Staring at my reflection in the mirror the next morning, I delicately prodded the pale curve of my neck where bite marks had been set in indelible ink. "You really are an idiot, Blake Ehlert," I muttered.

My mom had the day off for a change, and her voice floated up from the foot of the stairs that breakfast would be ready soon. I gave up any hope that the tattoo would magically disappear and instead stripped out of my pajamas. Running the shower as hot as it would go, I tested the rising temperature with the inside of my wrist, but it never seemed to get hot enough.

As the water rained down over my head and shoulders, I touched my lips, recalling the feel of John's mouth against my neck the night before. The first time John kissed me seemed like a lifetime ago. It felt like it had happened to someone else, in some other girl's life. His lips had been soft and warm, his breath against my skin a moist heat. He wasn't hard as marble or deathly cold. He'd always seemed very much human.

And yet the fact remained that John was a vampire and I wasn't. I didn't belong in his world any more than he belonged in mine. Leaning my head against the shower tile, I took a deep, shuddering breath. How could I choose between death or spending eternity as some monster with a predator's appetite? Life as I knew it had been stolen from me, and now I was doomed whatever path I chose.

There was a knock at the bathroom door and my mother's muffled announcement of breakfast. I turned off the water and stood dripping, my legs weak with a shameful craving. Seeing John again last night—him touching me, and me touching him—had left me more confused than ever. I knew he was right when he said I needed him, and it wasn't just a base need rooted in mutual desire. It was a need on which my life now depended. The only problem was I'd come to regard him and his kind as a disease. Unfortunately, the cure for what ailed me came with one very nasty and long-term side effect: vampirism.

Dressing in jeans and the heaviest hoodie I owned, I made my way downstairs to the kitchen where the heat from the oven made the room a few blessed degrees warmer. Taking a seat at the table opposite my dad, I spooned a serving of steaming, creamy-yellow eggs onto my plate, if only for the sake of appearing normal. My stomach ached with a terrible hollowness that made me feel as though I was being turned inside out, but when I brought a forkful of eggs to my mouth, I paused, fighting back sickness. I covered my mouth and nose with my hand and pushed the plate aside, willing myself not to vomit.

"Is something wrong?" my dad asked, eyeing me over the top of his newspaper.

I spread my fingers enough to talk. "Are these eggs expired?"

My mother placed a plate of bacon on the table. "I bought them yesterday. Why?"

I pinched my nose. "They smell gross."

Not believing me, my mom picked up the bowl of eggs. She took a generous whiff and then shook her head, her dark hair brushing the collar of her shirt. "They smell fine. Are you congested? Maybe you're getting a cold. I hear something is going around."

"I'm not getting a cold. They definitely smell funny," I insisted.

With a slight frown, she pulled the carton from the refrigerator and checked the expiration date. "They're still good for a few weeks." She looked at me, her brows pushing together, and I knew what she was going to say.

"You're not calling the doctor," I said, heading her off.

"I'm calling the doctor," she said anyway. "This is ridiculous, Blake. You're not eating. You're still losing weight. You're cold all the time." She flung her hands up in frustration. "Look at you! I can't believe all this," she said, thrusting her hand at me, "is because you're anemic."

"I'm fine," I said. "I've only been on the medication for a little while. It probably takes time to kick in."

My parents were still staring at me, neither of them saying a word, so I downed my glass of orange juice to prove my point. The acidic, too-sweet taste nearly made me gag, but I choked it down anyway.

"I know I'm grounded from having a life, but can I at least drive down to the lake?"

"All right," my mother said, a note of concern still in her voice.

Dumping my dishes in the sink, I stepped around my mom. She did a double-take, grabbing my arm before I could walk away. Brushing aside a thicket of curls, she pulled the hood of my sweatshirt away from my neck.

"You couldn't have gotten a heart or a butterfly?" she asked, resigned. "Something a little less macabre than . . . what is that, anyway?"

"Vampire bite marks."

"Of course. Vampire bite marks."

I ignored her comment. "I need my phone if I'm going out."

My father flicked his wrist at the kitchen drawer in which he'd sequestered my cell for the night. "Put it back when you come home," he said, eyeing my tattoo with an equally disappointed expression. "You're still on probation."

"And check in with us if you'll be gone for more than a few hours," my mother added.

Slipping on my coat, I grabbed the book I was reading from the coffee table where I'd left it face-down to mark the page. The plan was to drive to the lake where I could sit dockside and alternately stare out at the expanse of water and get lost in some other girl's dysfunctional love life—one that didn't include vampires.

