Vacation with a Vampire & Other Immortals by Maureen Child, MAGGIE SHAYNE Page B

he was compelled to help, to protect, to watch over her. He got that, too. Those things were the case with any member of her caste.
    But this…this feeling of her being…being a part of him, of his life, of his soul, a part that had been missing all this time—it made no sense. It was far beyond what he’d come to understand were the limits of the blood link between his kind and hers.
    The sharing of blood increased the power of the bond. He knew that, too. But he’d had little choice about drinking from her. He would have died otherwise. But that had only made things worse. Made her feel even more a part of him. A necessity to him.
    Probably he was suffering some ordinary reaction brought on by spending years with almost zero contact with other living beings. Probably it was natural to imagine some supernatural bond with the first female to come stumbling into his life in nearly half a century.
    But it wasn’t good for him to feel this way. He wasn’t going to humor this thing, or even tolerate it. She had to go before he fell any harder for her.
    As he thought that, he realized he was actually afraid of her. Afraid of the heartbreak she could cause, of his own vulnerability, of the pain he’d suffered the last time. He, Diego del Torres, who’d sailed aboard the original Santa Maria, an immortal, a vampire, was afraid of a small mortal female who’d lived only a few decades.
    And no, he told himself, he wasn’t going to just let her die. He was going to monitor her condition. He would know how she was doing. This link between them was that powerful—even more so now that he’d tasted her blood. When she got near the end, he would go to her. He would tell her there was an option, let her make the choice.
    But he wasn’t going to put his heart on the line for her. Or for anyone.
    They say no man is an island. But they’re wrong—this man is.
    He returned to his task of packing a bag for the trip to the mainland. A change of clothes, first-aid kit, toothbrush. He needed a pint of frozen blood, and he’d moved his supply to the cooler in the workshop, to keep her from finding it. Not that it mattered now. As soon as he returned and she was gone, he would move his stores back where they belonged.
    When she was gone.
    The notion made his heart contract into a hard, painful knot in his chest. Already, he thought, she was causing him pain. If he needed any more proof that he was doing the right thing in sending her away, that was it. Things would only get worse if he let her stay.
    I’m going to miss her.
    Yes, but only at first. He would get over it, and soon he would be comfortable again. Happy again.
    Happy? Again? When have I ever been truly happy?
    “Silence,” he said to the voice that seemed to be coming more from his heart than his head. He slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the front door, intent on reaching the workshop and the blood stored there. But as soon as he opened the door he smelled and tasted the acrid burn of smoke on the air, felt the blast of her anger. If he hadn’t been so self-absorbed, he would have sensed both far sooner.
    He dropped his satchel and ran full speed to the cove, following that sense of her all the way there, stopping when he caught sight of her. She was standing in the shallows, her back to him, watching the Santa Maria XIII go up in flames. The fire licked at the night sky with a hunger that rivaled any he’d ever felt.
    He stopped in his tracks, too stunned to move, anger surging in him that rivaled hers. “Anna!” he shouted. “What the hell have you done?”
    She didn’t turn, just stood where she was, feet in the surf, watching the fire leap and dance. The heat of it seared his face, and dangerous sparks rained down around him. “Fire is so beautiful, isn’t it?” she at last said softly.
    “Why did you do this?” Her refusal to answer his questions made him even angrier, so he strode up behind her, gripped her shoulder and spun her around to