"You what?"

Rachel gaped at her handsome host, her hands squeezing the loofah-on-a-stick she had hidden under the blankets. It was a pretty pathetic weapon, but the only one she'd managed to find. Thinking that even a pathetic weapon was better than none she'd crawled back into bed hoping that a loofah combined with a surprise attack would be enough to save her from anything untoward. She'd huddled under the blankets until a knock had sounded at the door.

Her "Yes?" had held a startled note. It had revealed her surprise at the courtesy of him not barging in.

The blond man Etienne had entered, and Rachel had watched him warily. Much to her relief, he'd come alone. Then he launched into a long drawn-out story about how he was indeed her crispy critter, as well as the rifle-wound victim from work. She had sat in amazed silence as he explained that she had indeed been felled while trying to save him from the ax-wielding madman Pudge, and that he had saved her in return by turning her into a vampire like himself and the rest of his family.

"I turned you to save your life," Etienne repeated, a hopeful expression on his face.

Did he expect a thank-you? Rachel stared at him blankly for a moment, then gave up her huddled position under the blankets. She swept irritably from the bed.

Etienne Argeneau, as he had reintroduced himself, took a wary step back, but Rachel had no intention of going near him. The man was obviously mad.

Beautiful but mad, she thought grimly as she crossed the room to the set of double doors she hoped was a closet. And she was not now a bloodsucking demon.

"Not a bloodsucking demon," the man agreed with exaggerated patience, making Rachel realize she was muttering her thoughts aloud again. "A vampire."

"Vampires are dead people. Soulless dead people who continue to exist," Rachel snapped. She dragged the double doors open to reveal that beyond was indeed a closet. She surveyed its contents as she continued, "They are soulless bloodsucking demons. And they are fiction. They aren't real."

"Well, the soulless bit is fiction. We are--What are you doing?" he interrupted himself to ask.

She was sorting through the clothes on hangers. "Something I should have done a long time ago. Looking for something to wear." She dragged out one of his dress shirts, considered it, then tossed it onto the bed.

"I could--"

"Stay where you are!" Rachel warned. Glaring at him until he stopped, she turned back to the closet.

"Look," he said soothingly, "I realize this is upsetting, confusing, and perhaps--"

Rachel spun. "Confusing? Upsetting? What could be confusing or upsetting? You're a vampire. And there's a madman out to get you. But he's not a madman, because you really are a vampire," she pointed out grimly. Then she added, "Oh, and we musn't forget he accidentally axed me trying to get to you, so you turned me into a vampire too. Now I'm a soulless bloodsucker damned to walk the night and suck neck." Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the closet. "I have to get out of here."

"We don't 'suck neck'," he said, as if the very suggestion were asinine. But when Rachel turned to arch an eyebrow at him, he added reluctantly, "Not much, anyway. Only in emergencies. I mean, we do everything to avoid--Well, there is the occasional rogue vampire who..." He came to a halt, looking distressed.

Rachel shook her head and muttered, "Completely bonkers. Looney-bin boy."

"No, really," he said. "What I mean is that we all invested in blood banks when they came into existence. In fact, it was one of our kind who came up with the idea of blood transfusions. He mentioned it to Jean Baptiste Denis, and the fellow tried it and... Well, it doesn't matter. The point is, we have our blood delivered. See?"

"Look, I..." Rachel paused as she turned toward him. Her gaze landed on the minirefrigerator he had opened. Her eyes widened incredulously. There had to be a dozen bags of blood inside.

"Bastien stopped and picked up a couple dozen pints on the way here last night," Etienne explained. "For you and I both. We weren't sure how much you'd need for the change and healing and such. We figured you would need four or five bags to heal, but the full turning can be tricky. How much you need for that depends on how much damage your body has sustained over the years. You seemed relatively healthy, but there are always cancers, heart disease, et cetera." He eyed her stunned expression warily, then took out a bag and explained, "It isn't as pleasant as fresh, warm blood from the source, but it can be consumed much the same way."

As she stared in disbelief, he lifted the bag and opened his mouth. Rachel gasped in horror as his teeth extended, and he plunged them into the bag.

The blood immediately began to disappear as if drawn up through the teeth.

Still drinking, Etienne reached down and retrieved another bag, to hold out for her. "Unh?"

