He lifted one expressive black brow. "No?"

"No."

"All right, little flower. Have it your way."

"You didn't come here looking for me, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did."

Flustered by his answer, she could only stare at him. She didn't have a lot of experience with men. Because she was their only daughter, her parents had always been overly protective of her. The boys had been able to do pretty much whatever they wanted, but not Daisy. They had refused to let her date until she was sixteen, and then only once a week. Daisy had always believed it was due to the escapades of her two brothers that her parents insisted on meeting the young men she went out with. Not only did they insist the guys she dated call for her at the house, but they insisted they pick her up at the door. No honking the horn, or waiting in the car. Not only that, but her parents had given her a stringent midnight curfew. Daisy had argued that whatever she could do after midnight, she could do before midnight, but that hadn't swayed her mom and dad in the least. They had enforced the curfew until she turned eighteen. She had only had two serious relationships since then. The first had come to a screeching halt when she went to Stan's apartment and found him in bed with another woman; the second had ended when Blake refused to take no for an answer. Daisy's adamant refusal to go to bed with him had surprised them both. The night she had gone to Blake's condo, she had been certain she was ready to bid farewell to her virginity, certain that she wanted Blake to be the one to show her what all the fuss was about, but when the time came, she just couldn't do it. And it was all her mother's fault. If a man really loves you, her mother had said, he will never ask you to surrender your virtue outside of marriage. Remember, once the deed is done, it can't be undone.

After taking a deep breath, Daisy admitted, "I was looking for you, too."

"I'm glad we got that cleared up. Perhaps the next step would be a real date, where I pick you up at your house."

"Not until I know you better," she said primly.

"What do you want to know?"

"Your last name. Your age." He didn't look much older than her own twenty-four years, yet he seemed older, wiser. "What you do for a living."

"Delacourt. Thirty. Nothing." Nothing wasn't exactly the truth. Because he had lived a long time, and the nights could be lonely, he had pursued a number of hobbies before discovering he had a talent for painting. He had even sold a number of canvases through the years, which was why he didn't have to work. Currently, some of his paintings were on consignment at one of the city's finest galleries. He kept the rest of his canvases, and there were dozens, in one of the empty rooms in his house.

"Nothing?" she repeated. "What are you, a millionaire?"

"Not quite, just reasonably well off."

"You're not married, are you?"

"Would I be here with you if I were?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Lots of men cheat on their wives."

"Lots of men aren't lucky enough to meet a girl like you."

Daisy's heart skipped a beat. The man definitely knew what to say, and when to say it.

The rest of the evening passed like something out of a romantic movie. They danced several times, talked about the music they liked and movies they had seen, and danced again.

Before she knew it, the club was closing and Erik was walking her to her car. She fumbled in her handbag for her keys, wondering if he would kiss her good night. When she pulled the keys from her bag, he took them from her hand, then drew her into his arms. "You didn't think I'd let you get away so quickly, did you?"

Daisy stared up at him, her heart pounding with anticipation as he backed her up against the car door, his body pressing lightly against hers. Her eyelids fluttered down as he bent his head toward her. He kissed her gently at first, the pressure of his lips gradually increasing as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping over her lips before delving inside. She twined her arms around his neck, certain that if she didn't hold on tight, she would simply dissolve into a puddle of need at his feet.

When he took his mouth from hers, she felt a little light-headed, as if she'd had too much champagne to drink.

Brushing his knuckles across her cheek, he asked, "Will I see you tomorrow night?"

"I don't know." It was tempting, so tempting, yet there was something about him, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Something...dangerous. Had those men in the booth sensed it, too? One look at his face and they had fled the scene.

"I'll be here at nine," he said, opening the car door for her.

Murmuring, "Good night," Daisy slid behind the wheel, then looked up at him as he closed the door.

She glanced in the rearview mirror as she pulled out of the club's parking lot. Erik stood in the driveway, his hands shoved into his pants pockets as he stared after her. And then, as if he had been swallowed up in the darkness, he was gone from her sight.

