Jane discovers Michael's a vamp   (also refers to Michael sleeping in a coffin, which was removed from the story, though, I did miss one reference.   Sorry!)

In FROM THE DARK, Jane realizes Michael is a vampire when he's trying to have sex with her and his fangs come down.   She quickly tells him she's a witch so he doesn't bite her.   But the discovery was a little different in the original version.   Michael had returned home from--somewhere--and he's stalking down the hallway....

         Quickly descending to the main level, she spied Michael as he stalked toward her down the hallway.   He looked a marvelous splendor of white-toothed anger and anxiety.   Blond hair flowing behind him with his quick pace, his arms he held slightly arced out at his sides.   In fierce mode, the warrior stalked his ground.  

         "Michael."   She realized she clung to the chair rail nailed hip-level on the wall, and released her tight clutch.   "Just getting home?"  

         Though the hall was dark, his eyes glittered and his teeth flashed as he answered, "Yep."

         He smelled like smoke and alcohol, and something innate.   Jane could not, once again, name the familiar scent, yet it disturbed her.   Pale and angelic, his face; the man could sing in the Tabernacle Choir all prettied up in choir robes, and seduce the very angels to tears.  

         And yet, there on his neck, a smear of--
         "Talk to you later," he said, and skipped down the stairs to the basement.   "I'm beat!" he called up.

         Frozen to the spot, her fingertips pressing painfully against the wall, Jane merely nodded in reply.   What she'd seen on his neck.   There was no mistaking the vivid crimson stain.  

         Not cherry juice.

         Suddenly everything fell into place.

         She had been a fool.   And she, knowing so much better!

         Spinning on her heels, Jane marched down the stairs and into the murky basement.   Michael's hair flashed.   She couldn't make out the dark recesses of the room.

         "I said I'm beat," he hissed.

         Actually hissed at her!  

         "Sure, but I think you'll spare me a few minutes."   She stepped down the stairs, and walked right up to Michael, who shoved away her hand when she tried to reach out and brush the hair from his face.  

         Behind him stood a...coffin.   A real coffin.  

         How could she have been so blind?  

         On the other hand, it was impossible to know without direct contact, and to be looking for the shimmer.   When he'd kissed her in the garden, she'd thought it the thrill of the moment.   And yet...

         Stupid girl!  

         Jane turned and walked to the bottom of the stairs.   Curse her for not knowing right away.

         She settled onto the second to lowest step and pulled her legs up.   "We need to talk, vampire."
        

         He stood clutching the veneered 'genuine maple look' edge of the coffin lid.   The cool dark basement resonated with Jane's presence, and the echoes of her voice.

         She had named him vampire.   And with such confidence that she would not be argued out of it.

         She was the otherworldly one, not him.   He walked the shadows and committed the murders.   She, well, what was she to so easily guess at his nature?   Did he wear a sign?

         "On your neck," she said softly.   She hadn't moved from sitting on the step.   Spare light shone down from the hallway above, toying shadows across the worry creased between her brows.   "There's a streak of blood."

         His fingers shot to his neck.   Sticky blood painted below his jaw.   The motorcycle chick must have seen; that was how she had guessed.  

         What sort of nightmares had the girl in the alleyway had?   Would they attack him as tangible beasts or as soul-raping entities inside his mind?

         No, I could not have killed her.   Please.   No...

         "Doesn't mean anything," he said.   "Must have cut myself."

         "Don't lie to me!"   Even enraged she attracted with wicked faery tales and that perfectly angry hair.   "I know vampires exist.   I know you are one.   You cannot hide the truth from me.   Oh mon Dieu , that song in the garden--the one you made up.   You wanted to hide your truths."

         "It was just silly lyrics.   Sweet Jane--"
         "Don't you sweet Jane me!"  

         How daring, and utterly defiant for a woman to approach a man in the darkness, a man she knew little of--and yet, she had guessed the truth of him.

         All this time he'd been successful in hiding his secret from the entire world, and this slip of a sexy woman uncovers it in but a week?

         "Who is this from?"   She smeared her forefinger down the center of his throat, the touch hard enough to make him swallow.   With that swallow he shoved back a good helping of regret.

         "Jane."   He pushed away her finger.   All he could think was the nightmares should be upon him by now.  

         "And a coffin?   Isn't that a bit morbid?   Vampires don't sleep in coffins."

         "How do you know?" he snapped.  

         Dropping his raised hand, Michael pushed out the anger with a dismissive gesture.   Extricating himself from her closeness, he fisted the coffin lid.   "I can't do this.   Not here.   Not like this."

         "Fine."   She turned and stomped up the stairs, a feat considering she wore no shoes.   "I'll be in the living room.   Don't keep me waiting, vampire.   I know a stake will do the trick."

         "Threats will not get me to comply!" Michael yelled, but she'd already started down the hallway.   All the same, he thrust an angry fist in her wake.  

         Yeah, right.   Rock on, you idiot vampire.

         What a fool thing to say.   She had the goods on him.   She knew.   How could he continue to deny it?

         "I've never denied myself a thing," he muttered.   Including his animal wants and needs.   "She wants to talk?   Oh, I can talk."

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