Cravings by Laurell K. Hamilton, Eileen Wilks, REBECCA YORK, MaryJanice Davidson Page A

loss that seemed to fill him, like
some bitter medicine. But the look on his face drove the sorrow home like a
blade thrust through my heart. It hurt to see anyone's eyes full of such pain.
    I turned to face him still held lightly in both their arms. Nathaniel put the
top of his head against my naked back, shaking his head. "Anita, can't you feel
how sad he is? Can't you feel it?"
    I looked into Damian's cat-green eyes and said, "Yes."
    He turned his face away, as if he'd shown me more than he was comfortable
with. I touched his chin and brought his face back to me. "You don't want me,"
and there was a world of loss in those words. A loss that tightened my throat,
made my chest hurt. I wanted to deny it, but he could feel what I was feeling.
He was right, I didn't want him, not the way I wanted Nathaniel, let alone the
way I wanted Jean-Claude or Micah. What do you say when someone can read your
emotions, so that you can't hide behind polite lies? What do you say when the
truth is awful, and you can't lie?
    Nothing. No words would heal this. But I'd learned there were other ways to
say you're sorry. Other ways to say, I'd change it, if I could. Of course, even
that was a lie. I wouldn't lose the cool reserve that Damian could give me, not
for anything.
    I kissed him, and meant for it to be light, gentle, an apology that words
could not make, but Damian thought he'd never get this close to me again. I felt
a fierceness rise up through him, a desperation, that made him tighten his grip
on my arms, made him thrust his tongue into my mouth, and kiss me hard and
eager, and angry.
    I tasted blood, and assumed he'd nicked me with his fangs. I swallowed the
sweetish taste of the blood without thinking. Then I could smell the ocean,
smell it like salt on my tongue. We drew back enough to look into each other's
faces, and I saw the trickle of blood trailing over his lower lip. Nathaniel had
time to say, "I smell seawater." Then the power flooded up and up, and smashed
us against each other. It ground us against the floor like a wave cracking a
boat against the rocks. We screamed, and writhed, and I could not control it. If
I'd been a true master, then I could have ridden it, helped us all, but I'd
never meant to mark anyone. Never meant to be anyone's master. We were being
swept away and I didn't know what to do. The inside of my head exploded in white
star bursts and gray miasma. Darkness ate at the inside of my head. If I'd been
sure we'd wake up again, I'd have welcomed passing out, but I wasn't sure. I
didn't know. But it didn't matter; darkness filled up the inside of my head, and
we all fell into it. No more screaming, no more pain, no more panic, no more
anything. My last clear thought was the realization that I'd accidentally drunk
the blood of a vampire I was tied to by three marks. His blood had been the
fourth mark. The one step Jean-Claude, Richard, and I had denied ourselves—now
I'd done it by accident, God help us all.

DEAD GIRLS DON'T DANCE

MaryJanice Davidson
    Â 

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    Â 
    For my children,
    Christina and William,
    who share me without complaint.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    Â 
    Thanks to Cindy Hwang and Ethan Ellenberg, who help make my dreams come true.
Thanks also to all the Betsy fans out there who have written me, wondering what
the queen has been up to… this one's for you.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE
    Â 
    This novella takes place just after the events of
Undead and Unwed
(Berkley, March 2004), and just before the events of
Undead and Unemployed
(Berkley, August 2004).
    Also, there's no such thing as vampires. Or so the United Shoe Cooperative
would have you believe.
    Â 

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    Death cannot stop true love. It can only delay it for a while.
    Â 
    Westley,
The Princess Bride
    Â 
 
    Nor bird nor beast
    Could make me wish for anything this day,
    Being old, but that the old
alone might die,
    And that would be against God's Providence.
    Let the