**********

Last night's storm had blown over, leaving a trace amount of snow on the ground that melted as the day grew warmer. The sky blazed a crisp blue around a pale yellow sun. Before long, the gloom and gray of winter would settle permanently over the town and smother it in despair for the next six months. All things considered, it seemed only fitting.

Huddled in a musty smelling blanket from the trunk of my car, I spent half an hour reading in peaceful solitude with nothing but the squawk of hungry seagulls overhead as they scavenged for food, and the occasional muted voices of joggers passing on the path behind me.

I had just managed to forget my troubles when a shadow appeared over me, eclipsing the sun and casting a cold silhouette against my face. I looked up, annoyed at the intrusion, and saw John staring down at me. My heart stuttered at the sight of him, but I was careful to keep the expression on my face neutral. I returned my attention to my book, even though I knew there was no way I would be able to concentrate on the words now.

"Fudge off, John," I said when he didn't take the hint. Instead of leaving, he took my words as an invitation to sit down.

"I know you're angry," he said. "You have every right to be."

Snapping the book shut, I shoved it in my bag and rose to my feet. "I'm glad we at least agree on that. Goodbye, John."

He grabbed my arm, holding me in place. "Blake. Wait a minute."

I sighed with exasperation, picking up the blanket that had fallen to the ground and clutching it to my chest like a shield. "What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

I stared at him. "Why do I matter so much to you? You can have any human you want. Or is it only that vampires are disturbingly possessive?"

The answering look in his eyes was almost human-like, and I nearly reached out to brush away the lock of dark hair that had fallen across his smooth, pale forehead. But then I remembered what he was and clenched my fist tight, my nails digging into the skin of my palm.

"I have something for you," he said. "Please, sit down."

"Whatever it is, I don't want it."

"Sit," he said. I sat. He placed a plastic bag between us and peeked inside, meeting my eyes with a familiar smirk, presumably to rouse my interest. "I thought you might be hungry. I stopped at The Market for your favorite chili and cornbread. Remember when we went there together?"

I glanced at the peace offering, my mouth watering in automatic response to my hunger. But instead of taking it, I pushed it away a few inches with the tip of my finger. Despite how my stomach clenched and rumbled, I refused to admit to him that the chili's odor, normally fragrant and homey, was now so offending it practically singed the hairs inside my nose. I saw how John was studying me, a thoughtful expression on his face, and I turned my attention to the lake instead. Wordlessly, he gathered the bag and got up to drop it into the nearest trash bin.

"You'll eventually learn to ignore the smells," he said, resuming his seat next to mine. "You'll still be able to eat food for the sake of appearing human, but there's no nutritional value to it and most of it won't taste anything like you remember. If you're lucky, you'll find a few foods you're still able to enjoy."

"You're assuming I want to be like you."

John leaned forward then, his face suddenly harsh with suppressed anger. "You don't have any other choice," he said through his teeth. "You will die if you don't go through with the transformation."

I pulled up my legs, burying my face in my knees so I didn't have to look at him. Or maybe so I didn't have to face the stark reality of the situation.

"Blake," he said some moments later, his voice calmer. "Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be. One way or another, the transformation will happen."

I raised my head, looking at him sharply. "What are you going to do, pin me down and force it on me? I thought you said I had a choice."

"I am trying to help you, but you can be impossibly stubborn." The side of his mouth lifted then, which only made him look ruthless and condescending. "I assumed most girls in your position would jump at the chance of becoming a vampire."

"Those girls are idiots. I don't want anything to do with you, John. Ever again."

John's gaze rattled me to the core. His eyes were such an intense shade of green I had once thought them beautiful, but now I could see the predator behind the human facade and wondered how I'd ever fallen for the charade. John might look human, but I could never forget he wasn't.

An icy wind blew across the lake, lifting small tendrils of hair away from my face. A shiver rippled through my body, chilling my blood, and I clutched the blanket tighter to my chest.

"Are you cold?" John asked unnecessarily.

I gave him a dark look. "I'm always cold."

Shrugging out of his coat, he draped it around my shoulders. The leather jacket was heavy and smelled strongly of human scents—soap and men's aftershave—and I closed my eyes, reveling in residual warmth and happier memories.

"It's because you're dying," he said.

"Gee, thanks for the reminder."

A rogue tear escaped the corner of my eye, falling on the brown leather of his coat sleeve and leaving a splotch of wetness in its wake. Staring at it, I said, "You've always felt so warm to me. Aren't vampires supposed to be 'cold as death' and all that nonsense?"

