Forever Starts Now

This eBook is published by Fictionwise Publications www.fictionwise.com Excellence in eBooks Visit www.fictionwise.com to find more titles by this and other top authors in Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Mystery, and other genres.

This eBook copyrighted. See the first page of this book for full copyright information.

Alinar Publishing www.alinarpublishing.com Copyright ©2008 by Kallysten

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS Forever Starts Now Prelude Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six

Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Epilogue About the Author ****

Forever Starts Now Kallysten [Back to Table of Contents]

Copyright © 2008 Kallysten All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published May 2008 All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Edited by Mary S. Cover by Kallysten ISBN 1-906023-51-4 978-1-906023-51-5 [Back to Table of Contents]

Prelude Two empty boxes waited on the bedroom floor, opened, carefully taped shut and labeled in capital letters, the marker lines dark and crisp on the cardboard. Claire could still smell the permanent ink. It held the sharp edge of finality. As she walked further into the room, she caught a glimpse of the moon through the window. Full and heavy, it was struggling to rise into the early evening sky. Soon, it would cast enough light over Haventown to make it seem like day. Past experience told Claire that Jonas would be out hunting vampires for the best part of the night, giving her more than enough time to finish before he returned. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck, and Claire shrugged at the feeling. The air was slow in cooling down after a hot day. She couldn't wait to be done with her packing. She hadn't started more than an hour earlier, but already her t-shirt was sticking to her back in a decidedly unpleasant way. It wasn't difficult work, but the lingering heat of the day made it more tedious. It made her even more grateful for Maggie's help. "Why don't you take the closet,” she said, pushing the words past the lump in her throat, “and I'll do the dresser." Maggie gave her a worried look and reached out to her. Claire forestalled the comfort and question she could feel were coming with a slight shake of her head and a forced smile. "I'm fine." "Liar." The gentleness of Maggie's tone softened the accusation, and Claire suddenly had to blink away rising tears she refused to shed. She had cried too much already.

They had known each other since elementary school. Claire's first instinct, when she had made her decision, had been to call her. Maggie had arrived ten minutes later with chocolate cake and two boxes of tissues. "I'll be fine,” she amended. Maggie seemed to understand and accept this answer. She squeezed Claire's shoulder for a second before turning back to their task. Claire pushed one of the boxes with her foot and it slid easily on the black and red rug Jonas liked so much. She realized they would need to roll it and take it out when they were done with the boxes. One more thing on the list. Maggie opened the closet doors wide; the movement brought Claire back to the immediate present. She turned to Jonas’ dresser and took a deep breath. She could do this. She had to do this. If she didn't, if she caved in once more, she would never be able to look at herself in a mirror again. Her hands trembling a little, she began emptying the first drawer. Her actions were methodical, enough so that she chided herself for refolding a t-shirt here or matching up two lonely socks there. She knew she was a little silly to take such care in packing these clothes, especially since she was rarely as thorough with her own clothing. On a recent job evaluation, her new boss had used the words ‘disorganized’ and ‘messy’ to describe her desk while grudgingly complimenting the quality of her work; he might as well have been describing her personality. She had rather set ideas over what mattered and what did not, and she acted in accordance. It didn't matter what her desk looked like as long as her clients were satisfied and the commissions she rolled in. The same way, on any other day, she wouldn't have cared that a pair of boxers was folded just so, or that a box was tagged according to what it contained. Today, though, she did. When she closed the last box, she wanted the peace of mind that came from knowing that she, unlike Jonas, had done everything right. The sounds of packing behind her suddenly stopped, replaced by the crinkling of plastic. Claire laid another t-shirt in the half-full box and turned toward her friend. She had pulled a wedding dress out of the closet and was holding it up at arm's length in front of her. Specks of dust rose from the clear plastic bag that protected the dress without hiding it. "It was my mother's,” Claire said, her voice choked up as she walked to her friend. “It's the dress I told you about." Maggie turned to clasp Claire's arm, and met her eyes with a hint of apology. "And that's definitely not going in a box,” Claire added with a strained smile. They worked in silence after that, and Claire tried not to look at her left hand—tried not to miss the light weight of the ring on her finger. She had only worn it for a few months, after all, not long enough to truly get used to it. Taking it off had been the first thing she had done after making her decision. She wouldn't regret it, not now, not later. She refused to. The boxes ended up having enough free space in them to pile up two sets of satin bedclothes and a coverlet over the clothes. "You're sure you don't want to keep these?” Maggie's look was wistful as she brushed her fingers on the black satin. “They're really nice." "Jonas bought them,” was all Claire said, and it was enough. She wanted Jonas out of her life, and there was no point in keeping mementos.

One after the other, Claire held the boxes closed as Maggie taped them shut. They carried them to the front porch with what they had already packed in the kitchen and living room. Then they returned to the bedroom and worked together to free the rug, roll it, and carry it down. She remembered it being heavy when they had bought it, but now it seemed to weigh nothing. It certainly weighted less than the past eight years of living with Jonas. She couldn't help wondering how much of it had been a lie, or even why he had finally proposed, less than six months earlier. Heavy or not, she still sighed when they dropped the rug on the concrete porch next to the boxes. When they returned inside, Maggie sat down in the living room to pack up the piles of books Claire had pulled from the bookshelf, leaving it half empty and looking rather desolate. Most of the books dealt with the occult, accounts of vampire lives or retellings of famous fights, and while Claire had sometimes claimed they belonged in the basement, with Jonas’ weapons, she had read most of them, fascinated by the glimpses they gave into vampire clans and customs. Claire had already put away Jonas’ knick-knacks, shot glasses, coasters and pictures. The room looked bare without them and Jonas’ leather armchair, even more so than it had when Claire had moved in. She would need to make the place hers again, change the colors, move the furniture. She would feel better once she did. Taking with her the two smaller boxes she had piled up in front of the basement door, Claire descended the treacherous steps carefully. She had fallen and broken her leg while running down those same steps as a child, and the lesson had stuck with her for close to thirty years. At first, she felt a little uncomfortable handling the weapons. Jonas had never liked her touching them even when he had taught her the basics of defending herself and staking a vampire. She pushed the feeling away and set herself to work. She picked up a couple of crossbows from the storage shelves that lined the wall, and carefully placed one in each box. She then tucked a quiver full of wooden arrows in one, and a few stakes, some as pointed as a needle, others not completely carved yet, in the other. Three knives, as many sheaths and a sharpening stone completed her loot. She had never understood why Jonas felt the need to keep weapons here when he had a much more complete arsenal at the agency. There were many things relating to Jonas and his work that she didn't get. She didn't care anymore to try to understand. She looked around the basement when she was done, checking that she wasn't forgetting anything. The tools on another shelf had been left by her father. The washer and dryer had been a joint purchase, but she didn't see herself packing one of those up. Besides, she had been the one using them more often than not. The boxes felt light as she brought them up, lighter than the first one she had carried outside had, and it had nothing to do with their content. Maggie was almost finished too, and she was flipping through a notebook when Claire stopped next to her. "That's his tallies,” she explained, grimacing. “He has paperwork to fill out for his job, but he comes home every night and he adds whatever vamp he's killed that night in here. He says he wants to be able to add it all up the day he retires and know how many vamps he killed throughout his career. Morbid, huh?" Maggie shivered. “A bit, yes.” She flipped through some more pages, her finger following lines of numbers. “And not very reassuring. I never realized there were that many bad vamps running around town. You'd think the media would be all over that." With a frown, Claire placed her boxes on the coffee table and sat on the arm on the sofa so that she

could read as well. "What do you mean? There aren't really that many, considering how many vampires live in Haventown." Maggie pointed at the notebook, then turned back a few pages and showed Claire another column of numbers. “On the last few pages, the numbers are almost double what they were before that. Special Enforcers get paid by how many vamps they stake, don't they? I see where the satin sheets came from!" "Actually,” Claire said, reaching down to take the notebook from Maggie's hands, “he's been complaining for months that he doesn't get paid as much as he deserves." Beginning at the end, she looked at the pages more closely. Each number was accompanied by a date, making it easy to trace trends. It seemed as though the last couple of years or so had been really busy, but Jonas had never mentioned that hostile clans had arrived in town. What else could it be, though, when a single day registered seven kills? On regular nights, Jonas had told her long ago, a Special Enforcer could count himself lucky if he found one or two vamps that deserved to be staked. Most of their work involved performing disinvite rituals on houses and checking reports that led to nothing interesting. Why would Jonas hide from her that he had more work than ever? Why wouldn't he get paid for the extra kills? A picture began to form in her mind, and Claire wasn't sure she liked it much. "If he started killing vampires without proof that they're hostile, it'd explain why his numbers jumped so high. And why he feels he doesn't get paid enough. He can't report those kills; it'd seem too suspicious." With a shake of her head, she stood and slipped the notebook into the box with the rest of Jonas’ things. Maggie handed her the roll of tape, but she seemed hesitant. "Shouldn't you keep this book? I bet the police would be interested in seeing it." Tape poised over the box, Claire thought about it. It could be important, yes, but how would Jonas react if the notebook was missing? It'd complicate everything, and what she wanted, what she needed, was a neat end. "I know what the numbers mean,” she said as she taped the box shut. “But they wouldn't mean anything to anyone else. If he's really killing vamps he shouldn't, he'll get caught. It's not my problem." Even as she said the words, discomfort settled inside her, making everything seem tight and oppressive. The brief flash of disapproval in Maggie's eyes didn't help. However, rather than arguing with her, Maggie picked up the box and led the way out. "You mentioned the attic, too?” Maggie asked as they stepped outside once more. There was a thread of tiredness to her voice, barely there but Claire couldn't miss it because she was just as tired. It had been a long day for her, packing after working behind a desk for eight hours; she could only imagine how Maggie would feel after dealing with a class full of four-year-olds all day. "There's only a couple of things up there, and they're already boxed. I can finish alone." Maggie gave her a sharp look. “You're sure? I don't mind staying a little longer. Or even until he comes back. The offer still stands."

With a grateful smile, Claire leaned in and hugged her friend. “I know you would stand by me, and just knowing that is enough. I'll be fine." "I shouldn't be the one saying it,” Maggie said when she pulled back, “but since no one else will, let me tell you I'm proud of you. You've made the right decision, standing up for yourself. I know you have." Pleased and a little embarrassed, especially because another decision, made only moments before, was still pulling at her conscience, Claire offered Maggie coffee, but she declined. "I can't wait to take a shower. I swear, the air conditioning unit is the last thing we should have packed!" She left on that shared laugh and an admonition that she wanted to hear from Claire as soon as it was over, whatever the hour. Claire climbed to the attic to retrieve the two boxes there. She sneezed when dust rose in the air, disrupted by her steps. She couldn't remember when she had last come up, and she wasn't even sure what was in the boxes anymore; it had been that long since Jonas had stashed them up there. But they were his, and they would leave her house with him. Once those last two dusty boxes were set on the porch, Claire stood, hands on her hips, and surveyed an evening's worth of work—and eight years worth of love. It didn't seem like much at all, suddenly. She would have thought there would be more things to pack, more traces of Jonas in her home than what was now in front of her. The realization left an almost bitter flavor on her tongue. Shaking her head, she stepped back inside, and took some pleasure in snapping the new locks shut. She had thought of everything, or at least she thought she had. The only surprise would be to see how Jonas reacted to it all. She had a bet with herself that denial, once again, would play a large part in his answer. They had been in the same place, three years earlier, when she had confronted him and he had refused to admit to his infidelity. He had pleaded with her, argued, cajoled, promised, and when she had asked him for a few days to think, he had refused to give her space, refused to even leave her bed. She had let herself be convinced by sweet promises, and now she knew she had given in too easily. She had loved him too much to truly press the issue and risk losing him, especially when he claimed it was all a misunderstanding and he loved no one but her. The fear of being alone had weighted on that too, a fear she still felt even now. This time, she wouldn't believe him, and wouldn't let herself be swayed by his words or her own fears. This time she had proof. It had come through the mail, in an unmarked envelope, with a short handwritten note that merely said, “I thought you should know.” She had no idea who had sent the envelope, but the pictures inside had not been as much of a surprise as they should have been. That realization had hurt, but it had also been the wake-up call she needed to make a hard decision. If she confronted Jonas as she had before, if she gave him the opportunity to lie to her again, history would only repeat itself. He would only need to plead hard enough and she'd forgive, forget, and play his game until the next time, and the next one after that. Maybe pushing him out of her life like this and ending eight years of what she had thought had been love and mutual respect was too harsh, or too unfair. Maggie had been wary of the idea, at first, and had cautioned her not to go too fast. Yet, after thinking about it for a few days, Claire was determined to see this through. The fact that Jonas had not even noticed anything strange with her during that time had sealed the decision for her. She had given him her trust, and he had shattered it beyond repair. The best

she could do, for the both of them, was to make the cut as clean and easy as possible. She wouldn't scream at him. She wouldn't argue, or demand an explanation or an apology that would mean nothing. She wouldn't destroy his things, or pile them up as trash on the curbside—even if the temptation to do just that had been very strong. The shower Maggie had touted sounded like a wonderful idea, now that dust from the attic was sticking to Claire's sweaty skin and stinging her eyes enough to make her cry. She'd freshen up before Jonas came back. She didn't want him to think she had been crying because of him. She didn't want him to believe she hurt. Even if she did. **** It was past two in the morning when she heard a car pull up the driveway. Claire turned off the television; she hadn't been paying much attention to what was on for quite some time. She sat up on the sofa, listening intently. Sure enough, the noise of a key sliding into a lock was next, followed by the rattling of the door when it didn't open. She waited a few more seconds, both to make her point and to take a calming breath, then stood, clutching a small jewelry box and a few pictures in her hand. She opened the door to find a rather irate Jonas on the front step. She stood in the way, and did not move when he started advancing, forcing him to stop. "What the heck is going on?” he asked, frowning deeply. “What are those boxes? And why doesn't my key..." He trailed off when she handed the jewelry box to him. His eyes flew to her left hand at once, and widened at what he failed to see there. "Claire?” The uncertainty in his voice would have been delicious, if Claire had not decided that she wouldn't allow herself to be petty. “What ... what are you doing?" "Something I should have done three years ago.” Her voice was shaking a little, but she wouldn't back away now. She thrust the box a little farther toward him until he took it. “You're moving out." His laugh sounded forced. “Move out? Why would I move out? We're getting married in—" "Don't,” she snapped, the thin hold she had on her calm slipping away. “There won't be a wedding. I won't have you vow to love me for the rest of our lives when you're already cheating on me." He was a good actor, he had always been, and she could almost have believed the wide-eyed innocent look he gave her, or the pleading gesture of his hand reaching out to caress her cheek. She endured the touch and tried not to let the familiarity of it breach her defenses. "I'd never cheat on you,” he started, honey-voiced. “You know I wouldn't. You're the only one for me, my best friend, my only love, and I'd never do anything to hurt you. You know that, baby. I know you do." Without a word, she handed out the pictures to him, and watched, emotionless, as he flipped through them. The first ones were almost innocent, a man and a younger woman holding hands, laughing together, kissing. Those had been taken by daylight at or around the agency. The last ones, taken at night in a dark alley showed the same two people engaging in activities more suited for a bedroom. His face paled as he reached the end of the stack, or it could have been a trick of the flickering porch light above them.

"I can explain,” he pleaded, looking back at her. His tone was filled with urgency, as though he understood that this time, it wouldn't be as easy for him to fix things. “It was just one time, an accident, and I—" "And I don't believe you,” Claire said, finding her words more easily now that she knew she had been right and that he wouldn't even admit to a fault. “I believed you last time. You won't fool me twice." He shook his head. She noticed he was standing straighter, emphasizing his height, the way he always did when he wanted to intimidate someone by looking down at them. She wouldn't let this cheap trick get to her, though. "I'm not leaving,” he said. The coldness of his words matched the glint of ice in his dark eyes. “We'll work through this. It doesn't mean anything." "Oh, I assure you, it does mean something.” Claire had to fight to keep the thread of fear that was curling around her out of her voice. This was why she had packed for him; if she flinched now, he would never leave. “Youare moving out. Everything that is yours is out there, and you're not setting foot in this house again." The challenge in his gaze was clear as he opened his mouth to speak, but she was faster. She had thought he might refuse to leave and she'd been determined to deal with it if it happened. After what she had seen in his tally notebook earlier, she knew exactly what to say to convince him not to argue. "I looked through your notebook while I was packing your stuff. Interesting numbers. I was wondering if the S.E. liaison at the police station would find them familiar or if he'd be surprised by how many vamps you've been killing lately." She knew, before she had even finished, that she had guessed right. The brief look of panic in his eyes was enough, even if anger soon hid it. "It's bad enough that you've been messing with my things, but if you stole—" "I didn't steal anything. It's in one of these boxes, like everything else that belongs to you. But if you don't leave tonight, if you don't leave for good, then I will tell the police what you're doing. Are you ready for them to snoop around in your business?" Jonas’ closed fist hit the doorjamb. His expression was thunderous. Claire started and took an unconscious step back. He blinked at that, and the anger seemed to drain right out of him, replaced by surprise. "You're afraid of me?" When Claire didn't answer and merely stared at him, he shook his head. "You should know me better than that, Claire. I could never hurt you." Claire had to fight not to let tears come up to her eyes. "No, you wouldn't hurt me. All you do is lie and cheat. But it's over now. Really over." He reacted to the quiet words as he might to a slap, by taking a half-step back and looking at her as

though for the first time. In a way, it was. She had never showed this determined side of herself to him. She hadn't even been sure it existed before this day. "Claire, I promise—" She never heard what lie he was ready to offer this time. She pushed the door shut in his face, and, with a flick of her wrist, locked it. She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing she was shaking. Lightheaded, she went to sit on the sofa and took a moment to calm down, her eyes shut tight as she listened to Jonas knock hard on the door and call for her. When she didn't answer, the knocking stopped. Claire continued to listen intently for the sounds on the porch, imagining Jonas picking up his things and carrying them to the back of his truck. After long moments, the motor roared to life and he drove away. Claire called Maggie. "It's done,” she said, hearing the relief and excitement in her voice but unable to feel either. “I can start a new life now." Only when she hung up on congratulations and wishes of happiness did she realize that she had no idea what kind of new life she wanted. For eight years, she had lived what she had thought was the perfect love story, only to discover it had been no more than a dream. The aftertaste was bitter, and she hurt enough that she wanted to curl into a ball and sleep until it was nothing but a memory. She wouldn't do that, though. She had taken a first step by sending Jonas away; she would continue on the same road and reclaim her life. And if she didn't know where that road led, it didn't matter all that much. She would figure it out. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter One Claire's tight dress made stepping out of the cab a more complex affair than it should have been. Sliding over to the door, she pushed it open before swinging both legs out and carefully setting her high heels on the pavement. She hastily smoothed the black fabric down her hips as she stood. "Ten thirty, then?” the driver asked, his voice thick with an Eastern European accent. He had spent most of the ride telling her of the vampires he claimed to have fought back home almost since the cradle, it seemed. Claire had refrained several times from pointing out factual errors in his tales; as much as movies claimed otherwise, vampires could not grow back severed limbs, nor could they transform their features at will. She had wondered several times whether the man's usual customers fell for his stories, or if they, too, could spot the inconsistencies that made it all a boastful lie. She paid her fare and an advance for his return through the open window. “Ten thirty,” she confirmed. “Right here would be great.” It would be early, but she thought it would give her enough time. For months now, the knowledge that Jonas killed vampires illegally had pricked her conscience, making her wonder if she ought to do something about it. Seeing vampires up close would give her the answer she needed, or so she hoped. The driver touched the edge of his cap with two fingers, and she could have sworn he said a quiet “Be safe” as he drove away.

