"They run in my family," I tell her. It's true. There's much about ourselves we can change, but no one of the blood has ever been able to conceal their eyes. In the old days that's how they would find us. Thankfully, such knowledge has long been lost.

Maria lingers at the table. "If everyone else in your family looks like you…" she coos, then blushes and rushes off to place my order.

I grin again. I can hear Father saying, "It's your damn ego, calling attention to yourself."

Father will never understand. He was born well before this time. To him, all human forms are equally unpleasant. "You might as well admire cattle.'" he says anytime I remark at a human's beauty. But I'm young enough to have been shaped by the movies and later, television. It's only natural for someone like me-brought up in a world where appearances matter more than reality-to choose to improve his looks.

Father laughed most, when, after viewing Kirk Douglas in Spartacus, I decided to have a cleft chin. For a creature who can change form at will, something like a cleft chin is a moment's thought-as are all the other shapings I've done. What Maria sees as she bustles around my table is merely an amalgam of years of watching movie heroes.

The steak tastes almost cool to my tongue, thick with its own juices, redolent with blood. I force myself to cut each piece small and eat at a measured pace. Even so, I finish before Maria comes back to check my table.

She eyes my empty plate, cocks one eyebrow. "I guess everything was okay, huh?"

I nod, smile and order a coffee, black. She returns the grin, lingers, as if she's going to say something, then blushes and rushes off.

There's no doubt she's available but my stomach's full. All I want to do is slouch in my chair and enjoy the warmth of the room.

My eyes are half closed when she returns-my thoughts far away. I smell the coffee and something else. An edge of nervous perspiration and a hint of sexual excitement now spike her aroma. Before she speaks, I know what she'll offer.