Free Love Bites by Lynsay Sands

could hear the faint rumble of voices.
    After a hesitation, Rachel moved down the stairs. She squeezed her toes into the hardwood with each step, an effort to prove to herself that this time she wasn’t merely dreaming.
    â€œYou told her it was a dream?”
    Rachel slowed as that question came clearly to her ears. A woman’s strident voice continued, “Etienne! What were you thinking?”
    â€œI was thinking that she needed to rest, and that this was the easiest way to calm her,” a male voice answered in slightly defensive tones. “She was a bit freaked out, Mother.”
    â€œUnderstandably so,” came another voice, similar to that of the dream man who had claimed to be her host, but deeper, more solemn somehow, despite its present amusement. “Especially since she caught you sleeping in that coffin of yours.”
    â€œOh, Etienne!” the woman exclaimed. “Surely you don’t still have that nasty old thing?”
    â€œI don’t normally sleep in it”—he was now definitely defensive—“but I’ve had some of my best ideas resting in that coffin, Mother. Besides, she was sleeping in my bed.”
    â€œWell, surely you have other beds here, son. You have finally gotten around to furnishing the spare rooms, haven’t you?”
    Etienne’s answer wasn’t really audible from where Rachel stood. Realizing she had stopped, she eased herself forward to stand outside the door. Then she hesitated, waiting until the woman spoke again before peeking around the door frame at the room’s occupants.
    â€œWell, you are going to have a lot of explaining to do when she comes in here, Etienne. And now that you’ve already lied to her, she may not trust anything you say.” The woman sounded annoyed. She also looked perturbed, Rachel saw, as she gaped at the speaker. The woman was beautiful, incredibly beautiful, the kind of woman other women hated to beseen around. She was also the living image of the woman Rachel had seen on the monitor downstairs. Long wavy hair, large silver eyes, a pouty mouth.
    Mother, the man named Etienne had called her? Rachel shook her head in denial. This woman looked to be in her late twenties. Thirty at the most. She was definitely not the blond man’s mother. Mother had to be a nickname, perhaps chosen because she was a worrier and a fusser.
    â€œI know.”
    Rachel glanced to the speaker, Etienne. The woman had addressed him as son. Impossible. Her gaze roamed over his perfect face and tawny hair. He was the man from her dreams—sexy, blond, and strong. If her dream had been reality, he had carried her up two flights of stairs as if she weighed nothing. Yes, he was definitely strong.
    â€œAnd she has negative notions of what we are, of course,” Etienne continued.
    â€œOf course she does,” the second man said. He was a darker-haired version of Etienne, though the two men appeared the same age. “Most people do.”
    â€œHow negative?” The woman sounded wary.
    â€œI believe the phrase she used was ‘bloodsucking demons,’” Etienne said.
    â€œOh, dear.” The woman sighed.
    â€œAnd she thinks our faces contort like on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. ”
    The dark-haired man grimaced. “Nasty show. Gave us all a bad name.”
    â€œYou’ve seen it, Bastien?” Etienne sounded surprised.
    â€œNo, but I’ve heard of it. There are a couple of fans at the office. Have you seen it?”
    â€œYes. It’s quite entertaining, really. And Buffy is an interesting little package.”
    â€œCan we get back to the subject at hand?” the woman asked—a bit archly. “Etienne, how are you going to explain?”
    â€œI’ll just tell her it was the only way to save her. Which it was. I couldn’t let her die after she saved my life.”
    The woman harrumphed, then turned to Bastien. “Did you handle the hospital