He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his response was carefully measured, as if he’d calculated how much to tell without giving anything away. “Yes, I did. Having children of my own wasn’t in the cards for me, either.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Behind his mask of forced cheerfulness, his eyes were hollow and tired, and the agony I saw in them caused my heart to ache.

As quickly as I’d glimpsed his inner sadness, it disappeared behind Nathan’s granite wall of self-control. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I have Ziggy. I always did want a son.”

It was the first time he’d acknowledged his true feelings for the kid. The look on Nathan’s face told me he wasn’t used to revealing so much. The angry panic that flashed across his features in the next instant told me exactly why. I recognized the expression because I’d seen it staring back at me from my own reflection too often to count.

Nathan truly believed that if he cared about something, it would eventually be taken from him.

I turned away. Unfortunately, I looked right into the vomit-splashed toilet bowl. “If I didn’t know you were a vampire, I’d say you had an upper G.I. bleed. But I’m going to assume that was your dinner.”

Nathan stood, still a bit wobbly, and rinsed his mouth under the tap before answering. “Tasted fine on the way down. Usually stale blood tastes like nail polish remover.”

“You’re familiar with nail polish remover? Did they have that in the thirties?” I dropped the toilet lid and flushed. I wasn’t going to tell him about the antidote, or how I’d gotten it.

“Of course they did. And I had a girlfriend in the eighties. It was about twenty years ago, but you don’t forget that chemical stench,” he asserted, suddenly defensive.

“That still doesn’t explain how you know what it tastes like. But I think you’re right, you must have gotten sick from the blood. Wait about half an hour before you drink anything else, to make sure you don’t barf it all up again.”

Nathan laughed. “Barf? Is that a technical term?” He eyed himself in the mirror, and before I knew what he was doing, whipped his T-shirt over his head. “What did she hit me with?”

“A spell, or something.” I knew I should be examining him with a clinical eye, but it was hard to do that when he was so…half-naked. My fingers flexed, itching to touch the chiseled ridges of his chest. I cleared my throat and looked away. “I guess.”

“Whatever it was, it didn’t leave a mark.” He turned his head and twisted his shoulders to examine his back in the mirror, and my mouth went dry as the muscles of his torso moved beneath his skin.

In the living room, the apartment door opened and slammed shut, followed by the heavy fall of combat boots against the floor. “You guys aren’t doing it, are you?”

Nathan gave an exasperated sigh. “Ziggy, manners!”