She supposed it was an invitation. Rachel wanted to laugh. She wanted to howl hysterically at this madness and return to ignoring him and ransacking his closet, but that unnamed yearning from earlier was again clenching and cramping her belly. Even worse, as the tinny scent of blood wafted around her, she could feel something odd happening inside her mouth. There was a strange sensation of shifting--not painful, more just a sort of pressure, but strange to say the least. Then she felt a sharp prick on the edge of her tongue. Startled, Rachel opened her mouth and felt around.

"Oh, God," she breathed as she felt her canines protruding down from between her other teeth. Lurching away from the closet, she rushed for the bathroom and hurried to the mirror. Horror coursed through her at the sight.

"It must be a trick," she said desperately.

"It's not a trick," Etienne assured her. He'd followed her into the bathroom. "Bastien looked into it today and said that sometimes the turning is relatively fast. The teeth are the first major change. Soon you'll be able to see better in darkness, hear better, and... stuff," he finished vaguely.

Rachel shifted her gaze to his reflection in the mirror, then paused, distracted by the realization that she could see it. Etienne stood directly behind her, and his shoulders, neck, and head were plainly visible.

"Vampires don't have reflections," she argued. It was a rather desperate point to make, but Rachel was desperate.

"A myth," he informed her, then smiled. "See? You can do your makeup."

Somehow that didn't seem very reassuring. Rather than relax, Rachel felt herself slump unhappily. "I'm dead."

"You aren't dead," Etienne said patiently. "I turned you to save your life."

"Oh--thanks a lot, buddy. Kill me to save me. Perfect male logic." She cursed. "I guess that trip to Hawaii is off. Shoot! And I just found a swimsuit that didn't make me look like Godzilla."

"I didn't kill you," Etienne repeated. "Pudge--"

"Pudge? The guy in army fatigues?" she interrupted. The man's image rose in her mind, wielding his ax, and Rachel frowned. She glared at Etienne in the mirror. "Jeez, I should have let him hack your head off. At least then I wouldn't be dead and soulless."

"You are not soulless," Etienne argued. His patience was obviously beginning to fray. "Pudge wounded you mortally. To save your life, I had to turn you."

"I don't feel soulless." Rachel leaned close to the mirror and pulled her lips back in a snarl, then poked at her new teeth.

"You aren't soulless."

Rachel ignored him and began to search the vanity. What she wanted was pliers, but of course, she had no expectations of finding any. The best she could do was a pair of nail clippers. She found a small one and a large one. Rachel chose the larger pair and leaned into the mirror.

"What are you doing?" her host shrieked. He snatched the clippers from her when she tried to catch the end of one of her new teeth and pull it out.

"I don't want to be a vampire," she snapped. She would have grabbed the clippers back, but he was holding them out of reach.

Turning away, Rachel searched the drawer again, this time coming up with a nail file. She turned back to the mirror and began trying to file down one of the teeth.

"It will just repair itself," Etienne said with irritation. "And it isn't so bad being a vampire."

"Ha!" Rachel grunted and continued to file.

"You'll never age," he pointed out hopefully. "You'll never get sick, never--"

"Never see the light of day," she interrupted sharply. Turning to glare at him, she asked, "Do you know how long I've been trying to get off the night shift? Three years. Three years I've been working through the night and not able to sleep during the day, and just when I get promoted to a day position, you turn me into a night walker!" Her voice rose with each word until

Rachel was shrieking. "You have doomed me to an eternal night shift! I hate you!"

"You can go out in daylight," Etienne said. But he didn't sound very sure about it, and Rachel concluded that he was just trying to calm her down. She didn't bother to call him on the lie. Her mind had already moved on to other vampire do's and don'ts.

"Garlic!" Her eyes widened incredulously. "I absolutely love garlic, and now I can't--"

"You can eat garlic," he interrupted. "Really, that's just another myth."

She couldn't tell if he was lying or not and so she eyed him consideringly. "What about church?"

"Church?" He looked blank.

"Can I go to church?" she asked slowly, as if he were an idiot. "My family has attended mass together every week for my whole life, but vampires--"

"You can attend church," he assured her, seemingly relieved. "That's another myth. Religious articles and places have no ill effects on us."

