“Yes. It’s just like a grand finale when I taste your blood.”
“Would it be almost as good without?”
“It can never be as good without, but I don’t want to weaken you.”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” I said tentatively. “It took me a few days to feel up to par.”
“I’ve been selfish . . . you’re just so good.”
“If I’m strong, it’ll be even better,” I suggested.
“Show me how strong you are,” he said teasingly.
“Lie on your back. I’m not real sure how this works, but I know other people do it.” I straddled him, heard his breathing quicken. I was glad the room was dark and outside the rain was still pouring. A flash of lightening showed me his eyes, glowing. I carefully maneuvered into what I hoped was the correct position, and guided him inside me. I had great faith in instinct, and sure enough it didn’t play me false.
Chapter 8
TOGETHER AGAIN, MY doubts at least temporarily drenched by the fear I’d felt when I’d thought I might have lost him, Bill and I settled into an uneasy routine.
If I worked nights, I would go over to Bill’s house when I finished, and usually I spent the rest of the night there. If I worked days, Bill would come to my house after sunset, and we would watch TV, or go to the movies, or play Scrabble. I had to have every third night off, or Bill had to refrain from biting those nights; otherwise I began to feel weak and draggy. And there was the danger, if Bill fed on me too much . . . I kept chugging vitamins and iron until Bill complained about the flavor. Then I cut back on the iron.
When I slept at night, Bill would go do other stuff. Sometimes he read, sometimes he wandered the night; sometimes he’d go out and do my yard work under the illumination of the security lights.
If he ever took blood from anyone else, he kept it secret, and he did it far from Bon Temps, which was what I had asked.
I say this routine was uneasy because it seemed to me that we were waiting. The burning of the Monroe nest had enraged Bill and （I think） frightened him. To be so powerful when awake and so helpless when asleep had to be galling.
Both of us were wondering if public feeling against vampires would abate now that the worst troublemakers in the area were dead.
Though Bill didn’t say anything directly, I knew from the course our conversation took from time to time that he was worried about my safety with the murderer of Dawn, Maudette, and my grandmother still at large.
If the men of Bon Temps and the surrounding towns thought burning out the Monroe vampires would set their minds at ease about the murders, they were wrong. Autopsy reports from the three victims finally proved they had their full complement of blood when they were killed. Furthermore, the bite marks on Maudette and Dawn had not only looked old, they were proved to be old. The cause of their deaths was strangulation. Maudette and Dawn had had sex before they’d died. And afterward.
Arlene and Charlsie and I were cautious about things like going out into the parking lot by ourselves, making sure our homes were still locked tight before we entered them, trying to notice what cars were around us as we drove. But it’s hard to keep careful that way, a real strain on the nerves, and I am sure we all lapsed back into our sloppy ways. Maybe it was more excusable for Arlene and Charlsie, since they lived with other people, unlike the first two victims; Arlene with her kids （and Rene Lenier, off and on）， and Charlsie with her husband, Ralph.
I was the only one who lived alone.
Jason came into the bar almost every night, and he made a point of talking to me every time. I realized he was trying to heal whatever breach lay between us, and I responded as much as I could. But Jason was drinking more, too, and his bed had as many occupants as a public toilet, though he seemed to have real feelings for Liz Barrett. We worked cautiously together on settling the business of Gran’s estate and Uncle Bartlett’s, though he had more to do with that than I. Uncle Bartlett had left Jason everything but my legacy.
Jason told me one night when he’d had an extra beer that he’d been back to the police station twice more, and it was driving him crazy. He’d talked to Sid Matt Lancaster, finally, and Sid Matt had advised Jason not to go to the police station any more unless Sid Matt went with him.
“How come they keep hauling you in?” I asked Jason. “There must be something you haven’t told me. Andy Bellefleur hasn’t kept after anybody else, and I know Dawn and Maudette both weren’t too picky about who came home with them.”
Jason looked mortified. I’d never seen my beautiful older brother look as embarrassed.