She stood on the sidewalk for a few seconds, reading the glowing sign over the entrance of the club. Starting as an icy blue, the letters shifted to a deep red even as she watched, spelling the name of the establishment in blood. Claire smiled. It was only fitting, seeing how On The Edge had a reputation as the friendliest club for vampire patrons in the continental United States. Very conscious that the heels of her black shoes were at least an inch higher than the highest heels she had ever worn before, Claire stepped carefully over to the entrance, a small, black clutch bag in her hand. If there was a way to walk in these heels without sashaying, she had no idea how. She had never dressed this way before, never been in a club like this one, and the novelty of the experience was becoming overwhelming. Then again, when she noticed some gazes sliding over her and following the curves that her dress emphasized rather than hid, she couldn't regret dressing up for the occasion. Maybe the salesperson hadn't just been trying to make a sale, after all, and maybe the sleeveless cocktail dress, with a high collar encircling her neck and a scalloped hem not quite brushing her knees, did flatter her figure. Another appreciative look from a man seated at a table across from a glaring woman convinced Claire, and the return of a tiny bit of self-confidence made her walk to the bar a little less awkward. She leaned against the counter rather than sitting on one of the high stools, and immediately one of the two bartenders came to her. He had dark hair and even darker eyes, but his smile lit up his whole face. "What can I serve you, lovely?” he asked in a decidedly flirty tone. Claire felt a flash of pride that she could answer without blushing or stuttering. “Something sweet, not too strong?" His hands flew over the bottles behind the recessed area of the bar, and within seconds he deposited a tall, thin glass in front of her. She counted at least five different layers, each a different color of red, pink or orange. She could only hope it tasted as good as it looked. "My specialty. Sunset Light." He grinned as he said it, and Claire smiled back. She started opening her purse to pull out some cash, but he shook his head, stopping her. "On the house,” he offered. “To celebrate your first visit to On The Edge." She raised the glass in a silent thank you before taking a sip—the taste was fresh, the hint of alcohol soft as velvet on her tongue—then looked at him questioningly. "How did you know it's my first time here?" His eyes seemed to glint with an amused flame for an instant. “You're nervous. That usually means first-timer.” His smile widened, and Claire blinked as she caught sight of a fang. “No need to worry,” he continued. “We don't bite.” He paused, just long enough for Claire to understand that it was more than a saying, then winked. “Not unless you make it clear that's what you want." Claire managed a weak laugh before the bartender—the vampire—turned away to serve another customer. The sip she took this time was a bit deeper, and it calmed her nerves a little. She had known there would be vampires when she had come to the club; that was why she had chosen it, after all. Yet she had not expected her first encounter with a vampire would be with a charming and very flirty

bartender. Jonas had told her stories about this club, each scarier than the last, about how crazy humans got themselves ensnared by vampires and were bitten in plain sight of all the customers, only to end up dead by morning, or turned, which Jonas thought was worse. She had never understood how such an establishment could be allowed to remain open if that was the case. Now though, she could begin to see that those stories, like so many of Jonas’ words, had been less than accurate. She was glad she had come to see the club for herself. Glass in hand, she looked around the room. Because of the high ceiling, the space seemed larger than it really was. To the left of the entrance, a coat check stood in an open area, although with the unseasonably warm weather the attendant didn't seem to have a lot to do. The bar was in the center, set on a platform. It was open on all four sides, and lined with high stools to accommodate as many customers as possible. Around it, scattered over the floor, couples or groups sat at small round tables, chatting over drinks. The wall directly opposite the entrance and the one on the right were lined with booths, some of which gave an illusion of privacy with their drawn but sheer curtains. In the far left corner, large block lettering over two doors indicated the restrooms, while two more remained unmarked, maybe leading to offices, she guessed. Puzzled, Claire frowned, searching for the dance floor. She could hear music playing, but no one was dancing. On the left side of the room, past the coat check, she noticed a couple disappearing down a staircase. This had to be the way to the dance floor. She took a few steps that way before freezing. Her heart had just skipped a beat. Right there, coming up the same staircase and dressed in full Special Enforcer gear, was Jonas. The black pants and jacket were familiar enough, but she had rarely seen him with the strap of a crossbow across his chest and a leather belt holding stakes and vials of holy water resting low on his hips. The attire gave him a dangerous edge that she had known existed, but that she had rarely had the occasion to witness. It startled her enough that she remained immobile, her eyes still on him. She wondered, afterwards, if he would have noticed her, had she not been staring at him. When he first glanced in her direction, his eyes showed no hint of recognition. Only when she continued to stare did he take a second look at her. His brief frown transformed almost immediately into astonishment as his eyes ran over her, up and down, twice. Feeling self conscious, Claire raised her glass back to her lips and looked elsewhere. A few steps away, a man was looking at her with clear interest, reminding her that she had nothing to feel ashamed of, and she turned her gaze back toward Jonas just as he crossed the few steps that separated them. His expression still revealed his surprise, but there was a harder side to it that Claire couldn't recognize. "'Evening, Claire." She inclined her head briefly, responding to his formality in kind. “Jonas." His eyes traveled over her again, and that dark edge grew, accentuated by his words. “You look ... different." Without realizing what she was doing, Claire raised a hand to her hair and patted the loose curls that fell

to her shoulders. Her hairdresser had been incredulous, then thrilled, when Claire had announced her intention to completely change her style. The first cut of her waist length hair had felt liberating. "It'll grow back, I suppose,” Jonas continued. “The dress is a bit much, though." The disapproval in his words poorly hid something else, and Claire tried not to smile in triumph at the realization that he was jealous. He had never shown much possessiveness where she was concerned, and to experience it now that they weren't a couple anymore was somewhat ironic. "I think it's pretty,” she said, trying to sound detached, and made a show of looking around them. “And I'm not the only one who thinks so." His face darkened as he came close to glowering. His voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “You shouldn't be here. It's dangerous. I'll take you home." He took a step toward her, his hand raised as though he wanted to take her arm. A flash of irritation made her fingers tighten on the glass. She shifted her body away from him and gave him a warning look. For the first two weeks after she had broken things off with him, he had called regularly and left messages until she had unplugged the answering machine. Every time, whether he had been apologizing, asking her for a second chance or telling her she was making a mistake, his words had dripped with the certainty that she was wrong and that he knew better than she did. It was the same tone he was using now, and she wouldn't let him get away with it. "I'm not a child for you to baby-sit, Jonas.” With her high heels, she stood almost as tall as he did, and for once she could face him practically eye to eye. It added an extra ounce of strength to her words. “I am not going anywhere with you, and I neither want nor care about your opinion." The tightening in his jaw revealed how annoyed he was, as did the cold glint in his gaze. Claire met it calmly and without flinching. Once, she would have gone out of her way to avoid annoying Jonas. He had never threatened her in any way, but he was a much more pleasant man when things went his way. Those days were long past, though, and she couldn't have cared less if he was upset. "Even if we're not together anymore, I'm not leaving you here,” he hissed. “I know what can happen in this place, it's my job—" "You mean, it's your job to stake vampires without proof they've killed anyone?" Her voice was loud enough that the closest patrons turned toward them, some curious, others frowning. In a place like this, with vampires around them, this kind of accusation was anything but casual. From the corner of her eye, Claire could also see the bartender who had served her, standing very still by the bar, his attention clearly on her and Jonas. "You shouldn't joke about things like that." Jonas ran a hand over his shaved head, and his lips stretched into a forced smile that did not reach his eyes. Claire had never heard that wary tone in his voice before. "No,” she agreed. “Killing innocent people isn't something anyone should joke about." "I think we should talk,” he said more quietly. “Why don't we go to a safer place?"

Shaking her head, Claire suppressed a small sigh. Jonas’ smile was still fake, but it had taken a hopeful turn. She couldn't understand him. He was showing more interest in her now than he had for years. "I told you everything I had to say, and there's nothing you can add that would change what I think or feel. Goodbye, Jonas." Without another look, she walked past him toward the staircase. He caught up with her immediately, his hand tightening around her elbow to stop her until she turned to glare at him. "Let go,” she started, but he talked over her. "You don't need to do this to get back at me. I don't want you to get hurt just because you have something to prove to me." Honest surprise made Claire laugh aloud. “I have nothing to prove, and least of all to you. Get over yourself, already. It's not that hard. I did." When she pulled away from him, he let go of her arm, though she could feel his reluctance. She stepped down the staircase with a hand on the ramp and her head held high, aware of Jonas’ gaze on her. She suspected he might follow to keep an eye on her, or even try to talk to her again, but she was relieved to discover that she didn't care. **** It was a little past eight when Matthew stepped into the club with Diane's hand resting on his arm. His mind was not on his surroundings, however, or on hunting. Instead, his thoughts revolved around Claire, and where she might have gone. He had arrived at her street minutes after nightfall, and just in time to see her disappear into a cab, dressed as though she were going on a date. Almost three months had passed since she had kicked Jonas out. It was more than time for her to go out and have fun. At the same time, though, he would much rather have been able to follow her and keep an eye on her than wonder where she was and whether she needed his help. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice her at first, and it was only when Diane steered them toward the bar rather than the staircase that he realized something was going on. "Isn't that your girl?” she murmured as she took a seat on a high stool. Matthew followed her gaze and discovered that, indeed, Claire was standing only a few feet away, on the other side of the bar, where he could see her profile. Unable to take his eyes off her, he sat next to Diane and let her order for him. He had just realized whom Claire was facing, and he wasn't particularly pleased. If, after the proof he had given her of Jonas’ infidelity, she was still clinging to him, he would be very disappointed. As he eavesdropped on their confrontation however, he soon realized that this wasn't the case. She was rather hostile toward her former fiancé, to Matthew's silent delight, and when she rebuked him and walked away, Matthew almost cheered. "She doesn't appear to need much help,” Diane commented as she picked up the glass Matthew still hadn't touched and took a sip from it. It tinted her lips blood red. “And here you thought she'd lock herself in her house and brood for months." "Well, she did. And I'd have liked it much better if she hadn't chosen On The Edge for her first night out.

Jonas is a bastard, but he's right. She has no business being here." Diane laughed, the sound like clear chimes. Stepping lightly off the stool, she took his arm and pulled him after her, heading for the staircase. "There's always something,” she said with a light shake of her head as they started descending the steps. “You want her out of the house, but you don't want her here. You want her happy, but you arrange to stop her from marrying her fiancé." "How could she have been happy, married to him?" Right as he said the words, he could see Jonas, on a platform across from them. The staircases zigzagged over all four walls, creating multiple paths to walk down to the dance floor fifty feet below the bar. The platforms, bridges between staircases worked with metal scrollwork safeguards, were perfect vantage points to observe the dancing crowd beneath. Leaning over the railing, Jonas seemed to be doing just that, but when Matthew glanced down as well, he didn't discover Claire on the dance floor as he had expected. Instead, she was standing on the lowest bridge, watching the dancers and sipping from a drink. Observing from afar fit more with her character than her presence at the club. Matthew hoped she would remain where she was and away from the hunters. The vampires here played by human rules and did not take blood that wasn't freely offered, but Claire would be ill advised to play that game with Jonas close by. The man wouldn't hurt her, or at least Matthew didn't think he would, but he would most certainly make a scene. What would follow wouldn't be pretty, not when he was a Special Enforcer and there were so many vampires in the club, and Matthew didn't want Claire to witness it if he could prevent it. He definitely needed to remain alert and keep an eye on how things would evolve. When Diane laughed again, her chuckle was all but drowned by the pounding music, but it drew Matthew's attention back to her. They were about to reach the dance floor. "Dance with me, Childe,” she demanded with a smile. “Your girl can wait a little longer for her turn." Without answering her teasing, he took her hands. He would not dance with Claire and Diane knew it, not tonight, not ever. If things went as they were supposed to, he would never even speak to her. Yet as his eyes returned to Claire while he danced with Diane, a small part of him, which he wouldn't have admitted existed, could only remark how fiery Claire had seemed while confronting Jonas, and how lovely she looked tonight, with her short hair and more daring clothes than he had ever seen her wear. He wouldn't have admitted either that he hoped he was the only vampire in the club to think so. "She seems to have things well in hand. She left him for good, just like you wanted." Matthew nodded. He pulled Diane closer and peeked over her head to the bridge, where Claire was still standing. She leaned against the railing, and her gaze swept the dance floor. For a second, Matthew had the feeling she was looking for someone, but he soon realized she was only taking in the entire scene. "She left him, true, but that doesn't explain what she's doing here. Looks to me like she's trying to rile him up, showing up where he works dressed like that." "She couldn't know he'd be here."

Matthew had to concede that point. In the four months he and Diane had been back in town, Jonas hadn't been at the club more than a handful of times. It had to be a coincidence. "If she's here, she's got to be looking for dates. Maybe it's time to let her live her life, don't you think, Childe?" He grunted. A man had just approached Claire and said a few words to her; she had answered with a shake of her head. "When are we leaving town?” Diane insisted. The tone of her voice was hard to make out when he could barely hear her words, but he had a feeling this would be Diane's new favorite topic. She would keep asking about leaving until she tired of it and simply demanded that they do so. "Give me a few days. I want to be sure she doesn't start dating someone even less suitable." Diane snorted. She rested her hand on his cheek and stroked lightly. “You can be so stubborn, sometimes." With that, she stepped away from him and found another dance partner. Matthew did the same, although now and then, he couldn't help looking back up at Claire, and, on the bridge facing her, at a brooding Jonas. Even if she found a good man here, as unlikely as it was, it might not mean the end of her troubles if Jonas got in the way. **** When Claire stopped on the last bridge above the dance floor, she had to take a deep breath to try and get her bearings. Everything was overwhelming. Music was everywhere. A few people stood just a few feet away, but although their lips moved she couldn't hear a word of what they were saying. The sound seemed to fill every inch of space as though it were a physical presence. At first, the dance floor seemed too dark to make out much, but with the beginning of a new song, the lights flared up, pulsing, and Claire discovered a new world. The crowd beneath her seemed to be one single entity, a giant body moving to the fast beat of drums and guitar riffs. People constantly joined and left the dancers. Claire's eyes followed a couple as they left the dance floor and started climbing a staircase up toward the bridge she was standing on. The woman was clinging to a dark skinned man. Her eyes, Claire saw as they walked by her, were shining almost as brightly as her smile. She seemed drunk, although not on alcohol, and as she looked at her companion, at the way he moved, Claire thought she understood why. He was sensuality incarnate. Her suddenly dry mouth reminded her of the glass in her hand. She took several swallows of it, the syrupy alcohol clinging to her tongue. Then she reached a new layer of the drink, and light flavor burst into her mouth, mint and citrus, a ray of sunshine in the darkness of the club. Condensation had formed on her glass, cool pearls of water that Claire erased with her thumb. She returned her gaze to the dance floor, studiously avoiding looking at Jonas. He was on the bridge against the facing wall, just opposite her, and she was determined to pretend he didn't exist. She let her eyes drift over the dancers, stopping now and then on attractive couples, and found herself

coming back several times toward a handsome man in the crowd. Dark haired, he seemed to tower over the rest of the dancers, and moved with a grace that was entirely his own. Claire found herself envying the woman dancing with him, and even caught herself imagining that he was looking up at her. "You're much too pretty to stand here by yourself. Want to dance?" Startled, she looked at the blond man who had leaned against the railing next to her. He had talked very loudly so that she could hear him, but even so she had heard a bit of an accent in his voice. She observed him for a second, wondering where he was from, but finally smiled and shook her head. “Another time." "Another time,” he repeated, and moved away, undoubtedly to go look for another dance partner. Claire watched him go back to the dance floor with a woman that had been standing just a few feet to her left, and chided herself for refusing so fast. He was attractive, and a dance wouldn't have promised anything more. It had been months since she had left Jonas, and she hadn't been interested in dating since then, still too hurt to even think about it. Now that she thought about it, though, she could see herself talking to one of the men here, maybe even sharing a drink or a dance. Maybe not today, she wasn't fully ready for it yet, but she would return. Now that she knew the club wasn't anywhere near as dangerous as Jonas had always pretended it was, she had no reason not to come back. And maybe the next time she came, Jonas wouldn't be patrolling the place as a Special Enforcer anymore. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Two "Please sit down, Miss...?" "Sheer. Claire Sheer." Claire smoothed her hands over her pants as she sat down on the chair the detective had indicated. Her palms were sweaty, and had been sweaty all day. Every time she had thought of going to the police station, a knot had tightened in the pit of her stomach, making it difficult to eat, or sit still and work. She was doing the right thing—she was convinced of it—but she couldn't help but wonder what would happen once Jonas realized she had denounced him. He would be upset, certainly, and it wasn't a confrontation she was looking forward to. "Sheer...” On the other side of the paper-covered desk, the gray-haired detective considered her thoughtfully. “You're not related to Jim Sheer, are you?" Smiling tightly, Claire nodded. “My father." "There's a little family resemblance, yes.” The man—Detective Carson, the plaque on his desk said—leaned over his desk. “I worked with him, back when I started, before I was transferred to the vamp department. I haven't heard from him in ages, though. Not since he retired. What is he up to?" This wasn't what Claire wanted to talk about, far from it, but she had known she might come across former colleagues of her father when she came to the station. She forced herself to keep the smile in place.

"He's been in Florida for eight years now." And had been remarried for nearly as long, she almost added, but Detective Carson didn't need to know that, or how Jim Sheer hadn't had the grace to wait for his wife's suffering to end before finding a lady-friend. "Good for him! I've been thinking of moving there myself when I retire. Two more years to go." She made the appropriate congratulatory remarks, wishing the entire time that they could have skipped the niceties and jumped straight to business. She was relieved when he pulled out a yellow notepad from beneath a pile of folders and picked up a pen. "Tell me, then, Claire. What brings you here?" She didn't like the familiarity of his tone, or the fact that, apparently, knowing her father gave him the right to call her by her first name, but she wanted him to listen to her, so she kept her annoyance to herself. Crossing her legs, she wiped her hands on her pants once more and leaned forward. "I have information about ... about a Special Enforcer. His name is Jonas Tesler." Recognition crossed Carson's face. Claire wondered if it was a good or bad thing that he already knew Jonas. Would he be biased in Jonas’ favor, or would he be more inclined to believe Claire? It was impossible to tell when he asked, his tone perfectly neutral: "What kind of information?" Claire took a deep breath. She was not betraying Jonas. He was acting illegally, and all she wanted was to protect innocent people, vampires though they might be. "He stakes vampires without proof that they're killers." The words had come out in a rush, but as soon as they were out, Claire felt better. A weight had lifted from her shoulders. Carson, however, didn't seem to realize she had said anything out of the ordinary, and he continued to look at her expectantly. "He doesn't report all the vampires he kills,” she added. “Only the ones that are legit." Instead of writing anything, Carson put down his pen and crossed his fingers over the notepad. He observed Claire for a few instants, long enough that she started to fidget, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "That's a serious accusation,” he said at last, his voice deep and slow. “If it were proven, Tesler would not only lose his license, he would probably spend a good chunk of time behind bars." "I know that,” Claire replied, stung by the skepticism she could hear in his words. "Just making sure you understand what you're doing.” He picked up the pen again, and held its tip poised to the paper. “Now, start from the beginning, and tell me how you know about this. Did you see him stake a vamp?" "I didn't actually see him.” She watched as the point of the pen, once again, left the paper, and spoke

faster, as though the sooner he heard what she knew, the more he would believe her. “I saw a notebook, in which he writes down his kills. And his numbers for the past couple of years were really high, too high to be normal." Claire didn't like at all the slight frown creeping up on Carson's brow, or the way he leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the armrests and fingers linked over his abdomen. "How do you know what normal numbers are? And how did you happen to see this notebook of his?" This was the part Claire had hoped she wouldn't need to explain, but had known was bound to come up. "I used to be close to Jonas.” She felt her face grow hot as Carson's eyebrows twitched. “I've heard him talk often enough about how many vamps he kills in a given week. These numbers I saw, they were three or four times what he told me, and three or four times what he's paid for. Which is how I know he didn't report all his kills. And the only reason he wouldn't is if those kills are illegal." For a few seconds, Carson looked at her, his face inscrutable, and Claire couldn't tell what he thought of what she had just told him. She had to refrain from snapping just to get a reaction from him. "Do you have any proof?” he asked at last. “This notebook you're talking about, maybe?" "I ... No, I don't have it. But I'm sure if you search his place—" "I see. What is the nature of your relationship with Tesler exactly?" At that instant, Claire understood he did not believe her. She picked up her purse from the floor and slipped the strap over her shoulder as she stood. "What does it matter, what kind of relationship I had with him? What is important is that he's killing vampires." Carson stood as well with a little sigh. “Claire—" "Miss Sheer, if you please." He nodded. “Miss Sheer. Understand that I'm not suggesting you're lying. But from what you're telling me, I'm guessing you and Tesler aren't in the best of terms. Sometimes when people are angry, they imagine things, or make a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe those numbers you saw meant something else, or—" "I know what I saw, and he didn't deny it when I confronted him. If you don't investigate Jonas Tesler, you'll be responsible for a lot of vampires’ deaths." She had raised her voice just loud enough that the officers sitting around them would hear her despite the ambient noise. Some of them glanced toward her and Carson. As far as she knew, there were vampires among them; she had come to the station after dark in hope that if a human officer didn't believe her, a vampire one might take her more seriously. "Of course we will investigate.” His smile was forced, and when he thrust out his hand over the desk Claire hesitated for an instant before shaking it. “Thank you for your help, Miss Sheer. Let me show you

out." She assured him she could find her way alone and turned away. She kept her head high as she walked past the row of desks, despite the knot that had returned to her belly along with the feeling that this had all been for nothing. Carson didn't believe her, and even if he truly looked into Jonas’ activities, he already thought he wouldn't find anything. More than ever, she wished she had kept the notebook when she had first seen what it held. She wished she had gone to the police right away. How many people had died, during the three months she had taken to think about all of it and what she ought to do? She had told Carson he would be the one responsible for innocent vampires dying at Jonas’ hands, but her own guilt was still there, and it wasn't going away. **** Even from inside his car, parked across the street from the police station, Matthew could tell Claire was upset when she came out. Walking in, she had seemed jittery, but now she was angry. Her expression, her brisk walk, the way she banged the door of her car shut behind her all said so, and only increased his curiosity. What business could she have had with the city's vampire department police forces, and what could have gone so badly that she was this upset? The only thing that came to his mind, as he followed her back home, was what she had flung at Jonas’ face at the club, when she'd come very close to accusing him of killing innocent vampires. Matthew had thought at the time that she was simply trying to get Jonas in trouble with the patrons of the club, but now he wasn't so sure anymore. Could it possibly be true? He usually didn't care about Special Enforcers one way or the other; it had been a long time since he had last killed anyone and had nothing to fear from them. He had never liked the man, however, for no particular reason at first until he had learned of his infidelities. Maybe his instincts had been telling him something from the start. If Jonas was truly staking vampires beyond what he was allowed to do, Matthew didn't know how Claire had figured it out. The private investigator he had hired to shadow Jonas had never mentioned anything about that. Then again, he had been looking for a proof that Jonas was cheating on Claire, and nothing more. Still, Matthew couldn't imagine another reason why she'd go to the police and go from nervous to angry in the space of half an hour. Claire drove straight back home, just over the speed limit the entire way. Parked a little distance from her house, he watched it until all the lights had gone out, then drove away, thinking. His responsibilities lay in protecting Claire. That was all he was interested in. But if she had discovered Jonas was up to no good and was trying to do something about it, nothing said that Matthew couldn't try to give her a hand. After all, he would be protecting his own skin, if he helped her put a vampire killer out of commission. It was only an added bonus that it would also serve as punishment for Jonas’ infidelities. A call to his private investigator, Leonard, gave Matthew the address of the Special Enforcer agency where Jonas worked, and ensured that the investigator had never noticed any strange happenings. "But you know it only took me three nights to get the proof you wanted,” Leonard pointed out. “And I wasn't looking too closely at the way he did his work. That wasn't what you asked." "What if I asked now? Do you think you could get some kind of evidence that he's killing vamps that haven't done anything wrong?" There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I'm not sure. What kind of evidence are we talking about here?"