John shook his head, smiling. If he caught the scorn in my voice, he ignored it. "I suppose the ones who don't feed often enough do feel cold to a human's touch."

Shuddering at the word "feed," I looked around to make sure no one was listening to our conversation. It didn't escape my attention that John probably wasn't going hungry these days. I recalled the night I was attacked and how cold Ian had felt in comparison.

"I take it you feed regularly?"

"As often as I need to," he said.

"Then you're just as big of a monster as he is."

There was a moment of silence, and then: "I don't go around randomly attacking people, Blake."

"But you do drink human blood."

"Of course I do," he said, impatience slipping through the cracks of his calm demeanor. "I'm a vampire. I make no apologies for my diet, nor do I abstain from fulfilling my most basic need to survive. I don't condemn humans and their need for food, do I?"

Another gust of wind came off the lake and I pulled his jacket tighter around me. "Then where does the blood come from?" I said, challenging him.

John stared out at the water, weighing his words carefully before answering. "You have to understand I have no desire to harm humans."

"I find that difficult to believe," I said.

He went on as though I hadn't spoken. "There are a few legal methods of obtaining blood in the vampire world. Most of us—"

"Most of us," I echoed, interrupting. "Exactly how many of you are there?"

"In this town, or in general?"

"I don't know," I said. "Either? Both?"

His shoulders rose and fell. "I have no idea in any case. More than you might think, but not as many as there are humans. You'd be surprised how many vampires you pass on the street each day without realizing."

"I don't want to know."

"Anyway," he continued. "Most vampires buy blood that's been pre-screened and carefully collected, just like you might buy a gallon of milk from the grocery store. Some vampires have money to throw around and prefer getting their blood fresh from the source."

"Like . . . from a donor?" I said, horrified.

"Exactly," John said. "But our Donors are carefully recruited. Their blood is drawn using medical equipment just like at a blood bank. Biting a human is strictly prohibited. It's one of the most fundamental rules, aside from remaining inconspicuous."

"Biting a human is prohibited," I said.

"Vampire bites are venomous, as you know. In most cases, the venom spreads slowly. Only the venom of the very old will kill a person within minutes."

"So it's like the difference between a king cobra and a rattlesnake," I said, suppressing a shudder at the mental image.

The corner of John's mouth twitched. "I suppose. Both are dangerous but to a varying degree."

"And where are you on that scale?" I hadn't meant to be funny, but John laughed.

"I'm more like your common garden snake. But unlike the common garden snake," he said, his face growing serious once more, "my bite will eventually kill. If a younger vampire attacks a human, which does happen from time to time, and fails to completely drain him to the point of death, it creates somewhat of a complication."

His words made my insides twist and churn, and I beat back the lightheadedness threatening to pull me under. "I don't understand. If a vampire bites a human, don't they get the same choice I did?"

John shook his head. "Humans don't typically survive a vampire attack. If they do, they're changed immediately, otherwise, they become a liability."

"What do you mean?"

"Meaning, they might talk. Blow our cover?" he said when I still failed to understand.

It was my turn to laugh. "But who would believe such a story? If I went around telling people that I was attacked by a vampire, everyone would think I was crazy. My parents would have me committed."

"There are believers out there, Blake. As long as vampires have existed, there have been people who believe."

"You could have turned me that night at your house, and yet you didn't. Why not?"

John lowered his eyes, seeming suddenly shy. "It's not like casual sex where you do it whenever the mood strikes. Creating a new vampire means commitment. You and your maker share a bond from that day forward. You are forever linked."

Taking my icy hand in his warm fingers, he went on. "Blake, I want you, but you have to want me, too. I will not force this change on you."

Only then did I realize the magnitude of what John was proposing, what he had been proposing to me all along. "You've never created another vampire before, have you?"

He shook his head. "No."

I swallowed hard. "We spent two weeks together over the summer and now you want me to become a vampire and live happily ever after with you?"

John's grip on my hand tightened. "I've been watching you for years, Blake. Just like you've been watching me. You can't deny this connection that we have. I think your life is worth saving, even if it's not the same life you're used to."

My mouth had gone dry and I licked my lips. "And who turned you, John?" I whispered, stunned by this admission. "Who thought your life was worth saving?"

He opened his mouth to respond and then closed it, reconsidering. He shook his head. "That's not important right now."

"But you said vampires share a special bond with the one who—" I waved my hand, feeling ridiculous for saying it "—makes them."

"They do."

"Then how can you say it's not important?"

John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the line of his mouth thinning. "It was Ian," he said. "He's the one who sp—" He stopped, shook his head, and tried again. "He's the one who made me what I am."