Daisy had no intention of going back to the Crypt on Sunday night. Instinctively, she knew that Erik was away the heck and gone out of her league. He was worldly wise in ways she wasn't. True, she was twenty-four years old, she lived alone, and she hunted vampires for their blood, but that didn't mean she knew how to handle a man like Erik Delacourt. She was willing to bet her new Manolos that he had been around the block more than once. Womanlike, she couldn't help wondering what he saw in her. She was pretty enough, but she wasn't beautiful. She had a nice figure, good hair and skin, but men didn't stop and stare when she walked by. Mostly, she was just average.

She found herself watching the clock all day long. At eight thirty, she hurried upstairs, changed her clothes, combed her hair, freshened her make-up, brushed her teeth, and practically ran out of the house.

She made it to the Crypt at nine fifteen.

Heart pounding, she stepped into the nightclub and glanced around the room, disappointment tugging at her heart when she didn't see him.

With a sigh, she made her way to the bar. Maybe he was late, too. Thinking she might as well have a drink while she waited, Daisy ordered a margarita. She nursed it for over half an hour; then, telling herself it was just as well that he hadn't shown up, she left the Crypt and headed for home.

It wasn't until she was getting ready for bed that the tears came. Daisy told herself she wasn't crying because Erik had stood her up. She was just depressed because she was missing her best friend. And even though she was happy for Jennifer and wished her all the best, she knew their friendship could never be the same, now that Jen was married.

Padding barefooted into the kitchen, Daisy fixed herself a cup of hot chocolate liberally sprinkled with marshmallows and told herself there was nothing to cry about.

But the tears kept coming just the same.

Chapter 4

Erik shifted restlessly in his chair. His internal clock told him he had missed his date with Daisy, but it couldn't be helped. Rhys had called a meeting of the Vampire Council and Erik had no choice but to attend. Rhys wasn't just his friend, he was the current Master of the West Coast vampires, a fact that Rhys never let Erik forget, just as he never let Erik forget that he, Rhys, was older, wiser, and stronger.

Erik glanced around. The house itself was just an empty shell. There were no carpets on the floors, no lights. Except for three large tan leather sofas and a couple of chairs, there was no furniture in the place. No pictures on the walls. A medieval sword sheathed in a leather scabbard hung over the fireplace. It wasn't merely for decoration. Rhys had used it on more than one occasion.

Rhys used the house as a meeting place to conduct vampire business; on occasion, he took his rest in the walk-in pantry that had been converted to serve his purpose.

Vampires rarely let anyone know the location of their lairs. As far as Erik knew, Rhys was the only one who knew where all of the others took their rest.

Besides himself and Rhys, there were seven other vampires gathered in the living room--five males and two females. Erik was acquainted with all of them to one degree or another. He trusted none of them, including Rhys, even though Rhys had been his closest friend for over two hundred years.

"...time to do something," Damon was saying.

Damon had been a vampire less than ten years. Blond and blue eyed, he had been turned by his lover, Mariah, when he was seventeen. She had found Damon bruised and bloody, lying facedown in a culvert, a casualty in the war between rival gangs. Erik couldn't imagine what Mariah saw in the kid. He reminded Erik of a weasel.

As for Mariah, she had been Nosferatu longer than Erik though not as long as Rhys. She should have been stronger than Erik. Unfortunately, she had been turned by a young vampire, whereas Erik had been turned by one of the old ones. His sire's ancient blood gave Erik a distinct advantage in that he was stronger and more powerful than Mariah, even though she was older. She hated him for that. Erik grinned inwardly. Now that he thought about it, Mariah hated just about everyone.

"We've let this kind of thing go on for too long," Nicholas said, glancing around the room. Nicholas was a tall, angular vampire with wispy gray hair and blue eyes. He had been turned five years ago, when he was in his late seventies. Rumor had it that Nick had paid a vampire ten thousand dollars in gold to help him cheat death.

"Damon's right," Mariah agreed. She ran a well-manicured hand through her pale blond hair. "We should have put a stop to this as soon as it started."

Rupert, a handsome vampire who looked like a 1930s matinee idol, nodded. "Thanks to the Blood Thief and others like him, the Internet market for our blood is growing."

"Better they take your blood than your head," Erik remarked. They had been talking about the Blood Thief and what to do about him for hours. Solutions were few and far between, with the major consensus being to set a trap of some kind. "I think we're worrying too much about this Blood Thief. So he takes a pint or two. If you want to get a vendetta going, why not go after the hunters?"

"Delacourt has a point," Saul agreed.