"What are you smiling at?" Kari asked.

"I was thinking about turning into a bat."

"Can you really do that? Be a bat?"

"I have no idea. I have never tried."

She stopped walking, her hands fisted on her hips, her head tilted to one side. "I'd like to see it."

"Here, now?" he asked, glancing up and down the street. "Might cause quite a stir, I should think."

"Yes," Kari said, grinning, "I suppose it would. Might even make the news. 'Man turns into bat on Main Street. Film at eleven.'"

Rourke regarded her for a moment, and then he laughed. Times were different now. When he had first been made, everyone believed in vampires. Grisly steps had been taken to make certain that those suspected of being Undead didn't rise again. Heads were lopped off, hearts torn out and burned, bodies buried facedown so that if the dead tried to dig their way out of their graves, they would, instead, dig deeper into the earth. People had hung strings of garlic around their doorways and windows and displayed crosses and crucifixes in prominent places.

With a rueful shake of his head, he continued on down the street.

"I still can't believe you're really a vampire," Kari said, hurrying to catch up with him. "Are there any more of your kind?"

"I am sure there are a few, here and there."

"How can that be? I mean, how is it that nobody knows vampires exist?"

He didn't reply, merely looked at her, waiting for her to reach the obvious conclusion.

"Oh. I guess you'd rather keep it a secret." She laughed nervously. "In case Van Helsing is lurking around the next corner."

He nodded, and then wondered if there were any other vampires in the city, and if vampire hunters still existed.

"I don't believe any of this!" she exclaimed. And yet, as impossible as it seemed, she knew it was true. He was a 767-year-old vampire. "Where do you sleep during the day?"

"Nowhere in particular at the moment. Just some place out of the sun's reach."

"That's the reason I could never find you in the painting during the day, isn't it?" Her heart skipped a beat as she recalled the glowing red eyes she had seen in her dream. "You were sleeping in the cellar of the castle."

He nodded, his expression shuttered.

"I had a dream...at least I think it was a dream. It seemed so real. Were you...did you see me there, in the cellar?"

He nodded again. He recalled that night vividly. The pain had been excruciating. He had been about to go outside and feed off the horse when Karinna appeared in the cellar. At first, he had thought she was real, but then he had realized it was only a dream. Had she been flesh and blood, he would have taken her then, taken her and drained her dry.

As if reading his mind, Kari stopped walking. "I think I want to go home. Enjoy the rest of your walk."

"You cannot be rid of me so easily, Karinna Adams."

She scowled at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I like your company, and I do not know anyone else in this country or in this century."

"I'll introduce you to someone," she said with a toss of her head. "Good night."

Grinning, he watched her turn and hurry back toward her car. He wondered if she recalled the other dreams they had shared, wondered if they had been her dreams or his. They had seemed so real, perhaps they hadn't been dreams at all, yet, what else could they have been?

With a shake of his head, he continued down the street. He didn't know how he was going to find his father's sword, or locate the wizard who had stolen it from him, but in the meantime, Miss Karinna Adams was sure to provide a pleasant diversion.

Because Jason Rourke was curious to learn about the century he found himself in, Kari was soon acting as his tour guide.

Her evenings and weekends, once spent in mundane tasks, took on a new life. As soon as the sun went down, Rourke appeared in her living room, eager to explore the world around him.

She spent one evening following him from room to room while he acquainted himself with things that had not yet been invented when he was a young man. He examined the gas stove, the refrigerator, the garbage disposal, the trash compactor, the toaster, and the microwave. She thought it odd that he had such a keen interest in such things, since he didn't eat solid food, and therefore had no need of any of the kitchen appliances, but his curiosity was boundless. He poked around in her medicine cabinet, tried her blow-dryer, smelled her perfume and her toothpaste and her hand cream. He studied her while she sat at her computer, watched with some fascination as she printed a photograph from the Internet. He fiddled with the remote for the television until he figured out how it worked. He listened to the radio and to some of her CDs, then asked about her phone, her cell phone, and her fax machine.

One evening, he taught her the dances that had been popular when he was alive, and then he insisted she show him how the people of this day and age danced. Being in his arms had been intoxicating. He moved like silk, his feet hardly seeming to touch the floor as he waltzed her around the room. It was a most amazing experience.