"I don't think pictures would be very helpful,” Matthew thought aloud. “They would show a vamp being staked, nothing more." "Maybe a video? If it shows him approaching a vamp without any sort of warning, that'd show he's not following the red-fanged rule." "That sounds like a good idea. I'll see if I can shadow him tonight, just to get an idea of what's going on. You're up to starting on the job tomorrow night?" "My lady won't be too happy,” Leonard laughed, “but I guess the usual fee should calm her down." "I'll have an advance for a week transferred tomorrow. Thanks." Matthew had arrived at Jonas’ office by the time he hung up the phone. The building was lit up, and he could see three figures inside, one of them with a shaved skull: Jonas. Before long, they walked out together, a woman and a man accompanying Jonas. They were all geared up with crossbows in hand and stakes at their waists. By the purposeful way they moved, Matthew had the feeling that they were out to hunt, and when they piled up in a van, he followed them, keeping his distances more than he had when following Claire. Unlike her, they were probably aware of their surroundings at all times. It would make for an interesting hunt for Matthew. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Three When Claire stepped into the club, the letter she had left on her kitchen table was still at the forefront of her thoughts, bits of it echoing in her mind. "...thank you for your concern ... preliminary interviews revealed nothing ... encourage you to submit tangible proof to support your claims..." The signature hadn't been Carson's, and it made the response of the police even more disappointing. Weren't they the ones supposed to find tangible proof about what she had told them was happening? She had told Carson of the notebook and what its numbers revealed. Had he even searched Jonas’ place for it? Shaking her head as she reached the bar, she pushed away thoughts of the letter and her anger. There would be time later to figure out what to do. "Good evening, Leo." On the other side of the bar, the bartender flashed Claire a big smile as she perched herself on a stool. "Evening, Claire. Same as usual?" He started reaching for his bottles before she even nodded. She watched him mix the drink he had offered her on her first visit to On The Edge three weeks earlier. He made it look like the easiest thing in the world, but she wasn't foolish enough to believe it actually was. The result was, as always, perfect

layers that were velvet on her tongue. "Rough day at work,” Leo said, his tone making the words an observation more than a question. Claire was about to say that something else was upsetting her, but she frowned as she realized he was right. She had opened accounts for two new customers, and started catching up on the paperwork accumulated on her desk, which, as workdays went, wasn't so bad. And still, it had left her drained of energy and craving some relaxing time, music loud enough to drown everything—and a nice drink to go with it. The letter she had found when going home had only added to her frustration. "Not really rough. Just the same old routine.” She shrugged. “I guess I just need a vacation." "Then take it. Life is too short not to enjoy it." He winked at her and turned to the other side of the bar where a waitress had caught his attention. For a few moments, she watched him as he prepared an order, chatting the entire time with the waitress and the other bartender. He never stopped smiling, and added a flourish, here and there, to his preparations. Claire had to struggle to remember instances when she had enjoyed her job as much as Leo clearly did. Leaving a folded bill beneath her coaster, she picked up her drink and slipped off the stool. The music increased with each step she took toward the staircase. She let it fill her mind with regular drum beats and melodic vocalizing, pushing back everything that wasn't here and now. New accounts, rates of growth, columns of numbers and graphs faded away, along with the empty home that was waiting for her. Her mind cleared and calmed down, letting her appreciate the taste of her drink a little more. The metal of the railway felt cold and smooth beneath her hand as she started taking slow steps down the staircase. It ought to have been warm, she sometimes thought, to match the frenzy of the dancing crowd below. As she had ever since the first night she had visited the club, she didn't walk all the way down to the dance floor, and instead stopped on the last platform. Leaning against the scrollwork metal of the safeguard, she took small sips on her drink, and allowed her eyes to wander over the room. Colored lights danced over the crowd and the walls, following the rhythm of the music. In the far left corner from where Claire stood, the DJ sat surrounded by stereo systems, keyboards and computers, his eyes half closed as he turned from one blinking machine to another, pivoting on his chair as though in his own private dance. He was almost dizzying to watch. A young woman leaned against the railing near Claire, close enough that their elbows touched for a second. Claire unconsciously pulled back and turned her face toward Sara. "Hey. You came back." With a slight smile, Claire nodded rather than almost shouting to make herself heard over the music. Sara returned the smile before looking down at the dancers. Her head bobbed with the music. Her foot, resting on one of the delicate scrolls of the railing, tapped up and down as well. The movement made her short skirt dance over her thighs, and her generous bosom bounce lightly. Her whole body language reflected a youthful energy that Claire could only envy. When she looked at Claire again, her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “Still not coming down to shake what you've got?" Claire snorted. The first time the girl had bounced up the steps and stopped by Claire, she had been far

more explicit, inviting Claire to “come shake that fine piece of ass” on the dance floor. Why the woman had ever approached her was somewhat of a mystery to Claire. She had to be in her early twenties, probably in college. If Claire had been ten years younger, they might have been friends. As it was, they had barely exchanged names, and hadn't had a real conversation to speak of. It was hard to talk at all with the blaring music. "I'm sure you'd come down ifhe asked you." A hand wearing more rings than Claire even owned pointed in the direction of the opposite bridge. Claire's eyes followed it and easily found whom the girl was showing. Her heart jumped to her throat. It was him. It was the vampire Claire had noticed on her first night at the club, and who had attracted her eyes every night she had come since. "He's even more handsome from up-close,” the girl confided. “But still that's nothing next to the way he looks naked." Claire's hand clenched on the railing. Just two nights earlier, she had watched Sara walk down to the dance floor, slither her way into the man's arms for a few songs, and finally leave with him. When they had disappeared up the staircase, Claire had finished her drink in one quick gulp that had done nothing to quench the deep thirst inside her, before leaving herself. "He said I could call him Alex." Claire turned the name over in her mind, her eyes never leaving the man. He had just reached the dance floor and pushed his way straight to the core of the dancing crowd, but she could still follow him easily. He was half a head taller than most dancers. "But I don't think that's his real name." Claire glanced at Sara, wondering what she meant by that. For the first time, she noticed the two red marks on her neck, small wounds scabbed over but not fully healed yet. She knew with the utmost certainty that the vampire had bitten her. "A woman I talked to said his name was Anthony, and someone else claimed it was John. I've decided I'll be the first to sleep with him twice, and the first to know his real name." With that declaration and an impish smile, she marched away, head high, shoulders back, and a roll to her hips that attracted eyes to her path: a determined general going to battle. Claire watched her go. She couldn't help wishing she had had the same self-confidence, and had dared to go to the man herself, if only to try to understand why he had seemed so familiar from the moment she had laid her eyes on him. Shyness wasn't the only reason for her reluctance, though, nor was the acute awareness that she was much older than her not quite friend, or the other women the vampire chose every time he visited the club. No, she wasn't going down to him precisely because as far as she knew, he picked up a new girl each time. He slept with them, fed from them, left them dazed, wide-eyed and blabbering excitedly about what a wonderful lover he was to whoever would listen. Claire had listened a lot, in the past weeks. She could admit being envious of some things. Her nights were long and lonely. In all truth, she was also curious about other things, and she'd need to ask one of the girls, some time, what it had felt like to be bitten. But she also knew herself enough to realize she couldn't throw herself at a man for a one night stand. She wouldn't be able to look at herself in a mirror if

she did, even more so because of her small suspicion that he used thrall to charm his conquests. She watched the vampire dance, her mind filled with the simple and inescapable knowledge that he would leave with someone he would care about for no more than a few hours, if even that. For now, he was dancing with the same woman he arrived with every night. They made quite a couple together. She was pretty, no more than that, but the way she held herself, the way she moved spoke of a grace and confidence that outshone more beautiful women around her. These women wore tight fitting dresses and skirts that revealed more than they hid; she, on the other hand, always wore loose shirts and long, flowing skirts that might have been fashionable in another century, in another country. She never seemed out of place, however, and the strangeness of her attire, if anything, added to the attraction. Claire wasn't sure what she was most jealous of: the woman's—the vampiress'—poise and magnetism, or the fact that her companion carefully guided her steps down the staircases every night and watched her, always, with burning eyes. **** Diane's lips curled into a smile that came close to being mocking. It wasn't Matthew she was making fun of, though, he was sure of it. "She's watching you, Childe. Can you feel her eyes on you?" The words were almost drowned out by the loud pulse of the music, but Matthew guessed what he couldn't hear. There was no need to ask about whom she was speaking. No need to answer either. Diane's hands rested on his shoulders, and she knew him well enough to feel that he was tense. How could he not be when, just on the edge of his vision, leaning against the safeguard of the bridge, Claire kept staring in their direction? "She'll stay there until you leave with your night's prey. And then, she'll sulk and pout and go away, like she's been doing the last few nights. Your girl is such a child." Matthew caught himself before he could start arguing with her. Claire was no child, and she had proved it, as far as he was concerned, when she had thrown Jonas out of her life for good. However, he understood that Diane, who favored bold actions above prudence, couldn't fathom why Claire had been coming to the club for weeks now, practically every night, without ever doing anything more than watch. He wasn't even sure he understood it himself. As far as he knew, she had never had much fondness for clubs or bars. The fast beat of the song they had been dancing to came to an end. The DJ, for a few seconds, sent several tunes at once over the speakers, so that different melodies seemed to come from different angles. The crowd roared its approval, then again when one song took over and the others faded in the background. Without ever missing a beat, Diane whirled in Matthew's arms, her skirts unfurling like the petals of a flower around her. She threw back her head and raised her arms; when she lowered them again, her hands settled on another man's shoulders. Matthew didn't even try to see whom she had chosen, this night. It only mattered to him when they decided beforehand to share a prey. Two women were already shimmying closer to him and he smiled, welcoming them until they were both inches from him, and both pretending that the other didn't exist. In the middle of so many dancers, it was difficult to separate scents; but as close as the women were he could begin to discern the lust coming in waves from each of them. It was a heady scent, one that brought Matthew images of hands caressing, limbs intertwining, and skin parting beneath his fangs to allow

warmth and sweetness to slide down his throat. His choice should have been easy to make. He recognized the busty brunette in front of him, could almost still taste her on his tongue, and that meant that she was a no. He had made it his rule never to sleep twice with the same prey. Once usually had them wishing for more, but twice gave them hopes that only meant grief and annoyance for Matthew. Something stopped him before he could fully turn to the other girl, however. When walking down the staircases, he had vaguely noticed the girl standing by Claire and talking to her, and he had wondered who she was, and what they were saying. The girl was in front of him now, making moon eyes at him. It was too good a chance to understand why Claire came to the club to let it pass. Leaning in toward the petite redhead with skin paler than his own, he murmured in her ear, “Don't go far, I'll be looking for you later.” Her eyes widened, and she licked her lips as she moved back a little. When Matthew turned to fully face Claire's friend, the triumph was unmistakable in her eyes. He enticed her closer with a crooked finger. She stepped right against him, her small hands resting flat against his chest. The gesture could have served to hold him back, but it was belied by the way her body rocked against his, reminding him what she had felt like beneath him in her bed. "I knew you'd remember me.” She had to stand on the tip of her toes to breathe the words in his ear. They held a confidence that Matthew found amusing. “Did you like my present?" He had to think for a second before he remembered what she meant by that. His prey had a tendency to hide souvenirs in his pockets. He supposed they were meant to make him remember them fondly, and maybe seek their owners again. If he wasn't mistaken, this woman had slipped a green thong in his pants pockets. "I did. Pretty." "I could wear it for you, if you wanted.” She pressed a little more noticeably against his crotch. “Or, you know ... I couldnot wear it." Matthew made a noncommittal noise, hoping that it would satisfy her, and leaned in so he could talk to her more easily. The music and the movements of the dancers around them made it awkward to try to have a conversation. "Tell me sweetheart, have you been telling your girlfriends about me?" She laughed. “Of course I did. How did you guess?" "I saw you talking to that girl on the bridge. You were talking about me, weren't you?" The music shifted abruptly, and a high-pitched note dissolved into deeper, slower tones. The girl took the opportunity to slide her arms fully around Matthew's neck, pulling their bodies flush. "I was telling her how you lied to me about your name." He would have expected reproach in her voice, but instead she watched him with determination. She wasn't asking yet, but she would, soon, and expect an answer that Matthew wouldn't give, in part for the same reason that he didn't play with the same prey twice.

"And what did your little friend think?" The shake of her head was dismissive. Matthew wondered if it was at the suggestion that she and Claire were friends, or that what Claire thought mattered. "She was jealous, of course. All women here would enjoy being in your arms, or in your bed. And I know they're all jealous of me now." Matthew's first instinct was to refuse to believe her. It was ridiculous that Claire would be jealous of anyone for dancing with him. Yet, when he glanced up toward her, he began wondering if the girl might be right. Claire still hadn't moved, and she was still looking in his direction. But what struck him most was to see her hand curled on the edge of the banister, as though clutching a safe-line. Diane's words came back to him in a flash. Claire wasn't pouting yet, but she did look sulky. He knew what he had to do instantly. He couldn't allow the situation to continue like this. He played with the women in the club, played with their competitiveness, their possessiveness and jealousy, because they were prey, and little more to him than a warm body and warm blood. He refused to get to know them, refused to let them know him precisely so they wouldn't become anything more than a body. Claire was different. Claire wasn't prey, nor would she ever be. Not for him, not for anyone else if he had anything to say about it. She had to know he was a vampire, and still she was showing interest in him, even jealousy if Diane and the girl were right. He would put an end to that silliness, and send her home before she got hurt. "Hey, I'm here, not up there." The girl's gently chiding voice brought his attention back to her. Unhooking her arms from his neck, he brought her hands to his mouth and touched his lips to the back of each. "Thanks for the dance, lovely." He could hear her call after him as he stepped away and toward the staircase, but he ignored her. Even an apologetic smile would do more damage than good now, and he needed his entire attention free to focus on Claire. The bodies all around him on the dance floor, then stepping up and down the staircase or walking across the bridge, all ceased to exist save for Claire's. She had noticed his approach, and she had turned to face him, her hip pressing against the banister as though she needed the support. It might have been a trick of the light, but she seemed to become paler as he came nearer, except for two bright red spots high on her cheeks. The hand in which she held her drink shook slightly when she brought the glass to her lips. She took a small sip, but she seemed to have trouble swallowing the alcohol. As he stepped closer still, he noticed that her dress wasn't black as he had believed from the dance floor. Rather, it was of a very dark blue, the material shining softly when the lights hit it at just the right angle. It looked soft as velvet. Matthew flexed his hand to control the urge to reach out and touch her where the wide collar of the dress met the edge of her collarbone. Her hair was barely brushing against her shoulders. Matthew had liked her long tresses, but now that he could see her closer, the shorter look was growing on him. It was ... different, and nothing he would have expected or imagined. He wouldn't have expected either her heart to beat so fast as he finally stopped in front of her, or her scent to reflect expectation and excitement along with the more appropriate edge of fear.

He was breaking his own rules, by talking to her, and yet he couldn't resist it. He had heard her speak before, but just one time he wanted to hear her voice as she addressed him. "Hello, Claire. Did you intend to watch every night until I move out of town, or were you ever going to come down and talk to me?" Too late, he realized his mistake. He shouldn't have called her by name. He wasn't supposed to know her. He wondered if she had noticed. She certainly seemed troubled enough not to pay much attention to his words. That didn't matter much, though. He intended to get his message across with more than words once he had her full attention. **** "It can't be happening." Claire's murmured words were swallowed by the music. She looked around her, but no one had heard her, and no one was looking in her direction either, except for him. She shook her head, trying to wake herself up. She had to be dreaming. Daydreaming. Hallucinating. Maybe it was her drink, although she still hadn't finished it. She didn't know what it was, but there had to be a logical explanation for the fact that he was coming toward her. It had started with a few glances in her direction while he had been with the vampiress, and a more prolonged one later on, after he had started dancing with Sara. Claire had thought she was imagining it at first, but when he had left the girl behind to stride toward the staircase, his eyes finding Claire and remaining with her as he approached, she had admitted to herself she wasn't imagining it. Instead, she had begun to question her own sanity. He walked at a normal pace, neither hurrying nor taking his time, but to Claire suddenly everything seemed to be going in slow motion. A couple of minutes stretched into hours as she tried to understand what was going on—and more importantly, tried to decide what she would do if he was truly coming to her. Had Sara talked to him about Claire? What could she have said to make him want to come to Claire? Because there was no doubt anymore in her mind. He was only a few steps away, close enough that she could see his eyes, and she remembered what all the women she had talked to had said, all using the same words. "His eyes ... They're so deep, so dark, I thought they were black." Now she could see them for herself, see how the almost black was really brown, see also how easy it would be to get lost in his gaze. In fact, she was starting to do just that. She forced herself to break eye contact but couldn't manage to look away, and her gaze slid over him. He wore a gray cotton shirt and charcoal pants that revealed he had to have enjoyed his time on the dance floor. Heat spread over Claire's body, drying out her mouth and making her lightheaded. She suddenly remembered the forgotten glass in her hand and brought it to her lips to give herself confidence, but the small sip she took rasped against her throat like gravel. When she lowered the glass again, he was just a step in front of her, towering almost a full head over her despite her high heels. She should have known better, but once again, she let herself be caught by his eyes. She only realized he was talking to her after a few seconds, missing his first words. "...were you ever going to come down and talk to me?"

She knew, then, that Sara must have told him that Claire had an interest in him. Who knew what else she had said, and what this man now thought of Claire? Did he believe she would fall into his arms and his bed like the other women he seduced every night just because he said three words to her? If that was what he thought, he would soon learn otherwise, and see that she... The realization hit her like a bucket of icy water. He might not be completely wrong, if that was what he thought. Her heart was trying to break free of her chest and her knees were weak just because he was standing close to her; she couldn't trust herself where he was concerned. There was only one thing to do. She ran away. She heard him say something as she turned her back on him and hurried to the staircase, but she refused to listen. Gripping the handrail with one hand, her glass in the other, she climbed the steps as quickly as she could without tripping over her own feet. She didn't dare look back to see if he was following her, but she wanted to. She also wanted, even if she couldn't admit it to herself, to see him there, just behind her, catching up with her and convincing her not to leave. She was alone when she reached the first floor. She finally turned back; he was nowhere in sight. She stayed still for a few seconds at the top of the staircase, searching the faces that walked up toward her but never recognizing his. Her heart had calmed down a little, but her hand was trembling when she went to place her glass on the bar counter. Whatever had been left of it had sloshed over as she ran up the steps, and her fingers were sticky. She picked up a napkin and glanced back again toward the staircase. "Everything OK, Claire?" The concern in Leo's voice brought Claire back to her senses. Leaning against the bar, her empty glass in hand, he looked very serious, even alarmed. She tried to smile at him, but feared it must have seemed like a grimace. "Everything's fine,” she reassured him—and herself. And everythingwas fine, wasn't it? All that had happened was that a man had accosted her. It was a common occurrence in clubs like this one. Claire should have expected it, and maybe then she wouldn't have reacted as though she were still in grade school. She thought, briefly, of going down again, but she would be too embarrassed to talk to him. Instead, she said goodnight to Leo, retrieved her light jacket at the coat check, and left to catch a cab home. **** A little puzzled, Matthew watched Claire disappear inside a taxi. He wasn't too sure what he had said or done to send her running away like this, but he wasn't too upset about it. There were many other places in town where she could socialize, if that was what she had been doing at On The Edge. Other places where vampires were less likely to interact with her. Behind him, the music of the club, the laughs and scents were alluring, but Matthew found that he had little interest in returning to the dance floor. It was much too early to go home, so he decided he might as well make use of his night. Grabbing the cell phone clipped at the waist of his pants, he dialed one of the few pre-programmed numbers. On the other side of the line, Leonard picked up almost immediately.

"Yes?" Matthew dispensed himself with greetings or introductions. Neither was necessary. “Where is he?" "Right now, at the agency. They've been looking at maps and preparing weapons for a while, it looks like they're getting ready to go out." Matthew thought for a few moments. All he had were suspicions about Jonas. If three Special Enforcers had been breaking the rules in the city, the word would have gotten out in the vampire community. It was possible for one Special Enforcer to work overtime, but three would have been too much to hide. Therefore, it was probable that his colleagues did not stake vampires as freely as he did, and unlikely anything usable would come out of this night. Unlikely, but not impossible though, and patience was the name of this game. "I'll run home to get my camera and come to take your place. Call me if they leave before I get there." Without hurrying, he walked back to his loft. It was a nice night to spend outside, so doing the stakeout himself, as he did the nights when Claire didn't come to the club, didn't bother him. The investigator was good, one of the best in town, but there were places where he couldn't follow without putting himself in too much danger, and playing safe had not yielded anything usable against Jonas so far. If he hadn't cheated on Claire, Matthew wouldn't have cared much, not beyond making sure to stay out of Jonas’ way. As things stood however, he was determined to see him kicked out of the Special Enforcers ranks. For that, he needed irrefutable evidence. Maybe tonight would be the night. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Four A light knock on her office door startled Claire enough that she gasped. Looking up from the black screen of her computer, she couldn't help frowning at Jane, the assistant she shared with two other representatives. She was standing by the open door, just on the threshold, as though hesitating to come in. "Claire? I'm sorry to bother you again, but I'm still waiting for those survey sheets so I can follow up on your introductory contacts. You said you'd have them for me by noon." "And I will. Noon, or even earlier if I'm not interrupted every five minutes." Instead of turning around, Jane shuffled her feet and cleared her throat, looking everywhere except at Claire. She played with the loose bracelets on her wrist, as she always did when she had made a mistake. Claire sighed, wondering what she would have to fix, this time. "I guess you've been really busy. I mean, you didn't even take a lunch break, so you probably didn't realize it's almost two." Claire's frown only deepened. It couldn't possibly be that late. Surely, Jane was trying to pull a prank on her, although the young woman was much too mild for that, so one of the other representatives had to be behind it, or maybe even both. Sam and Paula sometimes had strange ways of showing their humor, and

while in the first few years Claire had worked with them she had enjoyed it, lately she found their jokes grating on her nerves. Just as she was about to ask Jane who had put her up to this, the assistant cleared her throat again and said a hasty goodbye before closing the door behind her. Claire started reaching for her phone to call her back in, but her eyes fell on the digital clock next to it and she froze, her hand in mid-air. It was truly past two. It didn't seem possible, still. Just a few moments ago, she had been working on her survey summaries. She had let her mind wander for a little while as she thought about what had happened at the club the previous night, but she couldn't possibly have been lost in her thoughts for that long. She gave the clock another look, then glanced at the watch on her left wrist. Both taunted her with the same numbers. "Shit. What the hell is wrong with me?" She pushed her mouse with a flick of her fingers and the screen came to life again, showing her the data table she should have completed two hours earlier. She foraged on her desk for the notes she was transcribing, information about the recent walk-in customers she had advised about their retirement investments. The staccato of the keyboard keys filled the room as she completed columns with numbers, private information and personal comments. Claire cursed softly every time her fingers slipped and hit the wrong key, slowing her down. She was almost done when she noticed she was missing a page of notes about the most interesting prospect of the bunch, a notable of Haventown that might bring the agency more business over time if he was satisfied with their services. Claire could picture in her mind the paper with the information, she remembered having drawn a large star at the top of it, but the sheet and its numbers were nowhere to be found. She picked up every piece of paper, every brochure on her desk, checked her drawers and even the trash bin, and still nothing. She would find it, she knew it had to be somewhere around, but at the moment she didn't have time to look for it, not when Jane was waiting on her to be able to do her own job. She e-mailed the file to Jane, then took a deep breath and stood. Since Jane had started, two months earlier, Claire had made it clear that she had high expectations for her assistant. The reverse had to be true. Sucking in her pride, Claire walked out of the office to the cubicle where Jane worked. She was at her desk, and the file Claire had just e-mailed to her was already open on her computer screen. "Jane?" The young woman turned to her, her eyes wary. "Anything I can help you with, Claire?" "I just wanted to apologize for snapping at you. You were perfectly in your right to expect me to deliver this file when I said I would. Time seems to have disappeared on me, today." She pushed a smile to her face, and Jane answered it in kind. "It happens to all of us. I'll get right on those calls."

