But in all the years since his transformation he’d never met a woman who hadn’t looked at him with horror. He’d never even tried to make advances on any of them for fear of rejection. As a human he’d dealt with enough rejection, one that had destroyed one side of his face. Despite what Jane had done to him, deep down he knew he couldn’t even blame her. He should have prepared her for what she would see.
Gabriel blinked the gruesome memory of his wedding night away and looked at the street signs. He was at the other end of Sausalito and had left the quaint little downtown behind him. To his right was the Bay and a small colony of houseboats. He slowed down, looking for the correct turnoff. At the last pier, he brought the Audi to a stop and killed the engine.
The witch’s houseboat was the last on the mooring.
He’d crawled back to Drake after the kiss with Maya, and he’d made a deal with the devil, giving the doctor what he wanted: the use of his gift. He hated himself for it, for giving into his baser urges, because that’s what it was. Because he desired Maya against all reason. Because he hoped against all hope that there was a chance she could accept him if only he dealt with his predicament. Because her kiss had awakened that hope.
Gabriel wasn’t sure what to think of Drake’s connection to a witch, and he didn’t really want to speculate. But it was odd, to say the least. Vampires and witches were sworn enemies. To have a witch amongst one’s acquaintances or—God forbid—friends was dangerous for a vampire. If other vampires found out about the connection, one could be called a traitor to one’s race. Repercussions would be severe. But at this point Gabriel didn’t care anymore.
When he’d heard from his old friend Amaury that a witch had done some research on his own problem for him, hope had risen in Gabriel. Now it was time to see if she could help him too.
Admitting one’s vulnerability to a witch was dangerous because their spells could be powerful, and a vampire had little protection against spells. But frankly, Gabriel didn’t think he had much of a choice.
He’d tried everything already, and still his problem hadn’t disappeared. No, it prevented him from taking a willing woman into his arms and making love to her. He didn’t want that to happen with Maya. He didn’t want her to run from him in horror. He wanted her to kiss him again, to roam her hands freely over his naked body, to caress him. If he was made whole, maybe she could look past his external scar and accept him. Or why had she kissed him in the first place?
“Get off my property, vampire,” a female voice came out of the dark.
Gabriel raised his head and saw the witch standing on the upper-level balcony, leveling a crossbow with a wooden stake at him. Her thin figure was silhouetted against the moonlight, keeping her face in the dark. But Gabriel’s vampire night vision compensated for it. It was sufficient enough for him to determine that she was an attractive woman in her thirties.
Gabriel understood her hostility only too well. If she showed up at a vampire’s house, she wouldn’t be made any more welcome either. He didn’t take it personally. “Miss LeBlanc, you were recommended by Dr. Drake.”
A little snort indicated that she didn’t give a damn about the recommendation. “To do what?”
“I need a problem taken care of,” Gabriel confessed.
“You should know better than to come to one of my kind for help. None of you can be trusted.”
Gabriel went out on a limb. “If that was the case, you wouldn’t have told Drake where to find you. After all, he’s one of us.”
“Is that so?”
He saw her face and her frown. What was she trying to tell him? Was Drake not to be trusted, or was he not one of them? Gabriel knew for sure that Drake was a vampire—his whole aura radiated with a certain frequency and that was the way vampires recognized other vampires. Clearly the witch wanted to throw him off his game.
“I want nothing for free.”
“And I’m not doing any favors,” she countered.
“I ask none. I have means to pay you.” Gabriel already knew that she didn’t want cash because he’d read her memory—an image of her bank statement—when he’d mentioned payment. She wasn’t interested in any more than she already had. But he had to tread carefully. Giving out things other than cold hard cash could come back to bite him one day, literally. It would be better if he could convince her to take hard currency.
“Money is cold,” she answered.
“So is loneliness.” If he could get her to take his case, he would have to hook her in first.