include her?

“What is your gift?” he asked curiously. He hadn’t noticed anything during the time they had spent together.

She wrinkled her nose. “Precognition that’s really too weak to benefit me. Sometimes I know the phone is going to ring before it rings. Or that a package will be delivered. Or just when and where to swing a bar stool to break up a fight between a hardheaded immortal and his vampire friend.”

He smiled. No wonder she was so good at anticipating vampires’ moves.

“Sometimes I’ll get an . . . uneasy feeling . . . when something bad is about to happen. I felt it the night my parents were killed in an accident. I felt it the day Vincent had his last break. I felt it the night Dana was killed.”

He mulled that over while he finished the last few bites of pot pie. The younger the immortal, the weaker his or her gift. Seth said it was a result of the gifted ones’ bloodline being diluted many times over with that of ordinary humans. Sarah hadn’t even realized she had a gift, which was actually a little bit similar to Melanie’s. Sarah’s dreams were prophetic, just not literally so. According to what he’d heard at David’s, there were always symbols that needed to be deciphered. If, say, she and Roland were about to face a life and death situation, Sarah didn’t see it unfold in her dreams as it would happen in the days that followed. Instead she dreamed about tornadoes or some shit.

“Did you feel any uneasiness before we went hunting tonight?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought it was nerves. And concern. I was worried about you and excited about spending time with you and nervous about hunting vampires for the first time . . .”

He was such an ass. Melanie had an internal shit’s-about-to-happen warning system and he was jumping up and down inside because she had been excited about spending time with him.

“I also wasn’t sure how to bring up the whole I’m a gifted one thing,” she continued. “I didn’t want it to seem like . . .” She gave an embarrassed laugh and started to withdraw her hand.

Bastien didn’t let her. “Tell me.” He could feel her reluctance to tell him and wanted to know what was causing the flush to creep up her neck.