Hard training. That was how I'd described it to her, and, while it might not have been difficult for me, it clearly pushed her to her limits.

But that was the idea, right? If she wanted to kill vampires, and she clearly did, then I was going to do my damndest to make sure that she was the most lethal she could be. And, if I got to ogle her arse whilst chasing her through a forest, well, I'd call that a win-win situation.

She got better, too - stronger, faster, more agile. She stayed conscious more of the time, although I doubt she considered that a good thing, seeing as how that meant she was awake when I gave her blood to heal her.

She really had no idea of her effect on me - the feeling of her warm mouth around my finger evoked fantasies of her mouth around something else. Watching her run, imaging those long legs wrapped around me. Seeing her become more agile, more flexible, just gave me more ideas on ways to take her, different ways to bend her to hear her scream - in pleasure, that is.

When she told me she wasn't a virgin, I was shocked. The thought of her having a boyfriend waiting for her to come home to when she left me caused that tight, burning feeling to return to my stomach. But then when she told me that some lad had pulled a one-nighter, I kept my face neutral, but inside, I made a promise to myself: one day, I'd find that lad, and I'd kill him.

I'd been hearing rumors of young girls who kept disappearing, but whenever I went to check the police reports on them, they'd also magically disappeared. So, even though I didn't want to, I knew we were going to have to go consult an old acquaintance of mine.

I had Kitten drive us out to his "place of residence" if you will, and was bemused when she informed me she wouldn't be involved in the killing of any humans. Little did she know at the time that this "human" had been dead for well over a hundred years.

I outlined the situation to her and gave her the necessary ingredients to get the information we needed: pen, paper, and, oh yes, a bottle of white lightning. Winston may be dead, but he still liked his drink.

I stayed well out of sight, since our kinds didn't get along, and waited for her to come back. Luckily Kitten wasn't the type to be too freaked out by being in a graveyard in the middle of the night, so she didn't come screaming out after a minute or so.

In fact, I was just starting to get concerned about how long she WAS in there when she came weaving her way out. And when I say "weaving," I mean, as in, unable to walk a straight line weaving. She flung something at me that landed about a dozen yards away; picking it up, I realized it was the white lightning bottle. And it was empty.

Lucifer's bouncing balls, this woman had just drunk enough to kill a man three times her size, and she was still on her feet! Well, holding onto my jacket, but doing very well considering the circumstances.

"What happened, Kitten?"

"...you men…you're all alike. Alive, dead, undead—all perverts! I had a drunken pervert in my pants! Do you know how unsanitary that is?"

Wait just a bloomin' minute. Tell me I did not just hear what I think I heard.

"Winston poltergeisted my panties, that's what!"

That sneaky, evil, filthy, lucky bugger...

"Why, you scurvy, lecherous spook!" I yelled in the direction of the cemetery. "If my

pipes still worked, I'd go right back there and piss on your grave!" Wanker.

I was angry, because I was right in my suspicions about those missings girls being killed by vampires, and because Winston just floated his lucky self through the very panties I also very much wanted to get in.

Suddenly, Kitten began to giggle. "You know what? "You're pretty. You're so pretty."

I looked back at her and realized that for her to let down her guards down that much, she really had to be feeling the effects of all the alcohol. "Bloody hell. You'll hate yourself in the morning for saying that. You must be absolutely pissed."

She giggled again. "Not anymore."

I realized we'd gotten what we'd come for and, on the slim chance that Kitten came down with alcohol poisoning, it was definitely time to leave.

"Right." I picked her up and headed to the truck. "If you weren't half dead, what you just drank would kill you. Come on, pet. Let's get you home."

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she suddenly asked

Bugger, do I tell her the truth and hope she's so pissed she doesn't remember? Or do I lie to protect myself and risk getting her angry? I went with the truth. "No. I don't think you're pretty. I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

She went into some place in her mind, talking about the bloke that did the hit and run, I think, and how she was evil.

"You listen to me, Kitten," I cut in. "I don't know who you're talking about, but you are not evil. Not one single cell of you. There is nothing wrong with you, and sod anyone who can't see that for themselves."

Her head lolled about on my arm again, then she cheered up and began to giggle.

"Winston liked me. As long as I have moonshine, I've always got a date with a ghost!"

"I hate to inform you, luv, but you and Winston don't have a future together."

"Says who?" she laughed.

I pulled her face up very close to mine. "I say."

"I'm drunk, aren't I?"

I snorted, amused that she'd even need to ask. "Impressively so."

I carried her to the passenger side of her truck and deposited her on the seat. I watched her shift around, trying to get comfortable, but not having much luck. After several minutes of watching her wiggle around (which was both funny - because she was drunk - and arousing), I finally said, "Here," and pulled her head down to my lap.

"Pig!" she screamed, jerking up so fast, her cheek banged on the steering wheel.

I just laughed. "Isn't your mind in the gutter? You shouldn't be so quick to label Winston a drunken pervert. Pot calling the kettle black, if you ask me. I only had the most honorable of intentions, I assure you."

Finally she flopped her head back down into my lap, tired. "Wake me when we get to my house."