He had obviously expected this news would please her. It didn't. Rachel's shoulders slumped again. "Great," she said. "I was hoping to have a good excuse to miss mass from now on. Father Antonelli is way long-winded, but even Mom wouldn't have insisted on my going if I was going to burst into flames or something equally embarrassing the minute I walked through the doors." Rachel heaved out a dejected breath. "I guess there are just no positives to this deal."

Etienne frowned. She suspected he had preferred her anger. "Of course there are positives," he said. "You're alive. And you'll live for... well, a long time. And you won't age, and--"

"You already said that," she pointed out dryly. Pushing past him, she walked back into the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Etienne sounded anxious, and he followed her.

"Finding something to wear." Rachel paused halfway across the room. "Unless my clothes happen to be around here somewhere?"

He shook his head. "They were blood-soaked. Ruined, I'm afraid."

"Hmm." Rachel turned back to the closet. "Then I'll just have to borrow clothes of yours. I'll replace them."

Etienne frowned but remained silent as Rachel ransacked his wardrobe. Apparently forgetting she had already chosen one, she snatched another long-sleeved white dress shirt and a pair of pants, then marched back to the bathroom. Out of pure instinct, Etienne started to follow, only to nearly get his nose broken when the door slammed in his face.

"I'll wait out here," he muttered.

"Good thinking," she responded through the barrier.

Etienne scowled at his bathroom door and listened to the rustle of clothing. He supposed she was stripping. A quick image flashed in his mind of her untying the sheet and letting the material drop down over her pale round breasts, her belly, her hips, her... He shook himself.

Etienne knew exactly what she looked like naked. He hadn't been strong enough to help when they returned home with her from the hospital, but neither had he been strong enough not to watch as Bastien and his mother undressed her, tended her wounds and cleaned her up, then put her in his bed. He had a very good idea of what she would look like now beyond that door. Her pale skin and red hair would be complemented by the blues of the bathroom. Her muscles would stiffen and tense as she tossed the sheet aside and began to don the overlarge shirt, his favorite...

Etienne was really getting into the vision when the door suddenly opened. Rachel stopped abruptly and scowled when she found him standing there.

He cleared his throat and offered a crooked smile. "That was fast."

"Move."

"Yes, of course." He stepped quickly to the side and watched her pass. The pants were far too large and hung like a sack from her hips. She had tucked the shirt inside, then tied the waist of the pants into a knot, but as she walked back to the closet, the material unknotted and dropped from around her waist.

Etienne's eyebrows flew up as the pants fell down. Rachel stopped walking, and he was sure she scowled as she peered down at the garment now pooled around her ankles. He was scowling himself--not at the pants falling, but because the shirttail had dropped just as quickly, obstructing his view. It was rather disappointing. He still got a nice view of her legs, however. Lovely legs.

Muttering under her breath, Rachel stepped out of the pants and continued forward. "I'll need shoes."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"I can hardly leave barefoot. Could you call me a cab?" She bent to survey the shoes in his closet.

"No."

Rachel glared at him rebelliously. "Then I'll call one myself."

"I mean, no, you can't leave," he explained.

She turned to face him fully, her eyes narrowing to slits. There was no doubting her irritation. "Look, I was thinking while I changed."

"It must have been a fast think," he commented.

She ignored his sarcasm. "And you know, while you had me going at first, I've realized that none of this is true. The jig is up. It's over. You might as well let me go."

"None of what is true?" he asked with surprise.

"The vampire bit. I can't be a vampire. There is no such thing."

"Yes, there is. I'm one."

"No. You're crazy. You just think you're a vampire, like those people who think they're werewolves but are really suffering from lycanthropy. You're obviously suffering from a vampire version of that. Vampanthropy or something."

Etienne rolled his eyes. "I see. So... what about your teeth?"

Her mouth tightened, and she looked uncertain for a moment.

To press the point, Etienne moved to the small refrigerator and grabbed the bag of blood he had offered earlier. He used the long nail on his baby finger to slit it open and moved closer.

When the smell reached her, what Etienne had expected happened: her teeth slid out, lapping over her lower lip--a usual reaction in the newly turned, from what he had heard. It would take her a while to gain control of her body's new instincts. Gasping, Rachel covered her mouth and ran for the bathroom.

Etienne followed. He stood behind her as she examined herself in the mirror, and he knew there was trouble when she suddenly relaxed.

"What?" he asked warily.