When Claire turned on her heel to go back to her office, several assistants in nearby cubicles were gawking at her. She even noticed a representative trying to pretend that she hadn't been listening in. She struggled not to grit her teeth and kept the smile on her face, even though she knew that she would be the subject of gossip before the day was over. She made her decision, right there and then. She was going to need to relax tonight, so she would return to the club, and if a certain vampire happened to come back to talk to her, she wouldn't run away like a scared little girl. This way, maybe, when she returned to work on Monday, she would be able to focus on what she was doing rather than spend time questioning her actions and his motives. **** Matthew hadn't felt like hunting at On The Edge this night, and yet, there he was. Too many of the women who showed an interest in him had already taken him home, and he would have preferred finding new hunting grounds, or even shadowing Jonas and try to finally get the evidence he wanted. However, Diane had hinted that she expected one of her playthings to be there and she had demanded that Matthew accompany her, if only for their customary first dance. He knew where the unusual use of her authority had come from; she had been talking about leaving town again, now that Claire was free of an unworthy life companion, but Matthew was dragging his feet. He would feel better once he was convinced that Claire had truly left Jonas behind her. Until then, he would rather keep an eye on her and steer her away from trouble. He helped Diane slip her long jacket off and handed it to the coat check employee. Behind him, he heard Diane chuckle. "Tell me again how you scared off your girl?" "How?” He looked at her, wondering why she was bringing this up now. “I just tried to talk to her and she ran away. Why do you ask?" She chuckled once more, and tilted her head toward the bar. Matthew followed her gesture. He recognized Claire immediately, even though he was behind her. Her short auburn hair was dancing just above her shoulders, which were left bare by her dress. All the vampires in the club would be looking at the curve of her neck and thinking of nothing more than sinking their fangs into the soft flesh. Silly girl. "Try harder this time, Childe." Diane raised herself on her toes to press her lips to his cheek. Matthew did not react, barely noticing that she was walking on her own to the staircases. Should he approach Claire again, or wait and see what she was up to? He was still trying to decide when he saw her head turn toward where Diane was just disappearing down the steps. She pivoted on her stool, her eyes searching the entrance of the club. Whatever she saw, or did not see, she seemed disappointed. But then, her gaze fell on Matthew, and she stilled completely for a few seconds. When she finally faced the bar again, there was a new tension to her shoulders, and Matthew knew what he should do. **** When Claire sat down at the bar, a little past nine, she noticed the fleeting look of surprise that crossed Leo's features. "I didn't think we'd see you again so soon,” he commented as he started reaching for a cocktail glass. “Your usual?"

"Not tonight, no. I feel like having something different. And why wouldn't I come back?" Returning the glass to the shelf below the bar, Leo leaned against the counter. His voice dropped a little lower, but it held none of the flirtatiousness Claire would have expected from his demeanor. "You were pretty spooked, last night. Customers who get scared rarely return." Claire looked down and smoothed the material of her dress across her thighs. "I wasn't scared." Leo didn't reply until she had looked up at him again. "Yes, you were. And you've got to know, if anyone threatened you in any way or tried to impose themselves on you when you made it clear you weren't interested, you can talk to the manager. Brett will review the tapes with you, and whoever it was will probably be banned from the club." A small part of Claire, the part that still half-believed the stories Jonas had once fed her, breathed in relief at hearing this. Another part, however, the part that had decided it couldn't be all that bad to dance or flirt with the vampire if he returned, felt a little self-conscious at being reminded of the presence of cameras in the club. "It wasn't like that,” she replied when she realized Leo was waiting for an answer. “I got scared without a real reason. It's been a long time since anyone tried to chat me up. I guess I'm not used to it anymore." Leo's smile returned as he shook his head. “Hard to believe. You never seem to mind when I flirt with you." Claire laughed, and looked pointedly around them. There were a few other patrons at the bar, men and women, and almost all of them were looking in Leo and Claire's direction with curiosity. "You flirt witheveryone , so it's hard to take you seriously." "Part of the job,” he said on a tone of confidence. “Speaking of, what can I serve you tonight?" "I'm not sure. Any suggestions?" Right away, he reached beneath the counter and pulled out a glass and a bottle of wine that he uncorked in a matter of seconds. "We just received a crate of this nectar. You've got to try it." Claire accepted the glass Leo had filled with wine, and he winked at her before turning to another customer who had called on him. Glancing down at the glass in front of her, Claire traced a finger over the condensation, leaving a wavy line in her wake. The wine was of a very dark red, almost, she thought, like blood. She picked up the glass gingerly. It smelled of berries, and the first small sip she took left the same impression on her palate. She had never been very fond of wine, preferring cocktails and mixed drinks, but if this was what she had missed, she could easily change her mind. She watched the people around her as she took small sips, and for each of them, whether they were alone at the bar, chatting at a table or on their way to the dance floor, she tried to figure out whether they

were human, or vampire. Her breath caught in her throat when she noticed a woman, just disappearing down the staircase. Until now, she had always seen her come down those steps on the arm of the vampire who had tried to talk to Claire the previous night. The vampire that she had come back to the club to see. She turned around to look toward the entrance, wondering if maybe he was following his companion, but she did not see him. She had just the time to tell herself that she might as well go home if he wasn't going to be there when her eyes fell on him, standing by the coat check counter. Unable to hold his gaze, she turned back and took a larger gulp from her glass. The wine slid down her throat, cool but strangely warming. Before she had placed it back down on the counter, the vampire was sitting on her right and ordering the same thing she was having. His first words to her held the same surprise she had read on his face across the room. “I didn't think you'd be back." Claire snorted as she brought her glass back to her lips, but she could admit to herself that it was nervousness more than thirst she tried to appease with one more sip of the smooth wine. "That seems to be the general impression. And still, here I am." "So I see. I have a feeling you're not one to back away from a challenge." Just the previous night, Claire wouldn't have dreamed of talking to the vampire as she did now. But with her annoyance at having fled when he had approached her, and with the help of that delicious wine, she found that her nervousness receded, replaced by a boldness that was more unusual for her. "Is that what you are? A challenge?” She shook her head. “From what I saw, it's rather easy to catch you. Half the girls in here did, at one time or another." He laughed and inclined his head, as though granting her that round. "I'm not a challenge,” he agreed. “How about a mystery?" She let out a laugh at the affected tone his voice had taken on the word ‘mystery'. The sparkle in his eyes made it clear however that he wasn't taking himself seriously. That realization made her a little more comfortable, enough to tease him back. "The mystery would be whether that line ever worked before." He flashed her a disarming smile. “You'll tell me at the end of the night, seeing how it's the first time I've ever tried it." "At the end of the night, huh? You're awfully sure of yourself." Taking another sip of wine, Claire tried to see on the vampire's face if he was mocking himself again or if he truly meant his words. She couldn't help hoping that he was truly interested enough in her to be trying to seduce her. After all, he was here, now, talking to her when he could have had a dozen girls fawning over him. At the same time, she wondered what he could possibly see in her, and refused to believe he was doing anything more than play. He returned her look levelly, and if she hadn't known any better she could have sworn he could read her

thoughts as clearly as an open book. When he spoke next, his words did nothing to appease her. "You seem to be in denial, sweetheart. Why do you even try to resist the charm of the one vamp you came to see?" Her forced laughter rang false, and she buried it into yet one more mouthful of wine. She was coming to the end of that glass rather quickly. How would she hide when it was empty? "You think I came to see you?” she asked, trying to sound as though the idea amused her. The vampire didn't seem to fall for it, and answered with barely the hint of a smile touching his lips. “I know you came to see me." She offered him a pointed roll of her eyes. Even if he had been right, and she wasn't admitting he was, his overconfidence needed to be brought down a notch. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're arrogant?" It was his turn to laugh as he pivoted on his stool to face her more directly. "I must have heard it said, once or twice,” he said in a tone that suggested he had heard it far more often than that. “Do you mind?" "That you're arrogant?" "That I'm here and flirting with you." With a small gesture, he caught Leo's attention, and their glasses were soon filled again. Claire watched her own, her fingers playing on the rim. She had known he was flirting with her, of course, but to hear him admit it cast a different light on their conversation. "I ... I guess if I minded I would have left,” she said at last. "Like you did last night, you mean." Claire didn't answer to that, and hid her embarrassment by taking a mouthful of wine. Her cheeks were feeling hotter with each sip, and she told herself maybe she ought not to finish that drink. She wasn't used to drinking so much alcohol so fast. Most nights, she would take an hour to sip on a cocktail. It couldn't possibly be a good idea to get drunk when she was with a vampire. "So why didn't you leave this time?" As she placed her mostly full glass down on the coaster and pushed it away from her, Claire wondered what to answer. Telling him that she had wanted to prove something to herself probably wasn't what he wanted to hear. "I suppose ... I suppose because you seem like a nice man ... I mean, a nice vampire." She wanted to kick herself. Without the wine fogging up her mind, she wanted to believe she wouldn't have slipped like this. But when she dared a sideways glance at him, her companion seemed more concerned than anything else. He blinked as he met her eyes, and broke away from her gaze to look at

his own glass of wine. His voice, after he had taken a sip, held a hard edge that had not been there before. "There's no such thing as nice vampires, sweetheart, don't fool yourself." There was a warning, in those words, and Claire had a hard time understanding why a vampire would warn her against himself and his kind. She could take a hint, though. "I'll try to keep that in mind." A cold silence fell between them, and Claire took the opportunity to ask the bartender who had joined Leo in the enclosed bar space for water. He complied without a word, though a touch of amusement pierced through his grin when he glanced at her glass of wine. The ice in the water clunked softly when she brought the glass to her lips. Had she been home and alone, she would have plucked a bit of it out of the glass to run it at the base of her skull, where a knot of tension was slowly forming. She was much too aware of the vampire's eyes on her to do it now, though. His gaze was intense, as though he were cataloging every breath she took, or counting the small lines at the corners of her eyes. Claire had a sudden urge to check her make-up. If that meant getting away from him for a moment, all the better. "Excuse me." He stood as she slid off her stool, a gesture she found strange, coming from someone who hadn't shown many tendencies toward being a gentleman so far. She could feel his eyes following her the entire way to the ladies’ restrooms, and she mentally cursed that last sip of wine, which was making walking in high heels a much more complicated affair. It was only when she stepped into the facilities and faced the row of gleaming metal sinks and soap dispensers that she remembered—there wasn't a mirror to be found in the club, not even here. With a wistful sigh, she entered one of the stalls and pulled out a pocket mirror from her purse. Her make-up didn't need a touch-up, and the small age lines on her face were not as prominent as she had feared under the vampire's scrutiny. So what had he seen on her features that had kept him staring? She took a few instants to compose herself. Stepping out of the stall, she approached one of the available sinks and ran cold water over her wrists, hoping it would help clear up her mind a little. She had come back, talked to the vampire, and that was enough. She had proved to herself she wasn't a coward. She could go home, now. Shewould go home. For all she knew, he had tired of waiting for her and was picking his next willing victim on the dance floor. "You realize he's playing with you, don't you?" The sugary words echoed her own thoughts so well that Claire knew instantly that Sara was addressing her, even though she wasn't looking at her. Standing in front of the next sink, she was holding a mirror in one hand and re-applying eyeliner with the other. "He likes his conquests a tad younger than you are. No offense." The other women around them were not paying them any mind. Claire turned to face her, surprised to find blatant traces of jealousy on her face. With a snap, Sara folded the mirror and tucked it and her eyeliner away, turning a large, fake smile on Claire.

"I just thought you should know. So you don't get your hopes up and then find that you aimed too high." At that, she left, her high heels clicking sharply on the tiled floor. Claire dried her hands without a thought, and tried not to let the poisonous words affect her. She had known since she had started observing the vampire that the women around him were all younger than she was, and it wasn't as though she had really expected anything to come out of their conversation. Despite her determination not to listen, something tightened painfully in her chest. As hard she tried, she couldn'tnot think of Jonas, and of the young woman on the pictures that had sealed the fate of his relationship with Claire. Breathing deeply to regain her composure, she walked out of the restrooms. The vampire was where she had left him, sitting with his back to the bar, his glass of wine in hand. There was a woman standing by his side, talking to him although he didn't seem to be answering her or the rather possessive touch of her hand on his shoulder. Of course, Claire thought, a strange feeling that definitely was not jealousy flaring through her. She should have known his groupies would find him. However, the groupie in question was dismissed with an absent shake of his head, and the half smile he gave Claire across the room made her resolve falter. She would say goodbye before she left. It was only common politeness, especially if he had been waiting for her. Politeness however did not explain why she sat again next to him when she reached the bar, or why she returned, although diffidently, his smile. "So tell me, Claire,” he asked, turning toward her once more. “Would you have talked and flirted with me if I had been anything other than a vampire?" She frowned at hearing her name on his lips. She had detected a tiny hint of accent on his voice when he said that lone word, an accent that didn't tint the rest of his speech, but that wasn't what troubled her. "I ... I told you my name?" Try as she might, she couldn't remember doing so. She had to have been more affected by the wine than she had even realized. The vampire seemed surprised for a brief moment, then he chuckled. "Of course you did. How else would I know?" A feeling of discomfort began settling on Claire—it wasn't like her to give her name to a complete stranger, even if she had drunk too much. "What about your name?” she asked, shrugging lightly to shake off her uneasiness. “You didn't tell me, did you?" Head tilted to one side as he observed her, he appeared to ponder her question for a few seconds before he said: “I'll tell you, if you answer my question first. Are you sitting right here right now because I'm a vampire?" Repeating to herself that she was mature enough to make her own choices—including with whom to have a drink—did not prevent Claire from feeling like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She

could feel her cheeks blazing up under his scrutiny. She pretended to herself that she wasn't blushing and answered as coolly as she could muster. "I've got to admit that's a big part of the attraction." From the way he had reacted earlier when she had called him a nice vampire, she would have expected him to close off again at her admission. Instead, he offered her a lopsided smile, and reached to tuck a stray strand of hair that was tickling her cheek back behind her ear. "Has anyone ever told you you're pretty when you blush, sweetheart?" His murmur, sweet and heavy as late summer honey, would have been more suited for a bedroom conversation. Claire's blush only deepened, and she picked up her glass of wine to compose herself. It was still cool. A small sip felt heavenly. "Aww, did I embarrass you?” he crooned. “I just said what I was thinking. Humans lives are too short to play games with words." Finally, Claire found her voice back. “And here I was under the impression that's all we've done since you sat down next to me." His chuckle was practically indecent. “We could still do more, you know. The night is far from being over." If she had been ten years younger—if she had been the same age as Sara—she might not have rejected his words as quickly. As it was, she had not forgotten that it was all nothing more than a game, for the both of them. "If you think I'm going to fall into your bed because we've talked and shared a glass or two, you're even more conceited than I ever thought was possible." She raised an eyebrow at him on the last words, challenging him to deny his arrogance. He returned her look with one of mock innocence. "Who said anything about beds? We're in a club. People come here to dance. That's what I was suggesting. Now why your mind drifted to other activities ... You're blushing again, sweetheart." Claire shook her head, but she did manage to smile. “And you're enjoying it way too much." "Probably, yes. Does that mean you're going to refuse me that dance?" [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Five Matthew was a little surprised when Claire finished her glass in one long gulp before looking at him straight in the eyes. He knew she was more timid than she let on, and that probably explained why she had run away the previous night, but now she was clearly fighting off her own shyness to find the bit of daring that had brought her to the club in the first place.

He felt ambivalent about that. On one hand, without that adventurous streak she wouldn't have been here, and he might not have ever talked to her. It would have been a pity, or so a short half hour spent with her had convinced him. On the other hand, he didn't want her to be comfortable around vampires, even if that vampire happened to be him. He didn't want her to take risks, period. He wanted her safe for as long as possible. He hated to do it, but he didn't see another solution. He needed to scare her badly enough that she wouldn't think of stepping inside On The Edge ever again. And he knew exactly how to do that. "You want me to dance with you,” she said, “but you still haven't told me what your name is." He had thought she had forgotten about that, and hid a flash of annoyance in a smile. To any other woman, he would have answered with a random name, never the same one twice in a row. She wasn't just anyone, though. She was, as Diane called her, one of his girls, and even if he never should have talked to her in the first place, he had done so and it was too late to change that. Giving her his name couldn't be so bad, especially since he was fairly certain she would never come around again after this night. The possibility of lying to her never crossed his mind. "My name is Matthew,” he answered. “Now will you dance with me?" He saw her lips move and form his name, and he almost asked her to say it aloud. Shaking his head at his own treacherous thoughts, he stood and offered her his hand. She hadn't answered, still, but he knew she would. **** Just a dance, he had said. It sounded so innocent, it was hard to say no. And that was how Claire found herself being led by the hand down the suspended bridges and staircases to the lower level. She saw some startled looks thrown her way, and even took some delight in seeing Sara stare at her with a mix of jealousy and incredulity. She wasn't solely going to dance with him, she wanted to tell her, but she also knew his name. Somehow, she was sure it was his real name; he wouldn't have hesitated if he had merely given her a fake one. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to shout it for all to hear or to keep it to herself like a precious secret. Matthew's hand felt cool as it clasped hers, but not cold as she had expected. She realized with a small amount of trepidation that it was the first time she had ever touched a vampire, and it made her feel just a little more naughty. ‘Stay away from vampires’ was the standard advice parents gave their children when they left for college, and despite her fascination for vampires, Claire had always heeded it—until that night. Stepping down the staircases seemed to take hours, especially with so many eyes turning their way. Unused to being the center of attention, Claire found herself looking away, down at the dancing crowd. She caught a glimpse of the vampire with whom Matthew always arrived; she was dancing with two men, one molded to her back, his hands on her hips, the other only a foot in front of her as she kept him close with her arms looped around his neck. Glancing at him, Claire noticed that Matthew had seen his companion too, and she wondered what he felt seeing her with other men. His face did not reveal anything. The dance floor was as crowded as ever, yet Claire forgot all the dancing bodies around her as soon as Matthew turned toward her, a blazing smile on his lips. He said something she didn't quite understand. All

she could hear were the music and the rapid thud of her own heartbeat. She shook her head and leaned in closer, her face very close to his so that they barely brushed against each other. He seemed to understand and repeated, this time loud enough for her to hear: "You're not afraid, are you?" As loud as it was, the question was but a whisper against the shell of her ear, yet it echoed in her mind as Matthew pulled back, head slightly tilted to the side, his hand tight around hers their only point of contact. She wanted to reply that of course she wasn't afraid, but her throat and lips refused to form the words, and she was left to stare at him, overly conscious of the heat that was flooding her body. "Don't be,” Matthew murmured, leaning in closer again. “I won't bite." If anything, his words made Claire's heart thunder ever faster, and she could do nothing but follow his lead as he started dancing to the wild beat of the music She had watched him dance before, sometimes for hours at a time, and this certainly was nothing new. But all her observations had not prepared her for the sense of raw energy emanating from him as he abandoned himself to the music. She didn't know—maybe she would ask, later—how many years had passed since he had been turned into a vampire. If she had needed to take a guess, she would have said it had been very recently. His movements, unrestrained and wild and always so perfectly in tune to the beat, did not seem to hide any remnants of a waltz or minuet, or anything other than contemporary music. Although she didn't care much for clubs, Claire had danced before to different kinds of music, not to the point of being an exceptional dancer when following any particular musical genre, but enough that she could move on most beats without looking ridiculous. She had never realized, however, what a difference following the lead of a good dancer could make. Matthew made everything appear easy. All Claire had to do was watch him, hold on to his hand or waist, and let him guide her. It was thrilling, and exhilarating, and it made Claire yearn for a different kind of dance, one in which bodies listened not to music but only to pleasure and each other. If he listened to his partner's needs half as well as he did to the music, he had to be the wonderful lover his past conquests claimed he was. She doubted anyone looking at them would consider them well matched, but then, she didn't care all that much, not when his hands played over her arms and sides, sliding up and down in touches that were light enough to make Claire want to step closer and get more of them. Her wish was answered when the music abruptly shifted to something much slower. A collective sigh rolled over the crowd as the lights dimmed ever so lightly, and couples drifted a little closer to each other. The music was still as loud, but its deep drums beat more slowly now, coaxing Claire's heart into a calmer rhythm. Matthew stepped just a little closer to her and pressed his hands at the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. Claire silenced the nagging voice in her head that insisted on ringing alarm bells and rested her fingers against his shoulders. His black shirt felt like silk, the muscles beneath it, steel. She had a feeling his skin would be just as soft, and felt a barely repressible urge to find out. He had teased her, back at the bar, about having bedroom thoughts when all he had asked for was a dance. The same thoughts were plaguing her now, renewed by his closeness and the sensuous way he moved against her. He was taller than she was, but he kept his head down so that his mouth was close to her ear. Now and then, as they swayed to the music, his lips would brush against the rim, light enough

