FEBRUARY 21, 1986/Boston, Massachusetts

We stand there and kiss for what seems like forever, blocking everything out around us. The band, the people, the smell of the clove cigarettes mixed with the acrid fake fog coming off the stage—it's all muted and hazy. The music, loud and droning with heavy beats, surrounds us and seems to pound in time with my heartbeat.

What am I doing? I've never kissed a guy at a club. It's only been in the last year that I even go to clubs, and that was because Kerri had encouraged me to get out of the library and stop studying.

I don't know anything about this man. His last name, his school, his favorite band. He's a complete stranger and yet I'm throwing myself at him as if he's my last salvation, the only one who can keep me alive. All because of his kisses that are punishing yet seductive, commanding yet languid. Like we have all the time in the world to keep kissing here in the middle of this concert.

And worse, I want more. A twinge of shame twists in my gut, but forbidden lust wins out.

Matteo doesn't stop, and neither do I. We kiss and kiss, unable to get enough of each other. I'm usually reserved and shun male attention, except when guys work hard to get to know me. Even then, I'm fairly selective; Mother's admonishment to only get to know nice boys has always echoed in my mind.

The few guys I've dated in college, they've always approached me with reverence, hesitation, and sometimes, I let them in. But never too much—never all the way sexually—and never this soon. Never in this kind of public place; normally I'd be too shy and embarrassed.

But with Matteo, this stranger who might, possibly, could be a vampire (if my instincts are correct), I'm pouring my soul into this kiss. Pouring my heart into his flesh. In between songs, in the seconds that the band is quiet, a couple of people nearby make a loud, snide comment but we ignore them, because right now, this kiss is all that matters. My body's pressed into his and my arms are around his neck, while his hands are clasping my jaw with enough force that I can't move much.

I'm ignoring everything Mother has warned me—especially since there's a chance he might be a vampire. The more I kiss him the more I'm certain of this fact. His cool flesh in this now-steamy club, the eyes that flash scarlet for a millisecond when he seems to be hyper-aroused, the way he keeps trailing his nose and lips over my jugular on my neck. He feels foreign, and not just because he has an accent of some sort.

"You smell so fucking incredible. I've never smelled this scent before," he says, almost to himself, as his lips linger on the sensitive skin above my collarbone.

Can he smell my blood rushing through my veins? Oh, God, I hope so, as much as the idea terrifies me if he's what I think he is. I want him to lose control and take me, to fulfill my dream once and for all. Let's get this over with...

All signs point to vampire with Matteo. Plus I have a sixth sense that can detect these things, and alarm bells are going off in my brain like they've never done before. The warnings are to stay away, but my fucked-up-priorities are telling me to forge ahead and damn the consequences, no matter what.

If he's truly a vampire, he would be the worst man of all, according to Mother, a race to be avoided at all costs. She's never really explained why, just said doesn't want me to end up like her, faced with the decision to stay immortal or love a soul mate and have a child and become like everyone else. I've never been able to figure out what she feels is a worse fate, but I know what I'd choose, and it's not the husband and kids and mortality.

No, she would tell me to run out of this club, run far from his dark stubble that's scratching my chin to ribbons, run from his kisses that consume me, run from his spicy scent that surrounds me and makes me weak in the knees.

But I don't want to. Quite the opposite. I want more, like a starving woman in a desert. I want everything he can possibly give me, especially the immortality part. And if he's a mere human?

That's fine, too, I guess. Because I'm sick of being the good girl and he's stupidly sexy. What would it hurt to hook up with him? I've never done that during my four years in college, and in a few short months I'm starting medical school.

Of course, there's the specter of AIDS, which has been in the papers lately. But that's what condoms are for, right? Well, that and preventing the unthinkable: children.

For a moment, he pauses and inhales away from my mouth. His eyes slightly roll back into his head as if he can't quite grasp what's happening here, either. Or maybe he's trying to summon some inner control. Then he wraps his fingers around my wrist and tugs roughly, pulling me through the crowd.

"But, but... Kerri," I protest. He doesn't hear me, and I allow myself to be led through the thicket of people, all dancing and swaying to the drumbeat of goth rock.

Where are we going? Out of the club? I need to tell Kerri that I'm leaving. I can't allow her to be alone. It doesn't matter that she's strong enough to take care of herself. We have a pact: never leave a friend behind.

