"Now that's just an outright lie. I don't think you'd hurt me." His Southern accent came out again.

"And you'd be wrong." She paused. "Where are you from?"

"Where do you think I'm from?" He smiled as if her question pleased him.

And she knew why. She'd shown some personal interest in him. She shouldn't have done that because he might think she actually liked him or something.

"I think you're from somewhere where they talk funny," she smarted off, and shot up to get her blood from the refrigerator. She found a cup, rinsed it out-twice-poured her dinner into it, and sat down at the kitchen table.

He dropped into the second chair at the table. "I'm from Alabama. My parents dragged me to Dallas two years ago."

"You don't like Texas?" she asked and frowned when she realized she'd done it again, shown a personal interest. Then again, maybe she should give herself a break, they were on a mission together, and she was pretending to be his girlfriend. If someone asked something, she should be able to answer it.

"Since I went to camp this last summer, I do. Before that ... not really. The school in Dallas was some fancy prep school-not even for supernaturals. That school fit my parents' way of thinking and life, but I don't do fancy schools very well."

She couldn't see him in one, either. Not that he didn't seem smart, he did. But he was just easier going than someone who wanted to put on airs.

A few more questions popped into her mind, but she hesitated to ask. She turned her cup in her hands.

The silence must have felt awkward to him as well, because he continued. "My dad's a CEO for an oil company, Mom's a doctor. And I'm an only child who's not supposed to care what I want but to just grow up, become what they want me to be, and make them look good in the human world."

"They're shifters, too, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, but you'd hardly know it. I don't think my mom has shifted in a couple of years. Dad does it just to relieve stress, but they like living in the human world."

"And you don't?" Della asked, thinking about how often she wished she could go back to the human world and be one of them. Sure, she appreciated the powers, loved knowing she could kick ass. But she wished that gaining these powers hadn't meant losing so much of her life. Or rather the people who were in her life.

"I don't want to run off and join a damn compound or anything, but I'm proud of what I am. I can abide by the rules, not exposing myself in front of humans. I don't have a problem with rules, but I don't want to hide from this part of myself."

"I don't blame you." She didn't think she could hide, either. Not now.

"I'm not really complaining about them," he said. "I mean, as long as we don't have to see each other very often we forget that we're all disappointed in each other."

She knew all about the feeling of disappointing your parents. Exhaling, she looked at the pillowcase, which was bunched up at the end and held the five pieces of ice. He'd brought it with him to the table, but wasn't using it. "You should use that. That's all the ice we have."

He put it against his eye and stared at her with the other. "What's your story?"

"No story here," she lied.

He leaned his chair back on two legs. With half his face hidden behind the hanging pillowcase, he looked accusingly at her with his uninjured eye. "Liar."

She swallowed and stood, picking up her cup.

It didn't stop him from talking though. "You think I don't see you on parents' day? You look completely miserable when you see them come in." He dropped the ice from his eye. "The only time you look more miserable is when you watch them leave."

She frowned, not liking that her feelings about her parents had been so visible. "You're not fae, you can't read my emotions. So stop trying." She took two steps and then looked back. "I'm calling it a night."

He dropped his chair down. "It's still early." Their gazes met. "I'm sorry I said what I did. I just thought ... I told you about my parents and ... We don't have to talk about that. Choose a subject and we'll talk about whatever."

Ignoring the soft pleading in his voice, she went to the Walmart bag she'd dropped on the sofa. She pulled out one sheet, one blanket, and snagged the other pillowcase. "We have to be up at three thirty. Don't bother me."

* * *

She sprayed the bed three times with disinfectant, made it, and then used the old bedding to make it look like she was under the blanket. If he peeked in, he'd hopefully assume she was out cold-pun intended.

It was, Della thought, the thing she hated most about being a vamp. Drinking blood she could handle, but when someone accidentally brushed up against her and flinched at her body temperature, she felt ... like a monster.

She knew why, too. It had been the thing that kept Lee from touching her after she'd been turned. You just don't feel right, he told her. You're cold. I think you're still sick.

A crazy thought came. Would Steve not like how she felt? She pushed the thought away, because seriously, it didn't belong in her mind. Tilting her head to the side, she listened for the shape-shifter. When she'd been making her bed, she'd heard him doing the same to the sofa. He must be sleeping now, because she could only hear the very subtle sound of someone breathing.

The conversation they'd had earlier about his parents floated through her head and whispered across her heart with a tug of emotion. He almost sounded resigned to the bad relationship with his parents. Or was he just pretending-like she so often did?