that it could have been a coincidence if it hadn't been happening repeatedly. If he suggested more than a dance now, she told herself with both resignation and excitement, she might not put up much of a fight. It had been a long time since a man simply dancing with her had made her felt like fire and life were coursing beneath her skin. She remembered, vaguely, thinking that he might have used thrall on his conquests. She knew he didn't need to, now. He just needed to be himself. When she sighed softly in contentment, his body replied in a way she couldn't possibly miss. The hardening of his cock against her hip was unmistakable. If she hadn't had that second glass of wine, she would have stepped back a little, or so she wanted to believe. As it was, and to her own shock, she pressed her body against his just a little more with each step. She felt herself blush, though, and while the dance floor was still rather dark, she had no doubt that he would be able to see the red spreading over her cheeks. She threw reserve to the wind, and rested her cheek against his chest, finding that she could tuck her head under his chin very comfortably. Her arms slid to his back to find a more comfortable position, and she absently began drawing circles with her thumb just above the waist of his trousers. In response, one of his hands started running up and down her back in a sensual motion. The other slipped just a little lower, to cup Claire's ass and push her a little tighter against him. She could feel her blush become even fiercer, and closed her eyes as though it would prevent anyone from noticing. With her eyes closed, it was easier to pretend that they weren't on a crowded dance floor any longer, easier to trust that no one would be watching his hand caress her back, edging always lower but without doing more than brushing against the top of her ass. It was easier, also, for Claire to imagine what else might happen if they were truly alone. The weeks had been long since her separation from Jonas, and her nights lonely. Would she undress him first, smooth, expensive silk sliding off his golden body? Or would she expose herself to him, her nipples distended and almost aching from waiting for his touch and the nest of curls between her legs slick and ready for him? The latter, she thought. She wanted to watch his face when her clothes slid off her body, and in her mind she could see him want her in that instant more than anything else in the world. She didn't care anymore that it would be for one night only, she wanted to be wanted again. She wanted praises to caress her skin along with his hands and then, only then, would she reveal him to her eyes. As close as they now were to each other, she could feel his muscles shifting with each movement, strength contained by silk. She could feel all too well, also, the cock nestled against her hip, and she longed to touch its hardness, and discover it with her hands and eyes. Her body burned with need, and Claire could only hope that rumors were true, and that vampires could smell the scent of lust on a human. She didn't want to have to invite him home. She just wanted to say yes when he invited her instead. **** Matthew had been a patron of On The Edge for years, now. Every time he and Diane were in Haventown, they made the club their hunting ground, in a pattern they had perfected through decades of practice. They lived together by day, went to the club together at night, accompanied their respective prey to their homes, and found each other again in the morning. It worked quite well for them, with the advantage of providing them with as much blood and sexual encounters as either might want, while keeping a close relationship between them. Between Sire and Childe, there was no jealousy to be had for conquests that were forgotten with the first light of sunrise. He had had dozens of women in his arms and in bed. Hundreds of them. In this very club, he had lost

the count of how many warm bodies he had danced with before accompanying them home for a few hours. But Claire was more than a warm body, more than a random girl picked up for dinner and a night in her bed. He had certainly not planned this. It was never his habit to approach his girls, let alone dance with them, but he couldn't regret it. What he did regret was the necessity of what would come later. She would hate him, when he was done with her, and fear him as well, and she would be that much safer for it. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Six Even with dozens of other bodies dancing around them, some humans and some not, Matthew could still discern Claire's scent as clearly as though they had been alone. She smelled of fuchsia flowers, wine, and clean perspiration. She smelled, also, to his great chagrin, like all the women who threw themselves at his neck, night after night. He would need to teach her better. The string of slow dances ended, and immediately the lights and music pulsed back to an intense vivacity that didn't lend itself for coddling and romances. Several couples made their exit, stepping up the staircases hand in hand, or sometimes so wrapped in each other that they barely reached the first landing before stopping to embrace in a passionate kiss. Matthew knew, as clearly as he knew his own name, that Claire expected something of the sort to happen between them, and with a reluctant sigh that she probably didn't hear, he dropped his hands from her back and gently stepped away from her. What he was about to do was necessary, but it didn't make it any more pleasant. On the contrary, after having basked in her heat and scent, after having enjoyed touching her and being touched by her, to stop now was a challenge. Matthew knew where his duty lay, however, and he wouldn't yield now, not even if her eyes shone with both hope and desire when she looked up at him and smiled. The difference between this needy woman and the one who, less than an hour prior to that instant, had scoffed at the idea that he might want to bed her was stunning. Taking her hand as he had earlier, he arched an eyebrow at her, making a silent suggestion that he hoped she would refuse. Her smile brightened just a little when she nodded her assent. He pulled her toward the staircase, then freed his hand from hers to place it at the small of her back instead. It allowed him to guide her just as well, but the touch felt more intimate, and indeed she shivered when he first laid his hand just above the curve of her ass. Up the stairs they went, stopping on the first landing for no other reason than Matthew's weakness. If he had to give her up like he had given up another woman so much like her before, he would at least taste her lips once. He did so like a man dying of thirst, trapping her between the wall and his body and plundering her mouth with a desperate intensity. The flavor of wine was strong on her tongue as it slid against his own, and he told himself that was the reason why she was taking such risks, trusting a vampire with her mouth, her body, and even if she didn't seem aware of it, her very life. He broke off the kiss with a feeling of guilt that annoyed and angered him. A little more harshly than he meant to, he grabbed her hand again and walked up two more flights of stairs, reaching the last landing before the first floor. Again, he pushed her against the wall. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling

him closer even as she closed her eyes and licked her lips. Matthew growled and dove for her neck instead of her mouth. He bit down right where her neck and shoulder met in a graceful arch, and even though he used only blunt teeth, he felt her freeze up and tense. He remained still for a few seconds more, resisting easily when she tried to push him away, then let go of her neck and whispered into her ear. "You're dead. Or you would be if I was hungry." He took a step back and observed his work. Her heart beat wildly, and her scent screamed her fear, all lust forgotten. Her eyes were wide open and blinking furiously. She brought a hand to her neck, where he had bitten, and looked at her fingers in disbelief, clearly surprised not to find them covered in blood. "Wh ... why?” she stammered. Matthew gave her the iciest smile he could summon. “Because vampires are dangerous, sweetie. You shouldn't play with fire." He could tell at once that the endearment had been a bad idea, and he cursed himself for the slip. Whatever impression he was made on her, the fear was transforming into uncertainty, now, as though she weren't quite sure whether he was joking or serious. "What? I'm not..." He leaned in closer to her again, and she pressed back against the wall behind her, fear taking the advantage again. "All humans who come here play with their lives,” he said, his words dripping with contempt. “You're too intelligent not to realize that." He slipped again, praising her when he ought to have called her on the stupid decision that coming to On The Edge had been. It was a slip in another way, too, alluding to things he ought not to have known if he had never known of her before today. But he knew she had graduated from college with honors. He knew too many things to let her throw away her life. She shook and struggled to get a grip on herself again, but finally she stopped cowering and raised her chin high, meeting his gaze without flinching anymore. "What are you saying?” she asked, anger taking over her voice. “That I am suicidal? That I came here to die?" He didn't know why she had moved so fast toward anger. He would have expected that to come later. But anger could be good, too, as long as it convinced her never to set foot in the club again. **** The first moments when Matthew had pretended to bite her had been pure terror for Claire. She had forgotten in the blink of an eye her attraction for him, and the deep ache for a lover that dancing with him had conjured. It sobered her up so quickly that she couldn't pretend to herself anymore that a couple glasses of wine had affected her mind. However, to hear him try to scare her with a pitiful warning about the dangers of vampires chased away

the fear, and brought forth a wave of anger. Jonas had once given her the same speech when she had asked about what the vampires he hunted were like. Couldn't they see that curiosity did not make her a child? "You are not making one bit of sense, you know that, right?” she snapped, sliding to her left so that she wasn't trapped between Matthew and the wall anymore. “First you do your best to seduce me and now you warn me off?" She hadn't dreamed the way his cock had pressed against her. She knew he had been as turned on as she had. None of it made sense, and especially not the way he chuckled, the sound low and dangerous when earlier she would have called it playful. "That wasn't my best, far from it. If it had been, we'd be in a bed and starting round three or four by now." Understanding continued to escape Claire's grasp. If Matthew hadn't threatened her just a minute earlier, she would have thought he was flirting with her now as he had been at the bar. The mixed signals were just too hard to keep track of. "You think because we shared a drink and danced together I'd ... what? Take you home? Sleep with you? Let you bite me?” She snorted. “You know nothing about me, and pretending that you do is really pathetic. If you get off on—" "Enough, already!” His outburst startled her to the point that she took a step back, and nearly tripped over the staircase behind her. “Stop throwing a tantrum and. Go. Home. Now." More than his tone or words, it was the glimpse of a fang that set Claire in motion, and she took another stumbling step back and up the staircase, grabbing the handrail for support. She had never forgotten what he was, what he could do, but as she stared at him she realized that she had not taken the threat that he and all the vampires in the club represented. On The Edge was supposed to be a safe place for humans and vampires to socialize. The truth, she started to understand, was that safety depended on the good will of beings as dangerous as they could be fickle. Matthew's anger seemed to have redoubled, for no reason she could understand, and the idea that she had caused a vampire's anger was far too uncomfortable. Walking backwards up the staircase, she didn't dare take her eyes off him until she had reached the upper level. When she did, she ran to the street and hailed the first cab she could find. She tried to calm down, as the taxi took her home. She told herself, repeatedly, that he had had no right to talk to her as though she had been nothing but a child, and that she ought to be angry, not afraid. But if the fear faded slightly, it was only to be replaced by shame and embarrassment. She had made a fool of herself, letting that vampire play with her before he had rejected her so soundly. How could she have believed for even a second that he might be attracted to her? From the game he had played with her to Jonas’ lies, there was only a small leap to make, and her mind was prompt to it. Jonas’ deeds had been more hurtful by far than the vampire's, but in that instant, with the help of tiredness and a little too much alcohol, both men melded in her mind. She was crying when, high-heeled shoes in hand, she stepped out of the cab and made her way to her front door. She was crying because of the still acute pain of losing a man she had loved, because she had been stupid enough to think the vampires at On The Edge were innocents she had to protect from Jonas, and because she still felt so guilty at failing to do anything to protect them. She knew none of this made sense, she realized

her thoughts were contradicting each other, but at that moment she did not care. All she hoped was that she'd feel better after a good cry. **** It hurt to see her cry. It hurt even more to know he was the one who had caused her tears. Matthew had to remind himself that it was all for the best, that he had probably saved her life by scaring her tonight. It didn't make anything easier, but it allowed him to move on, rather than to remain across the street from her home, where she might notice him if she only looked out. He returned to the corner of the street where he had asked his cab to wait for him, and directed the driver to go back to the club. The night was still early, and he hadn't fed yet. He still had ample time to find a willing prey. He almost changed his mind as he stepped down the staircases and toward the dance floor. Claire's scent was still clinging to him, and the prospect of finding another girl wasn't so appealing suddenly. He shook the thought away as well as he could. He'd never get Claire, not like that, and especially not after the way he had sent her home. It was time to move on. When he reached the last few steps, he noticed Diane and the two men she had picked at the beginning of the night. They were still dancing, now almost on the edge of the crowd, and Matthew thought about joining them. Before he could do as much however, a woman made her way to him and started dancing close enough that he could hear the heartbeat even with the music blaring around them. It was the girl he had danced with the previous night, the one who had told him about Claire. She was a pretty thing, even prettier naked, and it wouldn't hurt, for once, to break his ‘never twice’ rule. After all, he had already broken his own rules, first by talking to Claire, then by telling her his name. Without much conviction, he started dancing along with the girl, just a little closer so that they brushed against each other now and then, and managed to give her a smile. Her own brightened a little more, just like Claire's had, on this very same dance floor, not that long before. Without care for the fast beat of the music, the girl moved even closer to him, molding herself to his body, her arms looped around his neck. "I knew you'd never go ahead with her,” she said, pulling him down to talk right against his ear. “I told her you were playing with her but she didn't believe me. Silly—" Wrenching her arms from around his neck, Matthew glared at her. "You told herwhat ?" Apparently unable to understand what had happened, the girl blinked and reached for him again, looping her arm through his just as he was turning away. Matthew whirled on her and growled as he pulled his arm free. He flashed his fangs at her and this time she understood the message. She shrieked, her cry drowned out by the music, and stumbled as she tried to back away from him. She would have fallen if not for the mass of bodies behind her. She caught back her footing and slid between dancers, hurrying away. Matthew kept glaring at the spot where she had disappeared until arms wrapped around his chest from

behind. The tension instantly drained out of him and he leaned into the familiar touch, bowing his head while Diane cradled him against her. He didn't need to even look back to know it was her. He would have recognized her anywhere. He followed the gentle sway of her body and let it calm him, soothe him, until she murmured against the back of his neck. "I was about to accompany my friends home. I'll share if you want to join us." The offer was tempting, even more so because Diane would know what was going on in his head without him needing to explain. He shook his head however and pulled away from her. "Another time,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and left her to the care of her boys. She caught up with him again just when he was reaching the first floor. She was alone. She simply slipped her hand in his and kept walking, regal as ever, without a word. As they were waiting at the coat check for her jacket however, two men came up to them, one of them a vampire. Large and dressed entirely in black, they each had an earpiece and microphone to the side of their face. Nothing marked them as such, but Matthew knew they were part of the club security staff. And he could guess before they even said a word what they wanted. "The kind of behavior you showed tonight was unacceptable,” the taller man said, arms crossed over his chest. “Whatever quarrel you may have had with these two women, chasing them off the property was not an answer. It's because of incidents like this that Special Enforcers visit the club." Matthew nodded. "The manager says to give you a free pass for tonight,” the second man added. “In regard to your usually perfect behavior. But any more slip-ups and you will not be allowed in again." Another nod was Matthew's only answer. Diane was more vocal and assured them, on a tone that promised hell for Matthew if he made her lie, that the incident would not be repeated. The two men inclined their heads and let them walk away. Matthew expected Diane to ask what had happened exactly, but she didn't. Instead, she remained silent all the way back to their apartment building, which was only five blocks away from the club. Matthew would have stopped on the third floor, where his apartment lay, but Diane held on to his arm and led him up two more floors to her own. "I won't let you bury yourself in the past tonight,” was all she said as he walked in after her. He followed her to the kitchen and sat down at the table while she pulled out bagged blood from the freezer. Blood was the only thing in there. The microwave oven's only setting warmed the two packages to perfection, and she poured each into a tall glass. Matthew stared for a long time at the practically black liquid when she placed one glass in front of him, and only when she nudged him did he pick it up and drink. She sat next to him and took small sips of her own glass, as though sampling a rare wine. "Maybe,” she started, picking her words carefully, “it is time to let go of that promise you made before it earns you a stake through the heart."

Matthew raised a sharp gaze at her. “Claire would never—" "She might not. But her ex might if she asked him." He wanted to deny Claire would do any such thing, but in truth he did not know that she wouldn't. "If you're still worried she'd go back to On The Edge,” Diane insisted, “I could convince her not to." "No.” He did not hesitate for a second. “You're not thralling her. There's no reason for you to do it." He held her gaze until she nodded. "Then I want you to think about this. Your vow was to protect them from afar, and you already broke that by talking to her. Stepping back and leaving her alone would be the safest thing to do now." She had not asked for an answer, and Matthew was glad not to have to give her one. When they finished their glasses, he let Diane take him to her bed and spent the night and most of the following day with her. He knew, already, that he would continue to keep an eye on Claire, whatever the risks. If anything, he needed to make sure that she would heed his warning. And as long as he was in town, he might as well keep trying to get proof of Jonas’ after hours staking. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seven The stack of papers on Claire's desk seemed to be towering as high at the end of her workday as it had that morning, even though she had spent eight hours checking each piece of paper. She had checked all her files, all her notes, everything on, in or under her desk, and she still hadn't found it. She would, though. She simply had to. She couldn't afford to have her boss find anything wrong with her work this month. Not again. Three months earlier, a couple of weeks after she had broken up with Jonas, she had lost an important customer and been reprimanded for it. The entire office had heard about it, and they had been watching her ever since. She would be in trouble if she didn't find the contact sheet for that new customer. Jane had asked for it again this morning as soon as Claire had walked into the office. She had to find it now. However, the more she looked at her notes and documents, the more she tried to focus, the less the words in front of her made sense; the less she understood what had happened at the club the previous night. The vampire—Matthew, if it was even his real name—had made no sense. She had been scared at first, then angry, but now she was mostly bewildered, both at the way he had played with her and at how he had treated like a naughty child that needed to be taught better. She had half a mind to return there, if only to prove to Matthew that his warnings and unpredictable changes of mind did not rule her life and decisions. "You're playing with fire, Claire." The words, so reminiscent of what Matthew had told her that night, had the same effect as a bucket of

icy water. Claire blinked out of her thoughts to see her boss standing by her office door. "I beg your pardon?” she replied, wondering if she had missed something or if that had been the extent of what he had said. Josh walked in and closed the door behind him, then leaned against it. "Have you found that contact sheet yet?” he asked, his face impassive. She didn't even ask how he knew. It was his job to know about things like this. "I'll find it." "When?" "Soon." "That's not soon enough, Claire. We need the Dawson's account. We need the commissions, and we need the publicity and referrals he'll bring us. You know that." His voice was getting colder with each word. Claire's hands closed into fists on her knees. "I'll find it,” she repeated. “I will." "I hate to pry,” he said, grimacing slightly, “but I couldn't help hearing rumors..." Claire blinked. She could feel her heartbeat pick up speed as she imagined what he might have heard. Had someone from the office seen her at the club? Had they seen her talking to Matthew, maybe? By law, no employer could discriminate against employees for their choice to associate with vampires, but it still happened regularly. "I know the end of a relationship can be painful,” Josh continued after a second, taking the compassionate tone of a long-time friend, something he certainly was not to Claire. “Clearly it is affecting your work, so maybe you should think about taking a few days off. You've earned yourself a vacation. Just relax, find yourself again, and I'm sure everything will work much better for you." She nodded dumbly at him, finally figuring out that he didn't know about her visits to the club, and intensely relieved about it. He left after a few more seconds, and for a long time she stared at the spot where he had disappeared, wondering why she had been so afraid anyone would know where she spent her evenings. Wondering also—and the thought struck her out of the blue—why she had never admitted until that instant, to herself or to anyone else, how much she hated her job. It had been the first position she had been offered after graduating, and although she had asked herself if she wanted to work for a large company like this one, where customers were nothing more than the amount of money the company pulled from them in commissions, she had accepted the job. She had worked well enough to earn herself a few promotions and a real office along with an assistant, but after more than fifteen years the job was still the same as it had been on her first day at Morrens & Son. She hadn't liked it much then, and had needed to tell herself that it would get better and she'd get used to it. She had, in time; but she had never come to like it. On the contrary, she had become bitter at the cynicism and greed forced on her.

The decision was surprisingly easy to make, and she was typing her letter of resignation before she even realized what she was doing. This job was stifling her. It paid her bills nicely, but she hated it. Did she spend so much time in that bar to escape the dullness of it all, with the thrill of being surrounded by vampires? If she did, then quitting was certainly the best thing she could do, before she found herself on the wrong side of a pair of fangs. And if she was making important decisions, maybe there was something else she needed to decide. Realizing that her dissatisfaction with her job and life had pushed her to tempt fate was an important step, but it wasn't enough. She also had to stop taking risks. She had to stop going back to the club. The irony that a vampire had been the first to caution her against it wasn't lost on her. **** Less than a block away from the club, Matthew heard steps behind him and Diane. A quick glance assured him she had heard them too. "Your girl's ex,” she murmured, and touched her nose with a finger to let him know how she knew. "Go ahead, I'll join you in a moment." "You're sure?" If he hadn't known how protective of him Diane could be, Matthew might have felt insulted by the worry in her voice. As it was, it made him smile. "I'm sure. Don't worry for me." She brought his hand up and pressed a kiss to his fingers. "Don't hurt him too much. I want to leave this town, but I don't want Special Enforcers chasing after us when we do." Letting go of his hand, she walked on toward the club without looking back while Matthew stopped and turned on his heel. The footsteps ceased, and for a few moments the only sounds were those of muted music in the distance and passing cars. Matthew waited, immobile, his eyes on the street corner where he was sure Jonas would appear. When he finally did, he had a crossbow in his hand, raised in Matthew's direction. "I could dust you, right here, right now." Matthew did not move, nor did he reply to the boast. Jonas took a few more steps forward. "I just need to hit the trigger. I never miss." Matthew snorted. “If you were going to try to kill me, you'd have done it by now. So why don't you tell me what you came here to say?" The crossbow wavered, just a hair but enough to let Matthew know Jonas was taken aback. "Claire." "Claire?"

"You know her. Pretty woman, in her thirties, short brown hair. The same woman you danced with last night. The woman who ran away from you when you lunged for her neck." Matthew wasn't all that surprised that Jonas knew about that; he had to have informants in the club. What did surprise him was that the man hadn't tried to kill him yet. "What about her?" A passing car drowned the sound of Jonas’ boots hitting the pavement. He stopped only four feet in front of Matthew. The crossbow was still raised, but the angle was wrong, and an arrow released now would have done no more than wound Matthew. "If you ever talk to her, if you approach her—hell, if you even so much aslook in her direction, I will kill you. Do I make myself clear?" Jonas’ voice was strained, its low pitch hinting at how hard he was working to restrain himself. Matthew could guess why, just like he knew why Jonas hadn't hit the trigger yet. They were in an exposed area, with cars and pedestrians passing by. Jonas was much more cautious when killing vampires than he had been when cheating on his then fiancée, as Matthew had realized recently. He knew Jonas had killed vampires without cause since he had started shadowing him, he was sure of it, he just never had caught him doing it. "What is clear,” Matthew said as he turned his back on Jonas, “is that you have control issues." The shuffle of feet was all the warning Matthew needed. When Jonas tried to shove him against a wall, he evaded him, turning quickly so that he was behind Jonas, and pushed him face first into the wall. Jonas struggled, but Matthew used all his weight to keep him pressed against the damp bricks. "I listened to your warning, so here's mine. If you keep up the stalking act with Claire and don't let her move on with her life, I won't kill you. That would be too fast. I'll turn you. I'll make you the thing you hate most. And I'll make you enjoy it, until a Special Enforcer puts you down like a rabid beast." He pushed against Jonas’ body for good measure, then abruptly let go of it. By the time he had turned around, sputtering insults and threats, Matthew had reached the entrance of On The Edge, where too many witnesses would stop Jonas from doing anything. He looked back, and indeed Jonas was looking at him, shaking in rage but not coming toward him. This was just another reason to keep resisting Diane's attempts at convincing him they could leave town. As long as Jonas kept such a close watch on Claire, she wasn't completely free of him and Matthew couldn't be satisfied. **** As far as Matthew knew, it had been two weeks since Claire had last gone out at night. He hadn't seen her at the club since they had danced—since he had scared her away—and every time he came by her house, he could see some lights on inside, and sometimes her silhouette passing in front of a window. On one hand, he preferred for her to be home and safe. The club where they had met was hardly the kind of environment in which he had wanted to see her. He had never liked any of his girls to get too close to vampires, as ironic as he realized it was. On the other hand though, that meant he couldn't see her anymore, not as clearly as he had at the club, couldn't either talk to her, or get to really know her. He had liked exchanging a few words with her, after so many hours spent keeping an eye on her. She was the first of his charges he had had the chance to get to know.