"Vampires don't have reflections," she repeated. "But I do." She met his gaze in the mirror and smiled. The expression looked rather evil with her new canines.

"A myth," he reiterated.

"No. It's proof that I'm not a vampire." She sounded incredibly firm on the point.

"And the teeth?" Etienne asked.

That point seemed to stymie her for a moment, then she relaxed again. "I'm dreaming," she answered. "This isn't happening at all." She turned to face him, her smile brilliant. "I'm dreaming of you, because I found you attractive when they brought in your corpse. I made you a vampire in this dream because it's the only way a dead man can live. Well, sort of live."

She frowned over that paradox, then added, "And in the dream, I've become a vampire too, so that I can be with you."

"You find me attractive?" Etienne asked, pleased.

"Oh, yes," she admitted airily. "It's the first time I've ever found a dead man attractive. Perhaps that's part of the reason for this dream too. It's rather weird to be attracted to a corpse, so maybe I had to give you life in this dream to deal with the fact that I found you so attractive." She tilted her head, considering. "Anyway, you are the most gorgeous corpse I've worked with."

"Really?" Etienne smiled. No one had ever told him he was a gorgeous corpse before. Of course, he wasn't a corpse and he should really explain, he told himself.

"Well," she sighed. "What do we do now?"

Etienne blinked. "Do?"

"Yes. What happens next in my dream?" She examined him with interest. "Is this a wet dream?"

"What?" He gaped at her.

"Sorry, I suppose you don't know any more than I do, since you're just a part of my mind symbolizing my attraction to the real you--but I'm not really sure how this works. I've never had a wet dream before. My friend Sylvia has them all the time, but I haven't... that I recall," Rachel said. She smiled wryly and added, "Too repressed. Catholic girl, you know. Confessing wet dreams to old Father Antonelli would just be too embarrassing." She frowned. "This one ought to be a doozy. Might give the poor old guy a heart attack."

"Er..." Etienne found himself suddenly incapable of speech.

Rachel wasn't. "So"--she glanced toward the bed--"since most of this has taken place in a bedroom, I gather it is a wet dream." Her gaze remained on the mattress. "And I presume the fun will take place in this bed. It seems pretty pedestrian compared to Sylvia's dreams, but I suppose that since this is my first one, I subconsciously decided to start slowly."

Etienne choked on his reply.

Rachel went on with a huff of breath, "Since you're not making any moves, you must represent my less aggressive side." She sounded disappointed, then perked up a bit as she added, "Well, at least this isn't a rape dream. I don't think I'd care for that."

"Uh," Etienne said.

"Oh, wait! This makes perfect sense. I'm a control freak. I probably need to be in control for a wet dream to work. That's probably the only way I'd be comfortable having one." She glanced at the bed again, then nodded. "Well, let's get to it. I can hardly wait to tell Sylvia. She's always so smug about her dreams. The guy does exactly what she wants, and it's always terribly exciting. The best sex ever. Real men can't compare."

Rachel moved toward him as she spoke but looked a bit at a loss when Etienne took a nervous step back. She spoke again, some irritation in her tone. "I know I have some control issues, but a little aggression wouldn't go amiss."

"I don't think--"

"Don't think, then," she suggested. She leaned up to kiss him.

Etienne froze at the feel of her soft lips moving over his. Hunger rose in him, but he didn't dare act on it. Rachel was confused, thinking she was asleep. He had to convince her otherwise--as much as that sucked.

"I've figured out I'm supposed to be the aggressor, but a little help would be nice," Rachel muttered against his lips. Giving up on kissing him, she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bed. "Perhaps it would help if we were horizontal."

"I..." Etienne's words died in a surprised gasp as she tugged, then pushed him over. He barely bounced once on the mattress before she climbed on top and settled down on his groin. She immediately leaned forward, obviously intending to kiss him again.

Fending her off with a desperation born of the fact that he didn't want to fend her off at all, Etienne grabbed her shoulders and stopped her forward progress. "No! Wait. It's not really a dream."

"Sure it is," she countered. "You're my dream guy."

He weakened a bit. She leaned closer, but he caught himself and stopped her again. She broke free, and he struggled to ignore the hands that ran busily over his chest then set to work on the buttons of his shirt. "No, really. I--Oh, you're good at that."

Rachel had his buttons undone and his shirt already open. Her cool hands ran greedily over his chest.

