scooted out from under his arm, settling back into my seat. I couldn’t breathe past the pulse in my throat. I shivered, hugging myself. The feel of his body against mine made places all over my body tighten.
“What’s wrong?” he said, his voice low and soft.
I shook my head. “We can’t keep doing this.”
“If you stopped because of me, I was enjoying myself.”
“So was I. That’s the problem,” I said.
Richard took in a deep breath and let it out, sighing. “It’s only a problem because you make it one, Anita.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Marry me, Anita, and all this can be yours.”
“I don’t want to marry you just so I can sleep with you.”
“If it was only sex, I wouldn’t want you to marry me,” Richard said. “But it’s cuddling on the couch, watching Singing in the Rain . It’s eating Chinese and knowing to get that extra order of crab Rangoon. I can order for both of us at most of the restaurants in town.”
“Are you saying I’m predictable?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t belittle it,” he said.
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Richard. I didn’t mean to. I just . . .”
I didn’t know what to say because he was right. My day was more complete for having been shared with Richard. I bought him a mug that I just happened to see in a store. It had wolves on it, and said, “In God’s wildness lies the hope of the world—the great fresh, unblighted, unredeemed wilderness.” It was a quote from John Muir. No special occasion, just saw it, knew Richard would like it, bought it. A dozen times a day I’d hear something on the radio or in conversation, and I’d think, I must remember and tell Richard. It was Richard who took me on my first bird-watching trip since college.
I had a degree in biology, preternatural biology. Once I’d thought I’d spend my life as a field biologist like a preternatural version of Jane Goodall. I’d enjoyed the bird-watching, partly because he was with me, partly because I’d enjoyed ityears ago. It was like I’d forgotten that there was life outside of a gun barrel or a grave side. I’d been neck deep in blood and death so long; then Richard came along. Richard who was also neck deep in strange stuff, but who managed to have a life.
I couldn’t think of anything better than waking up beside him, reaching for his body first thing in the morning, knowing I’d be coming home to him. Listening to his collection of Rodgers and Hammerstein, watching his face while he watched Gene Kelly musicals.
I almost opened my mouth and said, let’s do it, let’s get married, but I didn’t. I loved Richard; I could admit that to myself, but it wasn’t enough. There was an assassin after me. How could I involve a mild-mannered junior high teacher in that kind of life? He was one of the monsters, but he didn’t accept it. He was in a battle for leadership of the local werewolf pack. He’d beaten the current pack leader, Marcus, twice, and twice refused the kill. If you didn’t kill, you didn’t get to be leader. Richard clung to his morals. Clung to values that only worked when people weren’t trying to kill you. If I married him, his chance at any kind of normal life was gone. I lived in a sort of free-fire zone. Richard deserved better.
Jean-Claude lived in the same world that I did. He had no illusions about the kindness of strangers, or anyone else for that matter. The vampire wouldn’t be shocked at the news of an assassin. He’d simply help me plan what to do about it. It wouldn’t throw him, or not much. There were nights when I thought that Jean-Claude and I deserved each other.
Richard turned off onto Olive. We were soon going to be at my apartment, and the silence was getting a little thick. Silences don’t usually bother me, but this one did. “I’m sorry, Richard. I am truly sorry.”
“If I didn’t know you loved me, this would be easier,” he said. “If it wasn’t for that damned vampire, you’d marry me.”
“That damn