After one more detour by her house to check on her, Matthew returned to his apartment. He wasn't particularly surprised to discover that Diane was there. Reclining with a book in his living room, she gave the impression that she was home, which, in a sense was true. Her apartment was only two floors above his, but she spent as much time down here with him as he did up there. Her eyes lit up when he walked in, and after putting the book down she opened her arms to him. He didn't think for a second before going to her, carefully lying down with her on the sofa so that his cheek rested upon her breast. "Poor Childe,” she cooed. “You'll never learn, will you?" Closing his eyes, he smiled. He should have guessed she would know. “Apparently not,” he replied quietly. “I seem to be the same hopeless romantic I was a century ago." Her hand started stroking his hair, gently, as though he had been a child. For a long time, she remained silent, and he let her petting soothe him. For as long as he had known her, she had always been a very physical creature, craving contact as much as she did blood. Sometimes, she just wanted to hold or be held, just like now. Sometimes, it was hours upon hours of touching and fucking until they were both too exhausted to move anymore. He had always given in to her needs, whatever they were, without a second thought; now though, he was content that she didn't want more than this comfortable cuddling. If he had cared what anyone thought, he might have wondered what humans would have made of them like this, two predators curling around each other like kittens. "This town has become boring,” she said at last. “Too many vampires, too much intrigue and maneuvering. I was approached by another Master tonight. He wanted us to become allies of his clan, and I have a feeling he'll be insisting until we accept or leave. What would you think of going away? We haven't been back to Europe in decades." She had been hinting about the same thing since that night she had taken him home and asked him to think about abandoning his vow. He did not answer this suggestion, just as he had never answered the others, unwilling to disagree so openly with his Sire but unable to comply either. She would know what his silence meant. They had had this discussion many times since he had been turned. She sighed when he didn't reply. “Sometimes, I wish I had been a more demanding Sire. Then I wouldn't feel like I have to get you to agree with my decisions." In truth, she was that demanding sometimes, and made her words an order rather than a suggestion. When it happened, Matthew bowed and followed wherever she led. They were rare occurrences however. "But maybe if you were so demanding I wouldn't love you as much as I do." She snorted at his teasing words. “What love? You've been mooning for months after a woman you'll never try to get in your bed, and paying too little attention to your poor old Sire in the meantime." With those words, he understood that she was teasing him back. She had never asked for his respect or obedience, even when the demon inside him had been ready to submit to her every wish. Vampire clan customs did not seem to concern her much, and if they had not socialized with other vampires, Matthew might never have learned about most things that now guided his existence. He wouldn't have known either about the history of vampires, and the reason why they had been created in the first place.

Matthew had found that out from a Master who had been several hundreds of years old if not more. He had claimed to have witnessed the Great Death, that supernatural event that had wiped out most vampires and put an end to the alliance of vampire clans and villages. No such event was recorded in human history books, of course. Yet everything he had said to explain how vampires had once looked after humans and protected them from bestial demons had resonated inside Matthew, ringing with the deep clarion sound of truth. He had asked Diane about it, and she had admitted not caring much about the story one way or the other. But for Matthew, it had been a revelation, and an answer to the discomfort he felt when thinking about the humans he had once known. The desire to take care of them—of Helena's family—had only been second to the sheer need of it. Diane had listened to his decision as though to a child's foible, at first, and Matthew had known that she didn't really believe that he intended to see things through as long as he could. As time had passed, though, as he had insisted that they remain where Helena's daughters and grandchildren lived, or that they visit the new places where they had moved, Diane had understood that he meant his vow, and that there was nothing she could do to make him go back on it. She could force him to move away from the ones he called his girls; all she needed for that was to give him a simple order. Most of the time, however, she let him do as he pleased, as long as he remained with her. "We'll stay a little longer, then,” Diane sighed again. Long minutes had passed since she had last spoken, but she picked up the discussion as though it had been seconds. “But this one seems to trouble you more than the others, and I do not like to see you hurt." Swallowing a sigh, Matthew closed his eyes and slowly allowed himself to drift into a half sleep. Claire danced through his mind, her features blending into those of Helena, then back again. They were so similar, sometimes he wasn't sure anymore which one he could see in his mind's eye. They shared the same high defined cheekbones, but Helena's nose had been just a little smaller, as had her mouth. Or maybe it had only seemed smaller because her smile had always held the reserve that suited a lady. When Claire smiled, her entire face lit up and seemed to glow. Helena's hair had been long, even longer than Claire's had been until a few weeks earlier, and she had always held it up in a tight bun high at the back of her head. Matthew had once loved pulling the pins away, one by one, until her hair cascaded over her shoulders and he could run his fingers through it. He could still feel, right at his fingertips, the softness of Claire's hair when he had tucked the stray strand behind her ear when they had talked. As soft as Helena's, and her lips had been as supple beneath his, her skin as silky, her mouth as succulent... When he woke and Diane asked him, he couldn't tell her which of the two he had been making love to in his dreams. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eight On the other side of Claire's desk, the woman was sitting on the edge of her chair, her brow furrowed as she read over the paperwork before signing it. Claire took a moment to observe her. Her reddish hair was gathered at the nape of her neck in a sloppy ponytail. She wore an apron over her dress, having explained that she would go straight from their appointment to her nightshift job at a restaurant just a block down the street. From what Claire had gathered, she loved the job and the people she got to meet while doing it.

"Few ever realize I'm a vamp,” she had said on a tone of confidence. “That's nice. They're not as scared as they'd be otherwise." If Claire hadn't known herself, she doubted she would have guessed the true nature of her client. Unlike the diner's customers however, she needed to know that Alice Calipua was a vampire; the investments she was going to set up in her name took that fact in consideration. When she retired, Alice could expect, barring accidents, to live for a very, very long time. She would need something safe and solid to support her, especially with the traveling she intended to do. The light scratching noise of the pen on the paper announced that Alice had finished reading. When she looked up and thrust her hand toward Claire, she seemed almost relieved. "Thank you so much, Miss Sheer. I don't know what I would have become without you." "I'm just glad I could help you. I'll be in touch with you before the end of the week to finalize those investments." With another round of warm thanks, the woman stepped out of the small office, clutching her portfolio to her chest. Claire accompanied her to the door and held it open for her before watching her go. She smiled. Her first customer, and she had actually been able to help her make sense of her finances rather than arrange for the biggest commission possible. She could easily get used to the feeling. "Found your marks, huh?" Leaning against the doorjamb of his office, Mike was watching her with a satisfied grin that pulled at the wrinkled corners of his mouth and eyes. He had been working for her previous employer for the best part of his career but had quit seven years earlier, for the same reasons Claire had. He was the first person she had called when pulling out her contact notebook; as soon as she had explained that she wanted to find a different way to do her job, he had offered her to join his partnership. She had heard through the grapevine that it specialized in helping vampires, both newly turned and older, finance their unusually long lives. The challenges raised here were unique, and Claire hadn't been so interested in what she did in quite some time. The fact that the other part of the office clientele consisted of people with modest incomes rather than the executives Claire had been used to work for was just bonus. It had to have been the best work decision Claire had ever made, and the knot of guilt in the pit of her stomach that she hadn't found a way to stop Jonas didn't feel as tight when she thought of how she'd be able to help good vampires have more comfortable lives. "I've found more than my marks. I found myself. You have no idea just how good that feels." He laughed quietly. “I know what you mean, believe me. We thought we'd treat you to dinner to celebrate your first customers. You're up to it?" "It'd be great! That's very kind of you." When Mike had said ‘we', Claire had imagined he meant himself and his wife, Mary, who was one of the other partners. As it turned out, he had meant the entire partnership. Ever since she had been interviewed by five people seated around a table barely large enough to accommodate them, Claire had started to realize they were a tight-knit group. So far however, they had gone out of their way to make her not feel like an outsider, and she could only be grateful to all of them.

At Claire's suggestion, they walked together to the restaurant where Alice Calipua worked, chatting along the way, sharing anecdotes about their customers and their past adventures in the corporate world. They laughed together, and griped about their past bosses and the quotas they had imposed on them, and the evening started in a beautiful manner. As their orders arrived however and the conversations began shifting toward families, children and home improvement projects, Claire had a harder time keeping a smile on her face. Two of them were a couple, the other three told of a wife, husband or partner they would introduce to Claire at the first opportunity, and despite the conviviality of the dinner and the laughs they all shared, she started feeling lonely. She had lived by herself after college, and never minded it, appreciating instead the freedom it gave her. But after living with someone for eight years, being among people her age or a few years older who all had families made her acutely aware that she would go home to an empty house. She hated it—and she hated even more that she now needed someone in her life to be happy. She tried not to show her discomfort, however. She wouldn't repay her colleagues’ graciousness by ruining the good mood. Things turned for the worse when Claire noticed two new patrons entering the diner, the man's hand resting at the small of the girl's back as they followed a waitress to a table on the opposite side of the room. "Friends of yours?” Mike asked Claire, having undoubtedly noticed her stare. “Would you like to invite them to join us?" Looking back at her plate, Claire shook her head and tried a weak smile. "My ex. And no, I'd rather not invite him over." Embarrassed silence fell over the table at her words, and Claire wanted to kick herself. She should have lied and said she didn't know the couple, and everything would have been just fine. Little by little, the conversations resumed, but they were hushed, now, or at least they felt that way to Claire. She tried to keep her gaze and attention on her colleagues, but now and then, they both drifted to the couple of the other side of the dinner, and the way their fingers danced together on the table, or how the girl laughed at something Jonas said. A girl, yes, she was nothing more. She had looked young on those dark pictures, but she seemed even younger in the full light of the dinner, with her blondish hair pulled in a ponytail and the Special Enforcer gear strangely out of place on her. Jonas had mentioned she was fresh out of the academy, a few months before Claire had left him. She couldn't be more than twenty, which would make her fifteen years younger than him—and fifteen years younger than Claire, too. Something else bothered her even more than Jonas’ choice of girlfriend, however. His gaze kept sliding across the restaurant, always coming to rest on Alice. It wasn't a pretty girl he was seeing when he looked at her, though, Claire was sure of it. It was a vampire. Someone—something—he could kill. She wanted to take Alice to the side and warn her, but really, what would she have told her? To be wary of her customers? She would have laughed if someone had given her the same advice. Still, if something happened to Alice and Claire had done nothing to prevent it, she'd never forgive herself. After she had brought the check to their table, Claire drew her to the side and pointed Jonas to her as discreetly as she could. "The man, over there, sitting with a girl? He's a Special Enforcer."

Alice watched her, an eyebrow raised, clearly refraining from saying that anyone could see what he was; his attire and the stakes at his belt were a plain enough sign. "I know him,” Claire continued, now a little hesitant. “And I know he doesn't always wait for proof that a vampire is a killer before staking him. Or her." She tried to put in her eyes the warning she didn't give in so many words, and Alice's smile wavered slightly. She glanced in Jonas’ direction, then back at Claire. "I am always careful,” she said, very quietly. “But thank you." Claire took her seat again, wondering if what she had said would help make a difference or not. She hoped, sincerely hoped, that it would. While Claire was talking with Alice, her new partners had divided the check between them so that she found herself a little embarrassed but thankful when she returned at the table to find that they were ready to leave. Making sure to thank each of them, she started walking with them toward the door and winced when she realized that her party and Jonas’ were going to meet by the door. Her efforts to trail behind did not help anything. Jonas noticed her and paused, meeting her eyes, his look inscrutable. "Still getting too close to vampires, I see,” he murmured as he passed by her. His girlfriend followed him out after giving Claire a blatant once-over look that left her smirking. Claire felt as though someone had just punched her. Fighting to keep smiling, she walked back to the office with her colleagues, answering distractedly when they addressed her. She felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the fresh air of the evening. She had read Alice's death in Jonas’ eyes when he had looked at her, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She had gone to the police and nothing had happened. If she went back, still without proof, and tried to convince them, they would only see a spurned woman trying to take revenge on her lover. No one would believe her, not any more than the first time, and Jonas would be free to keep killing innocent vampires. Almost by itself, her car found its way to a parking lot a block away from On The Edge. It was the closest club from where she was, and she knew she could easily find a cab from there after she was done drowning her guilt in sweet wine and loud music. Her guilt, and maybe more, too. Four months had passed now since her break up with Jonas, and she had thought, until this night, that she had healed from that pain. In a way, she had. Seeing him had proved to her that she did not miss him, or was jealous of his new girlfriend. What she did miss, what she was jealous of, was the companionship these two had shown, their closeness. She was coming to the point of wondering if she and Jonas had ever shared anything of the sort, or even if she had ever shared it with anyone at all. It felt like a lot more than a mere two weeks since she had been there when Claire stepped into the club. She could feel curious eyes on her as she walked to the bar; her business suit was hardly the standard attire of the club's patrons. She shrugged off the stares and walked to sit at the bar. "A glass of wine,” she asked the bartender when he asked what she wanted. It wasn't Leo, and she missed his smile and flirty banter, but the wine he served her was just as sweet

and pleasant—even though she didn't notice as much until she had downed her third glass and the edges of the world had started to soften around her, the music and pain and remorse and fear muted to a quiet buzz. She barely noticed the man who sat next to her. "Want another drink, sweetheart?" The voice was different, but the words and tone were just the same as she remembered them, thick with honey and innuendo. She didn't turn to look at the man, but nodded. That small movement seemed to ring bells in her skull. "Are you a vampire?” she asked, slurring the words a little. "I might be. You don't have anything against vampires, do you?" There was a bit of laughing in the voice, as though he had been mocking her, but Claire did not care, not when a glass of wine had been placed in front of her again. She picked it up, resolving to drink it slowly this time. "What is a sweet thing like you doing all alone, then?” the vampire asked. A flash of hurt disappeared with a gulp or two of wine. "I'm not alone,” she pointed out. “You're here." This time, his laugh rang like a flash of lightning, fast and blazing. “Very true." The bottom of the glass was there, already, and Claire tilted her head back to catch the last drop on her tongue. "Lovely,” the vampire practically purred, leaning in so close to her that his lips almost touched her ear. “Lovely mouth, and pretty pink lips. They look so very soft, sweetheart. I bet they would feel heavenly against my skin." He pulled back to talk to the bartender, and Claire missed both his nearness and his words. A shot glass appeared in front of her, filled with something as clear as water; the taste, though, was something else altogether. It burned a trail of fire down her throat and straight to her belly. She closed her eyes for a second, and this time, when the vampire leaned back toward her, his hand settled high on her thigh, his fingers stroking lightly. "Did you like that one?” he asked. Claire turned her face toward him and thought about it for a few seconds before deciding that she did. She picked up the glass to peer into it forlornly. "It burned like fire,” she said with a nod that made her a little dizzy again. In front of her, a helpful hand was filling the glass again. "It burned,” the vampire repeated in a murmur sweet as sin. “I bet you will too, when I'm inside you. I bet you have fire running through you right now, just waiting to be let out for someone special." Dark eyes, darker than this vampire's, flashed through her mind at these words. Something stirred inside

Claire, lust, want and need all mixed together. She squeezed her thighs tight. "Someone special, yes." The hand withdrew, and she thought about protesting but words were suddenly hard to come by. She picked up the glass of fire, thinking it might help, but another hand gently pried the glass away from her. She turned toward the thief, and found herself facing dark eyes that seemed displeased, though she couldn't understand why. "Still playing with fire, Claire? And here I thought you had learned better." **** When, upon entering the club on Diane's arm, Matthew's eyes fell on Claire sitting at the bar, he thought he was hallucinating. Surely, after thinking about her too much, he had to be bound to see her everywhere he looked. But then Diane's step faltered, and her grip on his arm tightened briefly. "He's after more than her blood." He glanced at Diane, then back at the bar and at the man sitting next to Claire to whom he hadn't paid any attention until now. “How do you know?" Even as he asked the question, he knew that she was right. The way he refilled Claire's glass and leaned in to whisper in her ear couldn't possibly be good. "I've heard him brag about his feats. If you've still not given up on being her guardian angel, now is the time to prove it." The hint of derision was clear behind her words, but Matthew did not let that fool him. She could have kept quiet about what she knew, and demanded that Matthew accompany her to the dance floor. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and they separated, Diane gliding toward the staircase while he walked to the bar. Getting rid of the other vampire was a simple matter, one that involved blunt threats and the barest hint of physical force. In a club full of humans who were ready for a bite and more, the vampire would have been an idiot to insist on a confrontation; when he walked away, his eyes were already sweeping the room and looking for other prey. Matthew sat next to Claire at the bar and sighed at how pronounced the scent of alcohol was around her. At least, he managed to take her last glass away before she could finish it. "Still playing with fire, Claire?” he sighed. “And here I thought you had learned better." Confusion and shame played on her features for a moment. She tried to say something, but her murmurs remained incoherent. "Let's get you home, then, sweetheart." He helped her stand, and kept an arm around her waist as he guided her toward the exit. Finding a cab turned out to be easier than helping Claire inside it, and the driver was shaking his head when Matthew gave him Claire's address.

With her head resting against Matthew's shoulder, she babbled during the entire ride, still making little sense. But a few words here and there started shedding some light on her state of mind. Jonas, lonely and cold seemed particularly recurrent. Once they arrived at her home, Matthew steered her up the driveway and toward the front door with more patience than he felt capable of at that moment. The keys were easy to find in her purse, and soon the entrance door yielded in front of him. He could not step in, however, not unless he received a verbal invitation to do so. "Invite me in, Claire,” he asked, gently at first then more forcefully when she didn't reply right away. She looked at him, then, swaggering slightly despite his arm firmly holding her waist, and frowned. "Nuh uh. You're a vampire. No ‘nviting bad vampires in. Mom said." "Yes, your mother was a smart woman,” he agreed, gritting his teeth. “Now invite me in so I can help you." "But..." He pressed a finger to her lips. “No buts, sweetie. I'm not a bad vampire, am I? I saved you from the bad vampire, remember?" It took her three tries to capture his finger between hers and push it away from her mouth. "He was bad?" Matthew wanted to sigh again at the way her eyes widened in surprise. He could only hope that it was the alcohol blurring her mind, and that she was not truly so naïve. "He was. But I'm not. Can I enter your house?" Indecision warred on her face for a few more moments, then she nodded—and instantly grimaced at the motion. “Yes. Not feeling good. But don't tell mom, ‘K?" Matthew barely managed a smile. Claire's mother had been dead for close to ten years. “I promise, I won't tell." The barrier of thin air that had been stopping him disappeared, and he helped Claire past the threshold. “There we go. Careful now. That's a good girl." She moaned as he briefly let go of her to close the door again behind them. "I don't feel good,” she complained again. "No, I bet you don't." She apparently had enough sense left to stumble up the stairs to the bedroom and its adjoining bathroom by herself. Matthew grimaced at the painful retching noises he could hear as he followed. When he entered the room and turned on the light, she was kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet, her body contorted so that her cheek was resting against the porcelain of the tub on her right. Her eyes were

closed, and if not for the little moans that escaped her lips he might have thought she were asleep. He had never had much tolerance for humans who went beyond their limits; as far as he was concerned, they were fools who deserved their fate if they ended up dead by the end of the night. But to see her like this made him feel bad for her. If he had been there to intervene earlier, she might not have ended up in such a state. Shaking his head at the excuses he was making for her, he picked up a washcloth on the towel rack and soaked it in cold water before crouching next to Claire. She didn't move when he ran the cool cloth over her face, but she did mumble a thank you as he pulled back and, with a gentle hand on her arm, helped her stand. "Why don't you rinse your mouth, sweetie? And then we'll put you to bed." His fingers slid to her back and stayed there as she swayed in front of the sink. Her hand was trembling when she made for the glass on the side, and Matthew reached around her to grab it for her. He filled it with water and only then did he let her take it from him. She seemed a little steadier after she had washed her mouth, although she remained where she was when she had put the glass back down. He could see her eyes in the mirror, looking straight at where his reflection ought to have been, searching. She couldn't see him but he shook his head, wondering if it was only now dawning on her what he was exactly. "Come on, now." She easily obeyed the slight pressure on her back and turned toward him, eyes bright and a little unsure. Her lips parted, so plump and delicious looking... It would have been easy to kiss her now. Just as easy to do far, far more than kiss her. Her mind had cleared up a little, but she was still far from sober, and he knew it wouldn't have taken much to convince her. He had done it often enough in the past, done almost the same thing the vampire he had ‘saved’ her from would have done without his intervention. He had never needed to get his prey drunk, but that didn't change much in the grand scheme of things. The difference tonight was, those women had never meant a thing to him. They were humans. Food, warmth and sex in one single package, nothing more. Claire, on the other hand, had never been about those things, and never would be. Not for him, not with who she was and whose eyes Matthew could see when he looked in hers. "Come on,” he repeated softly, and led her out of the bathroom and to her bed. Trying not to let what he was doing get to him, he helped her out of her business clothes, pausing for a minute once she stood in nothing but her underwear in front of him. The red lace was lovely and showcased her curves beautifully, making it hard for him not to reach out and cup her encased breast, or the full curves of her ass. "Do you always dress like this, sweetie?" Wavering a little, Claire blinked, then frowned, as though she wasn't understanding his question. He shushed her when she started speaking and drew the comforter to the side, opening the bed for her. "Lie down,” he suggested, gesturing to the bed. “Get some sleep. It'll be time in the morning to feel sorry for yourself." She pouted at that, mumbling something unintelligible, and Matthew smiled as he pulled the cover over her.