"Lots of experience," she explained. "Often we just cut clothes off, but sometimes we have to undress our corpses. Wow, you have a great body," she commented.

"Well, thank you. Yours is very nice too," Etienne said. His eyes fixed on her straining chest as she slid her hands over him. The top three buttons had come undone and a good deal of cleavage was showing. It was nice cleavage. Very nice. His tongue slid out and ran along his lips when what he really wanted to run it along was the swell of those breasts.

"Well, I don't know if you had such a nice chest in real life," she commented, "but in my dream I definitely gave you a perfect one."

Etienne was congratulating himself over the fact that she found his chest perfect when he felt her hands move to his waistband.

"You must be really hung too. Let's see."

"No!" He let go of her shoulders and grabbed her hands.

Rachel peered at him with disappointment. "No? You aren't well hung? But I want you to be. And it's my dream," she whined.

"No, I meant--" She looked so disappointed that Etienne decided to reassure her. "The men in my family are all well endowed."

"Oh, goody!" Rachel shrugged his hands away and set to work on his pants.

"But we can't do this," he managed to get out. It was almost painful to say.

"Of course we can. It's my dream and I want to," she said reasonably.

"Yes, but... Look, I can't in good conscience allow you to do this while you think it's a dream."

Rachel paused and stared at him, then blew her bangs out of her eyes with a heavy sigh. "Only I would have a wet dream where the guy fights me off."

"It's not a dream," Etienne repeated. "And if you would just accept that this is all real, we could--"

"Okay," Rachel agreed. "It's not a dream." She grinned.

Etienne eyed her warily. "What?"

"It's not a dream, it's a nightmare. But the best darned nightmare I've had in a long time."

"No, it's not a nightmare."

"It certainly is," she disagreed. "It's every woman's nightmare. Waking up in a sexy man's bed only to find he doesn't want you? Definitely a nightmare."

"I do want you," Etienne assured her.

"Oh, good. Maybe it's not a nightmare after all, then." She claimed his lips with her own.

This time, Etienne had no fight left. After a moment's hesitation, he gave in to his desires. The passion that burst to life between them was startling.

Etienne had lived a long time, and sex had become old hat. In fact, his passion for most things had waned over the ages. He'd grown deadly bored with life until recently--until the advent of computers. Those wonderful machines had caught his interest and passion with a vengeance that women hadn't for a long while. But this woman stirred feelings he hadn't enjoyed for centuries. And all with just a kiss?

Etienne was so startled by his body's enthusiastic response, he gave in to it at once, his gentlemanly urges overwhelmed by lust. He released his hold on Rachel's shoulders and slid his hands over her body with hungry caresses impatient at the clothes she wore. With a primitive growl, he caught fabric and tugged, uncaring that he was snapping buttons off his favorite shirt. He didn't possess any bras for her to have pinched, so Rachel wasn't wearing one. It left him free to first gawk at, then cover the round globes of her breasts with his hands.

Rachel broke their kiss with a moan and arched forward into the caress.

"Oh, yes," she breathed, head thrown back and eyes closed. She covered his hands with her own. "I'm good."

"You are, are you?" Etienne asked with a chuckle. He sat up until he could reach her breast with his mouth. Closing his lips over her nipple, he sucked it into his mouth and rubbed the hardening nub with his tongue.

"Oh, Gawdddd I'm good," Rachel gasped. Shifting on his lap, she ground against the erection burgeoning inside his jeans. "Sylvia said wet dreams could be good, but Gawdddd!"

Etienne felt a moment's guilt, but he quickly pushed it aside. She was obviously enjoying her dream, and he had tried to tell her the truth.

His self-justification ended as her hand again found his waistband. This time Etienne didn't try to stop her, instead finding himself sucking in an excited breath, his stomach muscles contracting as she unsnapped the button then lowered the zipper. Her hand had just slipped in when the bedroom door opened. Marguerite stepped inside.

"Well." Etienne's mother's voice was full of dry amusement. "I gather you two are getting along all right."

Etienne groaned. His eyes went to Rachel, who sat up to glance around. Her expression was perplexed when it landed on his mother. "What are you doing in my wet dream?"

"Wet dream?" Marguerite Argeneau shifted her gaze back to her son.

"Er..." was all Etienne said.

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