She's always more concerned about me—when we went to a club called Narcissus last month, I'd had a bit too much to drink and started to sloppily dance and make out with some townie from Revere. She'd pulled me away and back to the dorm, saying that I didn't want to "go there" with a "guy like that."

But tonight, I'll go anywhere with this dark and mysterious man. It feels dangerous, yes, but also puzzlingly perfect. And if he can turn me into a vampire—give me what I want—then I want him even more.

Once we reach the edge of the crowd I spot the illuminated sign for the exit, but instead, he yanks me right, toward a long, dark corridor that led to the bathrooms. Interesting. Why doesn't he want to leave? Where is he taking me?

Since the band is well into its first set the corridor is empty, save for a couple of people stumbling to and from the bathroom, probably to do a few lines of coke. That means the dark hallway, with its black-painted walls, is secluded.

Still with that possessive grasp of my wrist, he leads me half way down the hall, between the two bathroom doors. Once we arrive at a smooth patch of black-painted stone wall, he stops and presses me against the wall.

His motion is so hard that my breath catches in my throat, out of fear and sheer lust.

His hands slide over my jaw, spanning my neck, and he brings his face to mine. "We needed a more private place for what I want to do to you," he mutters, before he assaults my mouth.

He kisses me again, but it's nothing like those first kisses on the dance floor. This is ravenous, hungry, fierce. I try to match his intensity but eventually give up, because he desires something I'm unable to comprehend. And the less I try to mimic him, the more he seems aroused.

"Do you like this?" He murmurs against my mouth.

I can only gasp and nod in agreement.

"Don't lie to me," he says.

"I'm...I'm not."

"Good girl." A surge of pure lust makes me shiver at his words.

He pauses, inching back as if to appraise me. His eyes are filled with lust but something else. Scrutiny, perhaps. As if he's sizing me up. Wondering if I'm worthy of him. I don't feel like I am, but desperately want to be.

"This is probably a terrible idea," he says, reaching to stroke my cheek.

My eyes, which had been half lidded with desire, open wide. "Why?"

He shakes his head and kisses me again, which sends a fresh shock wave of need through me, setting a flame directly from my lips right to my stomach and lower. No, I've never felt like this when kissing any of the guys I'd met at a college. This is as if my insides are on fire, and the problem is, I'm not sure if more kisses with Matteo will quench that heat.

Our kisses turn slow and deep, while ripple after ripple of desire flows through me. It's a moment that feels as though it will define my entire life, as if it as outsize meaning. Or perhaps I'm tipsy, or emotional, or...

"You're fucking beautiful, Evangeline." He lets out a low growl, something only I can hear.

Never has a man spoken to me this way, with a mixture of reverence and desperation in his voice. It makes me feel both vulnerable and powerful and I don't know how to answer. So I pull him closer to me, so I can attempt, in my own feeble way, to show him.

We kiss for the length of three more songs. A delicious eternity, one that makes me feel like I'm getting to know him with every nip of his teeth, with every shared breath. He traps my wrists in his hands and holds them above my head.

"You're a perfect kisser, you know that?" he says.

I didn't, but all I can do is lick my lips in response. My mouth feels bruised, raw, from his touch.

"You're not even nervous, are you, Evangeline?"

"I am," I whisper.

"Nervous about what?" He casually smooths my hair back, as if he's been doing it for years.

"I don't know. You. This is so...weird."

"Me?" A little smile creeps on his lips.

"You're... different."

He chuckles, a low, languid sound. As he does this, he draws me in for a hug that's shockingly intimate. This is confusing my senses, because up until now, our interaction has been based on lust. "This is weird? Or good?"

He smiles, but it's not the most reassuring expression. It's more feral, dangerous.

"Weird and good. Scary."

"Why? Because I make you feel something?"

I nod, still unsure, and he moves in with a smirk, planting a soft kiss on my mouth that turns my insides into molten lava, thick and hot. What is happening to me? Holy crap. I am feeling more than I usually do, am shocked out of my usual numb autopilot that propels me through classes and studying and visits with my parents.

"What do I make you feel, Evangeline?"

I'm about to answer in a stream of consciousness—turned on, excited, wet, horny, terrified, anxious—when the shriek of a female voice hits my ears.