"Night darling,” he murmured, and even though he should have known better than to show such affection, leaned down to kiss her forehead. She was asleep in seconds, the calm rhythm of her heart ample proof of that, but Matthew remained where he was for long minutes, simply watching her sleep, listening to her breathe. He never took time to do as much with his nightly conquests; he never cared enough to. But Claire was different, on more than one level. Her features were familiar to him, reminding him of another woman he had once watched sleep, but she was more than a living memory of a long gone past. The more he observed her, talked to her, learned who she was behind the image he had of her, the more he felt attracted to her. She wasn't the shy little girl he had thought she was. She was a daring woman, who confronted her fears if he was to believe how she had come back to On The Edge the night after he had first approached her. She wasn't either the levelheaded, responsible person one could expect a financial advisor to be. She made mistakes, sometimes. If she hadn't, he wouldn't have found her drinking to excess in company of a vampire. At the same time, though, he couldn't believe she had chosen to get drunk. Something had to have happened, and he couldn't help wondering what. Reaching down, he brushed his fingers against her forehead and pushed her hair to the side. She didn't stir. He wished she had awakened and talked to him, made him understand. He wished, because he knew he would leave Haventown soon, that he hadn'tneeded to understand. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nine When Claire woke up in the morning, she instantly wished she hadn't. Her pitiful groan, as low as it was, sent tendrils of pain curling around her temples and she closed her eyes again. Her head felt ready to explode, and her stomach threatened to rebel too for a little while before settling down. She brought a clammy hand to her forehead and tried to remember why she felt so bad. She had been to a dinner with her new co-workers, she remembered that much. She had seen Jonas there, along with his girlfriend. She remembered going to the club afterwards, alone, with the clear intention to drink maybe more than she ought to. She remembered also the lovely man—vampire—who had paid for her drinks and whispered deliciously naughty things to her. He had paid for a lot of drinks while they sat at the bar, now that she thought about it. That would explain the humongous headache. But after that, things were blurry. Had she taken him home? She couldn't imagine being drunk enough to invite a vampire into her house. She briefly opened an eye—yes, it was her house. And anyway, she was still wearing underwear; if she had taken a vamp home, he would probably have... "Oh shit." Her eyes opened wide as she remembered. Shehad taken a vampire home. Matthew. Or rather, he had taken her. And try as she might, she couldn't remember giving him directions or an address. What she did remember, however, with a suddenly blinding clarity, was that he had given the name of her street to the cab driver. He had known where she lived. The idea, and what it implied, was making her nauseous again. Shivering and a little unsteady, she slipped out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. More memories flooded her mind, distracting her from

her queasiness enough that she paused at the door. Gentle hands, soothing gestures, quiet words of comfort ... none of these were anything she would have associated with a vampire, and especially not Matthew after he had tried to scare her away from the club. And yet... Shaking her head—and regretting it instantly—she stepped to the sink and ran cold water over her hands before splashing her face. It didn't help the headache in the slightest, but it chased away the last remnants of sleep fogging up her mind. Coffee had never seemed so appealing before. She could practically smell it already. Maybe it would calm her stomach and allow her to think. There was a lot she needed to understand, the least of which was why Matthew alternated being nice to her and trying to scare her off. With a yawn and a wordless thank you to the universe that it was Saturday and she didn't have to go anywhere, she picked up her robe on the back of the bathroom door. Coffee first, then a shower, then a long day of nothing else, she decided on her way out of her bedroom. She froze halfway down the staircase, her hand clenching on the railing. Even after remembering that Matthew had taken her home and that she had invited him in, Claire had not imagined for a minute that he would still be there. To discover him sitting in her living room, shirtless, a fat picture album open on his knees shocked her so much that for long seconds, she remained unable to move or say a word. He turned to look at her and stood, leaving the album on the coffee table. "You're up,” he said coolly. “How do you feel?" Claire blinked, and took a step back, almost tripping over her feet, when he moved toward the staircase. "You must have one hell of a hangover,” he continued on the same tone. “I made coffee, do you want some?" Claire shook her head, not to refuse his offer but because she couldn't believe that he was in her house and acting as though he were at home. At a loss for anything to say, she shrieked and scurried back into her bedroom before slamming the door shut. **** Matthew had thought about leaving before Claire woke up. He had even almost done so twice, but each time, he had gone to check on Claire's sleep and given up on the idea of leaving. He wanted to make sure she was all right in the morning, and he wanted to give her a piece of his mind about how foolish she had been to return to the bar and accept drinks from a stranger. It occurred to him, at one point, that he hadn't been so disapproving when he had first approached her at the bar, before deciding to scare her away. He shrugged away the uncomfortable notion that it was in part his fault that she had let a vampire buy her drinks and flirt with her again. Surely, he had set a dangerous precedent there. He was sure, however, that she wouldn't repeat the same mistake once she realized in how much danger she had been the previous night. Matthew would make sure that she did understand. He explored the house, looking for a guest room he might use, but the only approximation he found held no bed, the entire space filled instead by exercise equipment. He wondered briefly whether it was Claire's or something her boyfriend had left behind, but did not investigate. If there was no bed, the sofa

would do. He took off his shoes, socks and shirt and lay down, pulling the heavy quilt that was draped over the back of the sofa over him more by habit than because he needed the illusion of warmth it might provide. Predictably, his feet stuck over the edge of the sofa, but there wasn't much to be done about it and he closed his eyes to find sleep. Sleep, however, remained elusive. All of his senses were screaming at him that he was in an unfamiliar place, with someone who might not appreciate finding him there in the morning and who might have learned from a past lover how to use a stake. Instincts older than he was demanded that he find a safe lair to spend the next day in, and it was all he could do not to leave. His discomfort was also heightened by the awareness that it wasn't a stranger's house he was in, but Claire's. She was one of his girls, and he had spent years watching over her. To know she was just up the steps wasn't helping him calm down in any way, and the idea that he might have been too late to help her tonight only made things worse. He abandoned his makeshift bed in the small hours of the morning and made his way to the kitchen. He had not fed that night, and hunger remained a nagging voice at the back of his mind, reminding him that a source of warm delicious blood lay unconscious only a few steps away if he would only go to her. He silenced the voice by brewing a pot of fresh, strong coffee and drinking most of the pot in one sitting. Claire might need some too when she awakened to clear up her head; he brewed another pot. Realizing he might have hours yet to wait until she was ready to hear his lecture, he wandered around the house as he had earlier, this time with an eye for what he might learn about Claire that he didn't already know. It was a small house, suitable for a childless couple, and that was what her parents had been when they had moved to Haventown. Matthew had thought that his duty would come to an end with Louise, Claire's mother, and had felt both relief and distress at the thought. After more than a century, being released from chains he had forged for himself would have been a formidable change, and he hadn't known at the time how he would react to it. So when Louise had shown signs of pregnancy, he hadn't been too disappointed. Claire had lived in this house all her life, save for seven years. She had moved out of town to go to college, and lived in a small apartment when she had come back. When her mother had passed away, her father had left town and Claire had moved back into her childhood home, later bringing in her boyfriend to live with her. If Matthew had not known all of this, he would never have guessed any of it while walking around. He had never seen the inside of the house while looking over Louise, but he had a feeling that not much had changed, if anything at all. The pictures on the wall showed Claire as a child, with or without her parents, and nothing after she had left for college. The furniture had an older feel to it, and although in good condition, it was definitely dated. The only room that he thought had changed in the past twenty years was the bedroom converted into an amateur gym, but even there, the pale purple walls and violet trims hinted at the young girl's room it had once been. In that room, he also found a few cans of wall paint as well as brushes, a paint roller and painting tape; they all seemed brand new, the price stickers still on them. It looked as though a decorating idea had been abandoned before truly starting. Matthew didn't quite know what to make of the house, and what it said about Claire. In all the years she had lived there alone or with her ex-boyfriend, it seemed that she had not left her mark, living instead in the past. Even now, the unused paint gave him the same impression. He would never have known about this aspect from her personality if he had not had the opportunity to enter her home, and it made him wonder how much he really knew about her, how much he had really

known about any of his charges. Looking in from the outside, he had always had the impression that he could know them all well enough, but suddenly he wasn't so sure anymore. The taste of this lie he had told himself was bittersweet. Coming back to the living room where he had started, he turned on the lights and pulled the curtains closed. The sun wouldn't be long to rise now. Heavy albums on a bookshelf caught his attention and he pulled one out. Standing there, he flipped quickly through pages on which Claire's childhood was laid out in pictures and captions. He picked up the other two albums from the shelf and carried them to the sofa. When he opened the first book again, he started on the first page and took his time to look at the pictures, remembering glimpses he had seen from the outside and reports from the private investigators he had hired over the years to be his eyes during the day. The baby girl aged slowly from page to page, always smiling, always looking straight at the camera with a true happiness that Matthew hadn't seen in Claire for years. The second album told a different story, that of Claire's parents. It didn't hold as much interest for Matthew, but he went through it just the same. Louise had led a quiet life, and Matthew had never had to do anything to help her out of a tight situation. The one time she would have needed him, when disease had taken hold of her, he had been unable to do anything. The last picture album completed the journey into the past. Louise's mother and grandmother were there, as well as glimpses of her mother's brother, who had been a bachelor all his life and never had any children, and her grandmother's sister, who had become a nurse and a nun, and helped the sick people of her town before dying of sheer exhaustion at a much too young age. In two dozen pages and maybe fifty faded pictures, Matthew could retrace almost all his life, all the people he had kept an eye on over the course of a century. The only missing one was Helena. He had picked up the most recent album again when he finally heard noise upstairs then running water. He would give her time to awaken completely, he decided. There was no point in telling her what a fool she had been if she wasn't in any condition to comprehend. But once the hangover she probably nursed had faded, then they would have a serious talk. A yawn and quiet steps down the staircase caught his attention and he turned his head to see Claire freeze, stilling mid step when she saw him stand. "You're up. How do you feel?" She didn't answer, but from the paleness of her skin and the tightness at the corner of her eyes, Matthew could guess how she felt exactly. He took a few steps around the sofa and toward the kitchen, pausing only to say: "You must have one hell of a hangover. I made coffee, do you want some?" He was surprised to see her shake her head; he would have expected that coffee would sound heavenly to her at that moment. He understood when she stumbled back up to her room and slammed the door shut that she had been objecting more to his presence than to his offer. With a sigh, he walked up to the door she had just locked, if he was to believe the soft click he had heard. "Claire,” he called out, “don't be silly. I'm not going to hurt you." "Go away!” she shouted back.

From the sound of wood against wood, she had just pushed a piece of furniture in front of the door. "I can't leave now,” he replied, trying to keep both his amusement and annoyance out of his voice. “It's daylight outside; I'd burn. You don't want me to burn after I saved your life, do you?" All noises ceased, and he could practically hear her think. "You didn't save me,” she said after a few seconds, not sounding all that convinced of what she was saying. “I was in no need of being saved. Everything was just fine—" "And everything was so fine that you invited a vampire into your home,” he cut in. Annoyance was slowly winning over amusement now. “You're lucky it was me, and not the vamp you were talking to at the bar!" "I wasn't talking to him! He was buying me..." She seemed to realize that as far as arguments went, this one was far from proving her point and trailed off. "He was buying his way into your panties,” Matthew finished for her. “And that's not all he'd have taken. You'd have been lucky to wake up at all from a night with him." "You don't know that,” she protested, but the doubt was creeping up in her voice. "I do. And that's why I took you home, you silly girl. So you'd be safe. Why didn't you listen to my warning? I told you coming to that bar would end up badly for you." If anything, his admonishment seemed to revive her outrage. "I'm not a child for you to give warnings to!" He snorted. “No, you're a grown woman who hides behind a door rather than confront the man who saved her neck." "If you don't leave now, I'll call the police. And Special Enforcers, too!" The threat made Matthew roll his eyes at the door. "And what will they do?” he challenged. “There isn't a scratch on you, so they can't lay a finger on me. What will you tell them? That you were so drunk you invited a vampire inside your house and now you feel sorry you did?" "I know someone who will stake you anyway,” she said after long seconds of silence. She didn't sound so assured anymore, and Matthew knew that she was bluffing. "You're telling me you want your ex in here?” he said, barely disguising his mocking laugh. “Don't be silly, Claire. I'll leave as soon as the sun is low enough. I wanted to talk to you, but clearly that's not going to work." She didn't answer. Matthew shook his head in disgust and started walking back downstairs. He almost

missed her next words. "How do you know about Jonas?” Her voice was trembling again, this time in fear. “And how did you know where I live, anyway?" Walking on, he winced. He had not intended to reveal he knew that much, and he had no way to answer her questions, not without revealing far more than he had ever wanted her to know. Already, however, he was wondering how bad it would be if he simply told her everything. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Ten By the time Claire emerged from her shower, she had calmed down enough to regain control of herself and realize that, if Matthew had wanted to kill her—or do anything else to her for that matter—he would have had more than enough time to do it while she had been too intoxicated to protest, much less defend herself. She supposed she could be reasonably certain she would be safe with him in the house until night fell. Now that she wasn't so afraid anymore, she couldn't help but wonder why he had stayed with her instead of leaving before sunrise. Most importantly though, she wondered how he knew so much about her, and she wanted answers. She pulled on some comfortable clothes, old jeans and a too large sweater that could not be regarded in any way as attractive. The last thing she wanted now was to give Matthew ideas. He had helped her, yes, but the way he had rejected her before still stung her tattered pride, and the information he had about her felt too much like stalking for comfort. She unlocked the door and stepped out warily, arms wrapped around her as she looked for him from room to room. She looked, also, for signs that he had been snooping, but other than the photo albums still on the coffee table she found nothing. She discovered him, of all places, in the attic. She amused herself at the thought for a second. Somehow, she would have expected a vampire to hide in the windowless basement, rather than climb up under the roof, where two large windows let in the light of day. Her amusement however quickly vanished when she noticed what he was doing. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, far enough from the skylight windows that he didn't risk catching fire, he was going through the contents of the old suitcase opened in front of him. There were papers on his lap, letters, and he was tucking one back into its envelope and picking another one up as she approached, outraged. "What do you think you're doing?” she demanded, crouching next to him and pulling the suitcase away. “These are personal! You have no right to read them!" He gave her an amused little smile before handing her the letter he had been reading. She snatched it away and started folding it again when he shook his head. "Look at the signature,” he said, gesturing to the century old piece of paper in her hand. Frowning a little, she did, and her eyes widened as she took in the name at the bottom of the page. With love, always, Matthew.

She looked back up at him, her eyes wide at what he wasn't quite saying. "No." The single word that passed her lips made his eyebrows twitch, in more amusement she was sure. "Yes,” he replied just as succinctly. "I don't believe it,” she insisted. “It's a coincidence. It's not like Matthew is an uncommon name. I know half a dozen people named Matthew, and..." Her tirade stopped as he handed her a picture that had been stashed with the letters; a picture of her great, great grandmother, and her husband. Claire had seen that picture before, but she looked at it as though for the first time, discovering on the faded sepia paper the same man who was sitting in front of her. "It's impossible,” she breathed, her eyes going from the picture to Matthew and back again. “You can't be ... can you?" His smile softened a little, and even seemed, for just a second, a little sad. “If you're asking if I can be the same man who wrote these letters, let me assure you I most certainly can. I am." "So ... you're my great, great grandfather?" Matthew blinked, once, then twice, and finally laughed. Claire had the neat impression though that his laugh held little mirth, and rather aimed to hide other feelings. "No, sweetheart,” he said when his laugh had quieted down. “I'm not. I was turned only weeks after marrying Helena. We never had children together." That simple declaration shouldn't have been as reassuring, Claire thought with a frown, and wondered where her relief came from. Then she remembered the way she had danced with Matthew at the club, and flirted with him, and her relief only accentuated. Matthew turning out to be related to her by blood would have been much too disturbing for words. She sat down in front of him, legs crossed and hands clutching her ankles, and she watched him intently. He returned her look with a small but wary smile, seemingly waiting for her to say something. She didn't know what she could possibly have said. She had known, of course, that Matthew was probably much older than he appeared to be; he was a vampire, after all, and she was nowhere near ready to forget that. Yet she had a hard time accepting the fact that he had known one of her ancestors, and that, in a strange, twisted way, he had been part of her family, although not directly connected to her. **** Matthew wasn't sure at what point he had decided he would tell Claire who he was. Before this day, it had certainly never crossed his mind to tell any of his girls. Then again, before Claire, he had never approached one of them enough to talk to her. He had always helped from a distance, either removing threats to them in a couple of cases, or solving money issues with anonymous gifts. Claire seemed to be destined to break his resolve without even trying. He would have liked to tell himself that it was because she resembled Helena so much that he was

unable to stay away from her. It had been the reason, at least, why he had come to her that first night at the club, the night when she had run away without saying a word, and why he had tried again when he had seen her at the bar the next night. Yet, if he was honest with himself, he could admit that it wasn't completely true any longer. The more he spoke with her, the more he watched her, the more he realized that she wasn't Helena, and that a physical resemblance meant very little. "Suppose I believe you,” she said after a few minutes. “I'm not saying I do, I ... it's just too weird. What are the odds that you and I would meet—what is it? A hundred years after Helena died?" A pang of pain ran through Matthew at the memory of laying flowers on a grave that had been closed for weeks by the time he had come back to it. He had followed Helena's daughters overseas, at Helena's request, and learned much too late of her passing. "A hundred and twenty two, actually,” he said softly. “And the odds are very good, seeing how it's not a coincidence that I currently live in the same city as you do." He continued to observe her reactions very closely and saw a muscle twitch in her jaw. He knew her reply would not be a happy one before she even opened her mouth. "You've been stalking me." She seemed taken aback when Matthew laughed. "You're the one who came to the club where I hunt, sweetheart. If it had been up to me, you and I would never have met." Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. “That's not true. You came and talked to me, that first night, and then at the bar—" "I came to you because you stared at me for days, and I wanted to know what was going on in your head." Her light blush was delightful, especially when she dropped her eyes to the suitcase between them and started straightening the letters inside it. "I just thought you were good looking,” she mumbled. “I never imagined ... this.” She had picked up the picture again, and looked from it to Matthew and back again. “I used to think he was good looking too,” she shrugged, pointing to the picture. “And he wrote such beautiful letters..." Matthew smiled. “Thank you." "It's still weird, though,” she said, shaking her head again as she stood. “I'm not sure..." "You're still not sure you believe me?” Matthew completed for her when she trailed off. The look she gave him was answer enough. "Come downstairs,” he offered. “We can have a cup of coffee and I'll tell you about it all, if you want."

He was almost relieved when she accepted. Part of him had been sure that she wouldn't want to hear about it, wouldn't want to let him explain himself. After all these years of staying in the shadows, telling someone—not just anyone, but her—felt more exciting than he would ever have expected. Exciting, but also, in a way, relieving. He followed her back to the first floor, and accepted one of the coffee mugs she filled before leading the way to the living room. He sat once more on the sofa, while she curled on the facing armchair, her legs tucked beneath her. He waited until she had taken her first sip and given him a quiet “Go ahead,” then began to tell the story that was his life. "I was Sired when I was twenty-seven. Helena and I had been married for just two months when it happened. I watched her mourn, and slowly retreat away from everything she had loved to do. She was barely twenty-two, but she practically stopped living. When I couldn't take it anymore, I revealed myself to her, showed her what I had become. It shocked her to see me standing in front of her weeks after she had buried me, but it also shook her out of her depression. We couldn't be together anymore, of course not, but we kept in touch. We exchanged letters, and I encouraged her to start living again. When she did, when she remarried, I tried to pull back, but she kept writing, and eventually so did I." He stopped before his voice could break and took a deep drink of coffee. Across from him, Claire was sipping on hers. Other than the small movement of her arm, she was completely still, and Matthew couldn't begin to guess what she was thinking. When he resumed his tale, his voice was back to normal. "I always kept an eye on her, made sure she was safe and that she had all she needed. She had children, two daughters. When they became young women, they traveled to the United States and I followed them to keep them safe. Those were dangerous times to travel so far. And when the eldest had children, I just kept on looking after them, then your mother, and finally, you. I made Helena a promise to keep her family safe, like vampires used to keep humans safe thousands of years ago. And here I am today, doing the same thing still, and trying to make you understand that you're risking your life every time you go to that club." Leaning forward to place his empty mug on the coffee table between them, Matthew considered Claire thoughtfully. She uncurled her legs from under her slowly. Her toes flexed when she put her feet on the carpeted floor. She would ask questions, now, Matthew was sure of it, just as he was confident that he would be able to answer anything she asked. He had given her a much-abbreviated version of the events that had led to him sitting here, with her, but the core of it was nothing but truth; a truth he had longed to share for many years, he now realized. The only other person who knew about it all was Diane, and she had long ago showed that she didn't care much. He couldn't wait for Claire to finally say something and react, rather than keep watching him through pensive eyes. Finally, her mouth opened. The icy words that came out were nothing Matthew had anticipated and cut him better than shards of glass would have. "That's the most ridiculous story I have ever heard." [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eleven Matthew had finished his story, and now he seemed to be waiting. Claire supposed that he expected a response from her, an acknowledgment that she believed him, and that she understood just how deeply he meant what he had said. It would have been easy to believe, really. The notion that a man turned vampire may become a silent watcher over his human wife's descendants in honor of her memory was quite romantic, and attractive too. It seemed to come straight out of one of these romance novels Claire's mother had kept badly hidden in shoeboxes beneath her bed. Claire believed the whole thing about as long as it took Matthew to tell her about it. Then she shook her head and tried very hard not to roll her eyes at him. "That's the most ridiculous story I have ever heard." The flash of pain that appeared on Matthew's face almost could have fooled her. Standing, she left her empty mug on the coffee table and started walking around the sofa to find her shoes and her purse. "So I'll tell you what,” she said as she kept an eye on him. “I'm going out. I'm going to go find a Special Enforcer to revoke your invitation into my home. And when I come back, if you're still here, I'll have you staked. Do you understand me?" He remained seated and did not even turn toward her when he replied in an almost condescending tone. “A Special Enforcer won't stake me unless he has proof that I kill, sweetie." Claire gritted her teeth. If there had been a stake anywhere in the house, she might have thrown caution to the wind and attacked him here and now. "Fine,” she snapped. “Then I'll try to stake you. And when you try to kill me to stop me, because I swear nothing else will work, he'll have proof and he'll stake you instead." With that, she stalked to the front door, picking up her keys and purse on the side table and slipping her feet into the open-toes shoes she kept there. She had time to hear him speak one last time before she slammed the door behind her. "You lie very badly. Anyone ever pointed that out to you?" She had to restrain herself from storming back in and reminding him that he was the one lying to her with a story so blatantly false that she felt insulted he had thought she would believe it for even a minute. The warmth of sunlight on her face was what stopped her. Outside, in the sun, she was safe. In there, the vampire could lie to her, try to manipulate her, bite her, kill her. She wasn't sure anymore which was worse. Now that there was nothing else to distract her, her headache was slowly coming back, pounding blood into her ears, and she decided to go have lunch somewhere before she found Special Enforcers to help her. Remembering she had left her car in a parking lot near the club, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse and called a cab. She could make out a figure standing at the window by the drawn curtains as she

