He shook his head. Shes obsessed with me. She says she loves me, but it doesnt feel like love. It feels like Im smothering.

Shes not the right one, then.

He grinned, and it almost reached his eyes. Look whos talking about the right one. You cant pick just one either.

Thats different.

Why, because youre a living vampire who feeds off sex, so you have to have a bevy of lovers? The ardeur is like the perfect excuse to never have to say youre sorry.

Id change it if I could, you know that.

He came to me then, put his arms around my shoulders, and rested his cheek on the top of my head. I didnt mean to make you sad, Anita. God knows I didnt. Please, dont tell me youd change it if you could. You love Nathaniel, and Micah. They love you. You love Jean-Claude and Asher, and they love you. Youre still a little confused about what to do with Damian, but youll get there.

I shook my head and stood up, moving away from him. Dont forget Requiem, and London, and sometimes Richard. Oh, wait, and the swan king pops in now and then, no pun intended. It sounded angry and bitter, and I was glad.

I didnt mean to say the wrong thing. I didnt mean to make you feel bad, or to have another woman mad at me tonight. Please, Anita, please, dont be mad. Im upset. You have no idea how upset. Please, please, Im a bastard, but dont be mad.

He held his hand out to me. His face pleaded along with his words. Id never seen his eyes full of quite this kind of pain. The look in his eyes was more than just losing a girlfriend he didnt want anymore.

I held out my hand, but made him take the step to close our fingers around each other. His eyes glittered in the overhead lights.

I took his hand, held it. His breath came in a soft gasp, and I thought for a second he was going to cry, but he just looked at me. His eyes that had glistened a moment before were almost dead, as if whatever he was feeling hed locked away somewhere. In a way, to me, that was worse. I went to him, and he wrapped his arms around me as if he were at the edge of a cliff and I were his only handhold. That quiet holding on was somale. A woman would have cried, or talked more, but for a man, after a certain point this is their pain.