They went to the mall again. He wrinkled his nose with distaste when she bought a bag of kettle corn. "Don't knock it until you've tried it," she said, and laughed when he scowled at her.

One Friday night, she took him to the movies. She hadn't expected him to be awed by anything as ordinary as a movie. After all, he had seen movies on television, but he stared at the movie screen, obviously captivated by the size of the screen and the characters on it.

"Truly an amazing age you live in," he remarked as they left the theater.

"I guess so."

Rourke took a deep breath. His senses had been assaulted by the numerous scents inside the theater. Popcorn and butter and salt, chocolate and soda, chips and cheese, hot dogs and mustard and relish. And overall, the scent of blood pumping through hundreds of beating hearts, playing like a sweet symphony in his mind. He shook his head, relieved to be outside, though even out here, in the open, the nearby scent of blood teased and tempted him.

When Karinna pulled her keys from inside her handbag, he plucked them from her hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "Don't tell me you want to take another walk?"

"No. I wish to learn to drive."

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

"But..." She shook her head. It was after midnight, but she supposed that was the shank of the evening to a vampire. "I've never taught anyone to drive."

"I have watched you."

"I know, but..."

There was no point in arguing with him. He was already opening the door, sliding behind the wheel, putting the key in the ignition.

"Wait!" She quickly got into the car and fastened her seat belt. "Be sure to look behind you before you back out," she warned. "Go easy on the gas."

Hands clenched, she watched him back out of the parking space, put the car in drive, and pull out of the parking lot onto the street. Fortunately, at this time of night, there wasn't much traffic.

To her surprise, he drove as if he had been doing it all his life.

"It is a strange sensation," he remarked. "But exhilarating."

Instead of heading for her house, he pulled onto the freeway. In the morning, it would have been backed up for miles. She was glad it was late and relatively clear.

He drove for several miles and then slowly increased the speed.

Kari's eyes widened as he hit the accelerator: fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, eighty-five...

"Rourke, for goodness' sake, slow down!"

He glanced at her, his eyes alight with pleasure. "Why?"

"The speed limit is sixty-five."

He shrugged as he goosed it up to ninety.

Kari clung to the edge of her seat. Never, in all her life, had she ridden in a car going this fast.

She wasn't surprised to hear a siren coming up behind them.

She was surprised, though, when the police car drove on by.

"I can't imagine why they didn't pull you over," she said, frowning.

Rourke laughed softly. "Perhaps because they did not see us."

"What?"

"A bit of vampire trickery," he explained.

"I don't understand."

He eased up on the gas. "I veiled our presence from his sight."

"Sort of like using the cloaking device on the Enterprise."

"Ah, yes, Star Trek," Rourke said with a grin. "An entertaining tale."

He slanted a glance in her direction. "Very educational, television."

"Very," Kari agreed with a laugh. "Oh," she said, spying a late-night hamburger stand, "pull over there. I'm hungry."

At the drive-through window, she ordered a chili cheeseburger and a chocolate shake. Rourke wrinkled his nose as he handed her the sack containing her order. He didn't think he would ever get used to the smell of cooked meat. Hard to believe he had once eaten beef and mutton and enjoyed it. After so many years, he could no longer remember the taste or the texture, nor did he have any desire to experience it again.

Back on the freeway, he drove at a more leisurely pace. He rather enjoyed driving. He liked the quiet purr of the engine, the feeling of being in control, the speed of the machine.

From time to time he glanced at Karinna while she ate, wondering what a cheeseburger tasted like. He was sorely tempted to lick the drop of chocolate malt from the corner of her mouth, and even more tempted to take the woman in his arms and taste every inch of her from head to heel. The thought stirred his desire as he imagined burying his hands in the silk of her hair, raining kisses along the sweet curve of her cheek, exploring every delectable curve of her lush young body and then doing it all again.

Muttering an oath, he quickly drove her home. Exiting the car, he handed her the keys.

"Thank you for letting me drive."

"You're welcome." She gazed up at him, her brows drawn together. "Is something wrong?"