"So that's where you went. Evan? Hey!"

It's Kerri, and Matteo and I both turn our heads. His hand is deep in my hair, which is tangled and messy, and he lets go of me with a soft groan.

I giggle nervously. "Hey Kerri, uh, this is Matteo."

She looks him up and down. "Hi. Took me long enough to find you. Are you leaving?"

"We're headed back to her dorm in a few minutes," Matteo says casually.

An alarm bell goes off in my head. How does he know I live in a dorm? Sure, Boston is a college town, and lots of people live in dorms. But still.

Kerry reaches for me and yanks me out of his embrace. We stand a few feet away from Matteo, and she presses her mouth into my ear and yells. I can smell the beer leaking from her every pore.

"I'm not sure about this. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say.

"I think you should come with me back to the stage." Her face is pinched with worry, the shadows and prisms of the stage lights bouncing off her pale skin.

I shake my head. "I want this. I want him."

She fixes a stony gaze at me. "I get a bad vibe from him."

I dismiss her with a wave of my hand. "He's harmless."

"Bullshit. You know exactly what he is." Kerri has a far more developed vampire radar than I do, for obvious reasons.

"Let me do what I want," I hiss.

"You're not going to let this go, are you? What if I drag you kicking and screaming away from him? What if I told you the bassist of the band is hot and probably even more willing than mystery man over here?"

"No, Kerri. Not interested." Silently I shoot her a glare. If she'd turn me into a vampire, none of this would be happening. But she won't. Won't accept that responsibility of turning a half-human into an undead creature. Apparently there's some taboo or law against that in vampire culture, but it's not a big deal, as far as I'm concerned. It's my body, my choice.

"You're going to do what you want, and I can't to stop you. God knows no one could stop me." She holds my face in her hands. "I just don't want to have to clean up his mess, your mess, if things go wrong."

"So far he's only done things right, if you know what I mean. Honestly, I think it's just sex. That's really what I want. I think."

She huffs out a laugh. "Spoken like a true virgin. Listen, go back to the dorm. Do not go to his house or dorm or apartment. Go to a familiar place. I'll be there in a while. Try not to do anything I wouldn't do."

I let out a genuine giggle. "That doesn't leave out much," I say.

She grabs my arm. "You know what to do if things get out of control, right?"

I nod. Once, when I met a vampire guy last year and thought he'd be the one to turn me, she showed me exactly how to repel him if I felt the situation wasn't right. She'd instructed me to buy and hide a large silver cross in our room, and made me promise me not to show it to her — but that I should feel free to flash the religious relic at any out-of-control vampire guy that I met. I'd never had the chance with the guy from last year, because he'd ghosted me without explanation, vanished without a trace.

Vampires, and vanishing vampires, weren't uncommon in Boston. They moved among the humans seamlessly, so I wanted to always be prepared. I'd never had to use it, because I'd never gotten that close to a vampire who wanted to take me to bed—or to turn me.

The ornate silver cross is stashed under my mattress, just in case. "You also be careful," I say. It's unnecessary, of course, because she has superhuman strength. Just one more reason I want to be like her.

"Pfft. I've already been invited backstage to meet the band. The bodyguard approached me and asked me to hang out with the band. You sure you don't want to join me? It's going to be fucking insane."

I shake my head. Musicians aren't my thing. Mysterious, dark-haired, sharp-jawed strangers are, apparently.

She wanders off, consumed by the crowd near the stage. I turn back to Matteo, who's casually leaning against a wall as if he couldn't be bothered with any of my stupid college conversations. I half expect him to roll his eyes, but he doesn't. Instead, he stares with those blue eyes, all intense and sexy, and I adore him even more.

"Want to get pizza in Kenmore Square? Or go back to my dorm and talk?" I ask.

He grins, an expression so wicked and decadent that I almost run after Kerri. Can I handle this man? There's no turning back now. Whatever is about to happen, will happen, and it's as if I can't change the course of fate.

"Lead the way, beautiful. Not interested in pizza, and I want more from you than conversation."

As he clasps my hand tight and we walk into the frigid Boston night that slaps me in the face with its bracing temperature, thrilling tingles shower through my body.

This might be the moment I've hoped for my entire life.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Whatever could Matteo want from her? 

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