"Ian." I nearly choked on his name. Of all the vampires to turn John, I should have guessed it was that wretched monster.

"And how is the little leech these days?" I said through clenched teeth.

His eyes were full of sympathy. "Very sorry for what he did."

The tears spilled over, leaving wet tracks down my cheeks. "Not half as sorry as I am. You told me he was your cousin, John."

"Blake—"

"Is he still hanging around making a nuisance of himself?"

John lowered his gaze. "He hasn't left my house."

"That you know of."

"I can assure you he hasn't," John insisted, an edge to his voice.

I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to gather the shattered pieces of my heart. "If you claim to care so much about me, why is he still here? Why haven't you sent him away?"

John gave a slight shake of his head, the muscles of his jaw working. He finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine. "Because he has nowhere else to go."

I laughed. "He can go anywhere in the world, John. He can go to Hell for all I care!"

"That's not what I meant," John said. "The reason Ian can't leave is because he's in trouble."

I remembered then that John said it was against the rules for a vampire to bite a human. "I suppose I should feel relieved that he's at least being punished for what he did to me."

John fidgeted beside me, the expression on his face telling me I didn't quite have it right. "He is being punished for attacking me, right?" I said.

"No one knows it was Ian who attacked you," he admitted.

"What?"

"The reason he came here in the first place is that there's a warrant out for his arrest. He's been dodging it for a while."

"Let me guess," I said. "The warrant isn't for a bunch of unpaid parking tickets."

"Not exactly."

I stood abruptly. "Are you telling me that Ian has done this to other people before, that he's a serial—" I searched for the right word. "A serial biter?"

"Some vampires have a more difficult time controlling their urges," he said, getting to his feet to better face me. "They can't help it."

"Are you actually defending him?"

John placed a hand on my arm, as though to restrain me. "I'm not defending him," he said. "Only explaining his actions. Vampires who bite might get away with it once, but more than once and they don't go unnoticed for long."

I shook my head. "I can't believe this."

"You were one of the lucky ones," he said. "You survived."

My mouth fell open. "And you think that makes it all right? He ruined my life, John!"

He gripped my arm, gesturing for me to keep my voice down. He glanced around and, satisfied no one was paying attention, went on.

"Ian created me. Yes, he drives me crazy most of the time and has questionable judgment, but we share a bond. That warrant . . ." John shook his head. "If the vampires in charge of this jurisdiction see that warrant and connect the dots . . . That's why he's hiding, Blake. That's why he hasn't left my house in the two months since he attacked you."

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down and think. "If you two share a bond," I said, "isn't the logical place to look for him here, where you are? It's only a matter of time before he gets caught, and you know it."

The line between his brows deepened, and for once he looked unsure. "Maybe. I don't know, Blake. But I have to protect him!"

With renewed fury, I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached and I tasted blood. "Ian is dangerous. At the very least he should be locked up or . . . institutionalized or . . . whatever it is your kind does to punish miscreant vampires."

My wild gesticulations had attracted the attention of an older couple passing by. John gave them a wary look and turned me in the opposite direction. "Let's go for a walk."

I jerked my arm free, standing rooted in place. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"If you'll just let me—"

"I said no!"

"Is everything okay?" asked the woman, approaching with caution. Her clear gray eyes volleyed uncertainly between the two of us.

John turned on her. "Leave," he said in a menacing tone. The couple walked away at once, no questions asked and without another look back.

I watched them for a moment before pivoting on my heel, heading with purposeful strides in the direction of my car. But after only a few steps, John stopped me again.

"Come back to my place. We can talk about this calmly and rationally. Ian doesn't deserve—"

I yanked my arm out of his grasp. "You're right. Ian doesn't deserve. He doesn't deserve anything, and he especially doesn't deserve my sympathy!"

John tried again. "It was my fault for not having enough blood in the house. That's what I was getting when you showed up that night. You were never supposed to be there!"

"So it's my fault I got attacked?"

"No! Ian's needs are much greater than my own. He didn't know what he was doing when he attacked you. He wasn't in control of his hunger."

An angry heat blossomed in my cheeks. "You think being hungry excuses his behavior? You think it's okay that he nearly killed me?"

"No, I don't," John said. "But he's not the horrible person you think he is."

I held up my hand to stop him, not interested in hearing any more. "Save it, John. You will never convince me that Ian is anything but a monster."

His shoulders slumped, his mouth opening and closing. "He's all I have left," he said. "Don't you understand? They can't find out about him."

*****

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