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“It matters. It’s not that we die—everyone dies, even the immortals among us. It’s how we meet that end that counts.”

“Maybe. If that’s the case, then it was a shit end.”

“That’s why you don’t like Christmas,” she said. It was so sad.

“Who said I don’t like Christmas?”

She snorted. “You wouldn’t let me decorate the castle. Not even my room. And I wanted to cook Christmas dinner—”

“We’re goddamn vampires. We don’t eat turkey.” He gave her a speculative look, his gaze dropping. “Unless there was something else on the menu.”

Her hand went automatically to her throat. The wound was already healing. She’d been trying not to think about it, but now she had a flashback to the feel of his mouth on her. Her nipples tightened, tingles shooting down to her sex. It had been amazing. She’d had an actual orgasm. More than one. Gina had kept that to herself. Heat flushed her skin at the memory, and she resisted the urge to fan herself.

When she looked back at him, he was watching her, his nostrils flared. His eyes had bled to crimson. For a moment, she leaned toward him, her whole body yearning. Then she snapped back.

Get a grip.

He was a vampire. He was emotionally retarded. And while she now had some idea as to why, it made no difference. He would still love her and leave her, like everyone else.

And she had the idea that this time would hurt more than the rest put together.

Oh, but she wanted him. Like she’d never wanted anything in her life before. But that was probably because she was feeling weak. Not enough blood and too much booze.

“No more blood,” she snapped. “You’ve had enough.”

“There are other things we could do. No blood involved.”

He was the devil tempting her.

She pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache. Her body felt like it didn’t belong to her. Her mind was saying no, but the rest of her wasn’t in agreement. If he pushed a little harder, she would melt. How to stop him?

She raised a hand to her forehead and swayed slightly. “I feel weak. I think I might be going to faint.”

Alarm flared in his eyes. He disappeared and came back a moment later with a glass of water. “Thank you,” she murmured.

She watched him over the rim of her glass as he sank down onto the chair opposite, a brooding expression on his face.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said. “I won’t touch you.”

“You won’t?” That was good. Wasn’t it?

He leaned back, resting his head against the leather, stared into space. “I’d be mad to touch you. You’re a witch—everyone knows witches are evil creatures and not to be trusted.”

That was news to her. “Who’s everyone?”

He ignored her question. “And you’re too young and too immature.”

She frowned as she realized he was listing out all the reasons why he shouldn’t touch her. It sounded like he’d given the subject a lot of thought.

“And you’re impetuous. And I’m supposed to protect you. You’re my sire’s sister-in-law.”

“Does that make us related?”

“No. And you’re needy.”

That was it. “I amnotneedy.”

“Yes, you are. You want somebody to love you. And that’s not going to be me.”