Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(125)

“And we have sex for that,” I said matter-of-factly. Matthew was a generous and creative lover, but he definitely considered the bedroom his domain.

“Excuse me?” he said, his eyebrows drawn into a scowl.

“Sex and dominance. It’s what modern humans think vampire relationships are all about,” I said. “Their stories are full of crazed alpha-male vampires throwing women over their shoulders before dragging them off for dinner and a date.”

“Dinner and a date?” Matthew was aghast. “Do you mean . . . ?”

“Uh-huh. You should see what Sarah’s friends in the Madison coven read. Vampire meets girl, vampire bites girl, girl is shocked to find out there really are vampires. The sex, blood, and overprotective behavior all come quickly thereafter. Some of it is pretty explicit.” I paused. “There’s no time for bundling, that’s for sure. I don’t remember much poetry or dancing either.”

Matthew swore. “No wonder your aunt wanted to know if I was hungry.”

“You really should read this stuff, if only to see what humans think. It’s a public-relations nightmare. Far worse than what witches have to overcome.” I turned around to face him. “You’d be surprised how many women seem to want a vampire boyfriend anyway, though.”

“What if their vampire boyfriends were to behave like callous bastards in the street and threaten starving orphans?”

“Most fictional vampires have hearts of gold, barring the occasional jealous rage and consequent dismemberment.” I smoothed the hair away from his eyes.

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” Matthew said.

“Why? Vampires read books about witches. The fact that Kit’s Doctor Faustus is pure fantasy doesn’t stop you from enjoying a good supernatural yarn.”

“Yes, but all that manhandling and then making love . . .” Matthew shook his head.

“You’ve manhandled me, as you so charmingly put it. I seem to recall being hoisted into your arms at Sept-Tours on more than one occasion,” I pointed out.

“Only when you were injured!” Matthew said indignantly. “Or tired.”

“Or when you wanted me in one spot and I was in another. Or when the horse was too tall, or the bed was too high, or the seas were too rough. Honestly, Matthew. You have a very selective memory when it suits you. As for making love, it’s not always the tender act that you describe. Not in the books I’ve seen. Sometimes it’s just a good, hard—”

Before I could finish my sentence, a tall, handsome vampire flung me over his shoulder.

“We will continue this conversation in private.”

“Help! I think my husband is a vampire!” I laughed and pounded on the backs of his thighs.

“Be quiet,” he growled. “Or you’ll have Mistress Hawley to contend with.”

“If I were a human woman and not a witch, that growly sound you just made would make me swoon. I’d be all yours, and you could have your way with me.” I giggled.

“You’re already all mine,” Matthew reminded me, depositing me on the bed. “I’m changing this ridiculous plot, by the way. In the interests of originality—not to mention verisimilitude—we’re skipping dinner and moving right on to the date.”

“Readers would love a vampire who said that!” I said.

Matthew seemed not to care about my editorial contributions. He was too busy lifting my skirts. We were going to make love fully clothed. How deliciously Elizabethan.

“Wait a minute. At least let me take off my bum roll.” Annie had informed me that this was the proper name for the doughnut-shaped thing that kept my skirts respectably full and flouncy.

But Matthew was not inclined to wait.

“To hell with the bum roll.” He loosened the front ties on his breeches, grabbed my hands, and pinned them over my head. With one thrust he was inside me.

“I had no idea that talking about popular fiction would have this effect on you,” I said breathlessly as he started to move. “Remind me to discuss it with you more often.”

We were just sitting down to supper when I was called to Goody Alsop’s house.

The Rede had made its ruling.

When Annie and I arrived with our two vampire escorts and Jack trailing behind, we found her in the front parlor with Susanna and three unfamiliar witches. Goody Alsop sent the men to the Golden Gosling and steered me toward the group by the fire.

“Come, Diana, and meet your teachers.” Goody Alsop’s fetch pointed me to an empty chair and withdrew into her mistress’s shadow. All five witches studied me. They looked like a bunch of prosperous city matrons, with their thick woolen gowns in dark, wintry colors. Only their tingling glances gave them away as witches.

“So the Rede agreed with your initial plan,” I said slowly, trying to meet their eyes. It was never good to show a teacher fear.

“They did,” Susanna said with resignation. “You will forgive me, Mistress Roydon. I have two boys to think of, and a husband too ill to provide for us. A neighbor’s goodwill can be lost overnight.”

“Let me introduce you to the others,” Goody Alsop said, turning slightly toward the woman to her right. She was around sixty, short in stature, round of face, and, if her smile was any indication, generous of spirit. “This is Marjorie Cooper.”