waited for her ride, but she refused to take a better look. If she never saw Matthew again, it would be too soon. After she had picked up her car, she drove to a small diner where she and Jonas had once had breakfast every Sunday morning. The waitress, Natalie, greeted her warmly when she walked in, and knew enough not to lead her to the table that had once been their usual one. She was a gray-haired woman, maybe in her late fifties, with a smile that reminded Claire of her mother and the brisk, economical gestures of a woman who had tended tables all her life. "It's so nice to see you back, honey,” she said as she offered Claire the menu. “Though I wish you didn't look like you haven't slept in a week. Are you all right?" Claire gave her a half smile that slid into a grimace. “I just had a rough night,” she admitted. “Nothing some strong coffee and the chief's special can't cure." Natalie penciled in the order on her notepad and nodded. “Right away." The coffee came first, a brew not that much stronger than the one Matthew had made for her, and Claire pinched her lips tight at the memory that he was in her home, right now, doing heaven only knew what. She should have insisted that he leave. He could have called a cab, hidden beneath blankets, and— And whatever else he could have done, she had left rather than asked him to do it, and she didn't intend to go back before night fell. He had lied to her, for what reasons she didn't know, but she could recognize that he had also saved her from an undoubtedly unpleasant fate when bringing her back home. She would give him the opportunity to leave safely, and hope that he didn't loot her home in the meantime. When Natalie placed her lunch in front of her, she managed a distracted thank you and began eating without much enthusiasm. The veggies and grilled chicken tasted just fine and her stomach growled in protest at the lack of a proper breakfast, but still she couldn't find much of an appetite. Now that she had decided what to do about her situation, she couldn't ignore anymore the way she had ended up in this place. She wasn't proud of herself, far from it. She had decided, when quitting her job, to turn her life around and try to find a place within herself where she wouldn't need to risk everything to distract herself from her life, and she had fallen back into the same trap after merely seeing Jonas. Matthew had called her a silly girl, and she was beginning to realize she was exactly that. "A problem with the food, honey?” Natalie asked as she refilled her coffee. Claire blinked, only then noticing that she had pushed her plate away from her, most of the food left untouched. "The food is fine,” she said, apologetic. “I just don't have much of an appetite." Natalie clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she carried the plate away. Moments later, she returned with a scoop of vanilla ice cream over a warm brownie. "And don't tell me you haven't got an appetite for that or I'll really be offended." With a thin smile, Claire picked up the spoon and broke the corner of the brownie. It practically melted

in her mouth. One small bite after another, she ate the treat, the warmth of the brownie and cold of the ice cream melding on her tongue. By the time she finished, the diner was almost empty and Natalie came to sit across from her in the small booth. "I knew I'd get you to eat something.” She grinned, looking approvingly at the empty dish. “Want another one?" "Another time. And thank you." "Any time, honey. I don't like to see you looking so upset. It's not about him, is it?" Her eyes sharpened at that like those of a hawk. She had been more than sympathetic the first time Claire had come alone and told her about her separation from Jonas. Claire suspected that he had better not come eat at the diner anymore if he didn't want his food tampered with. "It's not.” Frowning slightly, Claire amended her answer. “Well, not really. I just made a bad choice last night and had to live with it this morning." Natalie continued to observe her, and Claire was reminded, not for the first time, of how her mother had always known when she was lying or not telling the whole truth. "Woke up next to someone who didn't look so attractive in the morning, did you?" "Something like that,” Claire conceded, shame-faced. “And now I've got to figure out how to get rid of a vamp." A single blink from Natalie was more eloquent than a whole sentence from someone else might have been. She left the booth without a word, and Claire was wondering whether she had offended her when Natalie returned and sat back down again. She slid a business card on the table between them. Claire picked it up and read it. Vincent Jordan Special Enforcer 4892 Maple Street Haventown "He's a patron here,” Natalie said quietly. “He lives with a vampire, but he's a good man, and a good S.E. He'll make your home safe again in no time." **** As she parked in front of 4892 on Maple Street, Claire looked at the business card again, checking the number. It was the right townhouse, but it looked nothing like the office she had imagined. Her only experience with Special Enforcers was with Jonas and the agency he belonged to, and he worked with two colleagues from a spacious office building downtown. She couldn't help but think about what Natalie had mentioned. How could a Special Enforcer live with a vampire? She had always thought that all Special Enforcers were, in some measure, like Jonas, and only interested in killing as many vampires as possible. This was unexpected, and it left Claire both intrigued

and wary. Setting her reservations aside, she walked to the front door and knocked. It took long seconds before someone came to open it. It was a woman rather than the man Claire had expected, and she knew right away that she was the Special Enforcer's vampire partner. She wasn't very tall, nor did she look particularly dangerous, but her shoulders, held straight and a little back, spoke of a deep confidence. She remained in the shadow of the door, safe from sunlight. When she looked straight at Claire, she was practically glowering. Her voice snapped like a whip. "What do you want?" Taken aback, Claire had to resist the impulse to recoil. "I'm looking for Vincent Jordan. May I speak to him?" The woman's eyes hardened even more. They almost seemed to glow. “No. You can't." Claire blinked, but before she could ask whether he was out and would return soon, the woman looked behind her and started arguing with a man, loud enough that Claire could hear every word. She turned toward the street, trying not to listen and wondering whether she ought to leave. "So I can't even speak to visitors, now?" "You're supposed to be in bed, Jordan." "I've been in bed for a week. If I don't start moving I'm going to get insane." "You can't—" "For crying out loud Lilia, I'm human, not a child!" At the string of muffled curses and the sound of stomping feet, Claire turned back toward the door. A man was now standing there, leaning against it as though supporting himself. He winced lightly as he shifted his body. "Sorry about that,” he said with an apologetic grimace. “Lilia is a bit ... overprotective sometimes. Can I help you?" "Mr. Jordan?” At his nod, she continued. “My name is Claire Sheer. Natalie at the diner on Stillman gave me your card. She said you could help me with..." She stopped, hesitating. It felt strange to ask help from a man who clearly saw nothing wrong in fraternizing with vampires. "Let me guess.” He smiled lightly. “Vampire trouble?" Claire's cheeks burned like fire. She nodded. "I invited a man into my house last night. I'd like ... I'd like him uninvited. And possibly kicked out, too, if he's still there."

A flash of something Claire didn't quite recognize—Disapproval? Sympathy?—ran through his face, then his features smoothed out in an apologetic look. "I'm afraid I won't be able to help,” he said. “I've been hurt and I'm off duty for a couple more weeks—" "A month,” the woman called out from behind him. “At least a month." He raised his eyes to the sky and muttered under his breath. “She wasn't that annoying when she wanted me dead." "I heard that, Jordan." Shaking his head, he returned his attention to Claire. "I can find someone to do it for you. If you give me your address, I'll call a couple of S.E. and find one who can help you." Immediately, Claire wanted to decline, fearing that he would end up calling Jonas. There weren't that many Special Enforcers in town. However, she needed someone to help her, and she didn't know whom else to ask. "I'm grateful for the offer,” she said slowly, weighing each word. “But I'm a bit afraid ... I mean, I regret inviting him in, but he didn't hurt me in any way. I've heard some Special Enforcers are a bit quick in staking vampires and that there are investigations going on ... I wouldn't want anything illegal to happen in my house." His features darkened. “I've heard those same rumors. Even if there's no evidence, this kind of allegation never surfaces without a truth to it, and those of us who take pride in our job don't want to have anything to do with people like that." Slowly, she nodded. “About that ... I was wondering, what kind of evidence would be used to prove that someone kills innocent vampires?" His expression showed his surprise at what she was asking, but he answered nonetheless. “Actually, the problem is that there rarely is undeniable proof. It's hard to prove someone has been murdered when there's no body left, just ashes. In a few cases, the police relied on an accumulation of circumstantial evidence. I've heard of videos being used as evidence, too, but...” His voice trailed off and his gaze sharpened as he detailed Claire's features. “Is it only rumors you've heard? Or do you know a S.E. who works overtime?" She gave him a half smile. “Even if I did, it doesn't do anyone any good if I can't prove it, does it?" "I guess not. Tesler has to be pretty careful, if the investigation didn't turn up anything." Claire blinked at that, her heart picking up speed. “I didn't mention any name,” she pointed out, her mouth suddenly very dry. "You're not denying it's him either. How did you find out about what he's up to?" Finally, someone believed her, and Claire felt grateful to him for that simple fact. “He keeps a notebook with how many vamps he kills, and his numbers are just too high. I told the police, but they said their

investigation didn't turn up anything. I'm not even sure they believed me." "They must have, because they did investigate. From what I heard, they said it was just a routine check up, but I wondered if it was more than that. I never liked Tesler much. The way he talks about vampires...” He shook his head. “I'm sorry the investigation didn't find evidence against him, but it was a good thing you did, turning him in. At the very least, the police will keep a note in his file about this." Claire's smile widened a little. She hadn't realized until that instant how much she needed to hear that something good, as small as it may be, had come out of her visit to the police. "Now, about your vamp problem...” He turned his back on her for an instant, long enough to ask his girlfriend for a pad of paper that he handed to Claire when he got them. “Note down your address. I'll find you someone who doesn't play Tesler's games." She did as he asked, trusting that he would send a respectable Special Enforcer to help her, and handed the pad back to him. “Thank you." "No problem. I just wish I could do the job myself.” He checked the address, then looked back up at her again. “By nightfall, then, so the vamp can leave safely. Just don't enter the house until you have the S.E. with you, all right?" "I won't, and thanks again." With that, she left, aware that his gaze remained on her until she was in her car. It would be hours before sunset and she didn't know what she would do until then, but a second helping of that brownie and ice cream treat seemed very appealing suddenly. **** Claire returned to the house just as night was falling, dark clouds obscuring the sky and making it seem later than it truly was. When she pulled up in the driveway, she saw a silhouette emerge from a car parked in front of the house. It took her a few moments to recognize the familiar stature, not because she had forgotten him already, but rather because she could not believe Jonas would be there. He seemed to have a new car, something much sleeker than the old truck she had begged him to get rid of for years. Shaking herself into motion, she stepped out of her car, and winced as she inadvertently banged the door shut. She didn't want Jonas to think his presence affected her in any way, even if it did. He came toward her at once, hands deep in his jacket's pockets. He was letting this hair grow back from having a shaved skull for years, and the light fuzz made him seem younger, somehow. She hated that even after the way they had parted, she still thought he was attractive. "Hello, Jonas,” she said, as coolly as she could manage. “Anything I can help you with?" He remained perfectly still except for a slight twitch in his cheek. "I thought I was here to help you,” he replied on the same tone. “I've heard you have a pest infestation problem?" Claire's throat tightened. She had trusted Jordan when he had promised to send someone who didn't kill vampires on sight. He had seemed so sincere. Even now, with the proof standing right in front of her, she could hardly believe he had lied to her.

"I thought you worked on the east of the city,” she said, her tone hardening in her annoyance. “What happened to not wanting to work for people you knew?" His slight smile was infuriating. “You're not just someone I know. And it was a complete coincidence that I heard about your misadventure through the grapevine. Funny, really. One of my friends was contacted by another S.E. about doing some disinviting at my old address. He called me to know what that was about, and I said I'd take care of it for him. That's what friends are for, after all." He was smirking when he finished talking, and Claire knew, as clearly as she knew her own name, that it was anything but a coincidence that he was there. She would have bet that he had asked the Special Enforcers he was friendly with to keep an eye out for her name or address. It was just the kind of thing he was capable of doing. Before she could call him on it though, he turned his back on her and stepped toward the front door, taking his hands out of his pockets. He held a stake in one hand, and a vial in the other which Claire knew had to be filled with holy water. "Well, let's get to it, then. Is your ... guest still inside?" She had to bite her tongue not to tell Jonas to get lost and call for another Special Enforcer to come help her. But she had lived with a S.E. for eight years, and she knew that she wouldn't find anyone in at this time. They would be out and hunting vampires. If she wanted her home to be safe again that night, she would have to count on Jonas. In any case, she doubted he would leave now even if she asked him to. "He might be,” she answered as she walked over to the door and unlocked it. She paused before swinging it open and turned to look straight at Jonas. “He did not attack me,” she said with all the strength and determination she could muster. “So the stake—" Closing his hand over hers on the handle, Jonas twisted it and flung the door open. He pushed past Claire and walked in first, stake raised and ready to strike. "You're not trying to teach me my job, are you, Claire?” he threw over his shoulder without even looking at her. “Because I really don't give a damn about the opinion of someone who was stupid enough to invite a vampire in her home." She took the words like a punch to the gut, and had to clamp her mouth shut not to shout at him to get out of her house. Instead, she contented herself with glaring at his back as he methodically walked from room to room on the first floor, then the second, before finally climbing to the attic. He examined each room again while going down to the basement. When he returned to the living room where Claire waited, he shook his head. "It seems your guest has left. What a shame." He tucked the stake and vial back into slots at his belt, and pulled out from inside his jacket a small plastic bag filled with a fine powder. Claire stepped out of his way as he walked to the front door. He opened it wide to sprinkle powder over the threshold. "So, any reason why you invited a bloodsucker into your house?” he asked, throwing Claire a quick glance. “You're not feeling suicidal, are you?" Her fists closed tight and she clenched her teeth not to interrupt him as he started chanting the spell that would make her home safe again. She would have given anything for another Special Enforcer to be there at that instant. Finally, he was done, and he looked at her with hard eyes.

"If this was some twisted way to get back at me, like you did when you went to the police, you can stop before you get hurt. It's not going to work, just like your big mouth act was for nothing." She laughed incredulously. She wasn't surprised he knew she had talked to the police, he had to have figured out why he was being investigated, but what he thought her motives were just proved how little he knew her. And for him to pretend he didn't care about her inviting vampires in her home while looking at her as though she had debased herself was just hilarious. "Get back at you? A bit self-centered of you, wouldn't you say? And it's not like I called you to do that spell. You're the one who decided to come over and check what I was up to. Now you know. So get out of my house and be sure to send the bill by mail, because that vamp isn't the only one I don't want to see here again." To watch him step over the powdered line he had drawn over the threshold was one of the most liberating spectacles Claire had ever witnessed. "You'll get yourself hurt, Claire,” he warned her as she closed the door on him, and raised his voice to make himself heard. “Don't bother looking for me when you do." [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twelve From behind the living room curtains, Claire watched a clearly fuming Jonas stalk back to his car and pull away with the screech of tires on asphalt. Putting him firmly out of her mind, she retraced his steps, going from room to room and searching for a goodbye note, or anything that would have made the whole encounter with Matthew tangible. She found nothing. Even the picture albums he had been looking at in the morning were perfectly aligned on their shelf. If she hadn't known he had been there for the best part of a night and day, she wouldn't have guessed anyone had been there. She finished by going up to the attic. He might have returned there and left a note for her. She wasn't sure why she hoped so much for a note. An apology for his lie would have been nice. The old suitcase was still open, the letters back inside it. She sat down on the floor, like Matthew had a few hours earlier, and picked up a letter. She had read them all, once, when she had been fifteen or sixteen, the same summer she had found and read her mother's stash of romance novels. Left alone while her parents worked during the summer, she had spent several days in the too hot attic, reading the age-old letters and wishing she would someday find someone as romantic as her great, great grandfather had been. Someone who would write to her dozens and dozens of letters, all of them speaking of his love even when he was doing something as boring as describing the weather or a stroll out at night. She didn't remember everything she had read, but she was sure of one thing, and this one thing was what had convinced her that Matthew had been lying. Never, in any of the letters, did the writer allude to vampires or to being one himself. Idly, she pulled a letter out of an envelope and started reading it, although the words did not truly reach her mind as she wondered if it was possible that, just maybe, Matthew may have been telling the truth. As she reached the signature, she stared at it for a long while before shaking her head at her own gullibility. She was being silly. He had found the letters by snooping around, and by some coincidence the

name at the foot of each of them had been the same as the one he had given her. He must have had quite a chuckle while coming up with his little story. As to why he had done it ... Claire had been asking herself the same question since he had first approached her. Putting the letter back, she straightened the contents of the suitcase, making neat piles of envelopes that would probably scatter again when she closed the lid. She was about to do just that when a nagging feeling struck her. Frowning, she looked through the envelopes once more, looking for a piece of paper thicker than the others, yellowed by time, with scalloped edges and the beautiful smiles of her great grand parents. When, years earlier, she had assembled the pictures of her family in albums under the supervision of her mother, they had decided together to leave this picture with the letters. And now, it was gone. She looked again, ruining her careful piles, emptying the suitcase until there was no doubt that the picture wasn't there anymore. She was cursing Matthew's name when she left the attic. She couldn't believe he had stolen the photograph from her. She found it even more unbelievable that she was surprised he had. He was a vampire, after all. He had blatantly lied to her. Stealing was only a step further. She probably ought to have considered herself lucky that he hadn't taken anything more than a picture. **** As night started falling, Matthew figured that Claire wouldn't be long to come back now and probably with unpleasant company. While he was fairly confident that a Special Enforcer wouldn't find cause to stake him, some Enforcers did not always play by the law. It was probably best if he left before she returned, as she had demanded. He cleaned up the traces of his passage, placing the picture albums back on the shelves and the coffee mugs in the sink. Then he called a cab, giving the operator special instructions. He had done this before, although not often. Some prey were lovely enough to make him forget about passing time, and he had found himself still in their homes after sunrise, in need of a way to safely return to his lair. Twenty minutes later, a cab with blacked out windows arrived. The driver knew to walk to the door with a large blanket to shield Matthew from the descending sun. Matthew engaged the latch before he closed the door behind him, making sure it would lock, and hurried to the cab. His hand kept coming back to the piece of paper he held inside his shirt against his chest. Claire would probably be upset he had stolen the picture, but he had known he would take it with him since he had laid eyes on it upon opening the suitcase. It wasn't entirely by chance that he had discovered the letters. He had climbed to the attic to try and figure out more pieces of the puzzle that Claire was turning out to be, and immediately the barest thread of a familiar scent had struck him: his own. It was so faint, so faded that he might not have noticed if he hadn't known his own scent so well. He had followed that tenuous line to the aged suitcase, and crouched down to flip it open. The letters were his own, and he had been unable to resist a trip back through his memories and his first years as a vampire. "Sir? We're here." The driver's words jolted Matthew back to the present, and he fished a few bills out of his wallet to pay him. The sun had practically disappeared below the horizon, and he didn't need help reaching the front steps of the building without incident. For the first time since morning, he allowed himself to become

aware of the hunger that was screaming in him, and hurried to his apartment where blood waited. He wasn't all that surprised to discover that Diane was there when he stepped in, and he said a distracted hello to her on his way to the kitchen. The bag of blood took only moments to warm up, and soon he was seated at the bar, a hot mug in one hand and a faded picture in the other. "Hungry?” Diane commented as she walked in and sat near him. “I guess that answers my question as to what happened with your girl." She reached over and gently took the picture from him. "You always were a handsome man,” she said, the fondness clear in her voice and in her touch when she wove the fingers of her free hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and tilted his head toward her, following her touch, but did not reply. He hadn't taken the picture to look at himself, and Diane knew it as well as he did. "I'll stay in tonight,” he said after taking a few more sips. “I don't feel like hunting." A disapproving cluck of Diane's tongue told him what she thought of that. Her hand left his head to squeeze his shoulder instead. "That girl is messing with your head, Childe,” she said coolly. “You're not getting anywhere with the S.E. and my patience is coming to an end. We will not stay in this town much longer." There was a tone of finality to her words that Matthew knew better than to oppose. She had spoken the same way before. The last time had been five years earlier, and while Matthew had not been keen on leaving town—who knew what could have happened to Claire, with her boyfriend being a Special Enforcer?—he had dutifully followed his Sire. This time, though, he found that he didn't want to object to the idea of leaving. He had given himself to Claire, had told her who he was in a way that he had never expressed aloud before, and she had all but laughed at him. She had called him a liar, and refused to hear the truth in his words. She had hurt him far more than he would have thought possible. Until Claire, protecting Helena's family had always been about a duty; she had changed that without him realizing it, and now he wasn't even able to protect her anymore. "Where do you want to go when we leave?” he asked. Diane gave him a beaming smile. “Anywhere. Everywhere. You'll choose." She returned the picture to him, and Matthew traced the image of Helena with a finger. "Back home, maybe,” he murmured. “It's been a long time since I visited her grave." Diane moved so quickly that she had left the kitchen before he raised his head again. "I'm going to hunt,” she called out, her voice suddenly icy. “I'll see you tomorrow." Matthew shrugged, unsure why her mood had changed so abruptly. Even after living with her for more than a century, he didn't pretend to always understand his Sire.

Setting another bag of blood to warm, he walked to his bedroom and pulled out a metal box from beneath his bed. Its contents had traveled with him all over the world, and he had each word, each comma committed to memory. If they didn't convince Claire that he had been telling the truth, nothing would. **** It was late that night when a knock on her door woke Claire up in a jump. She had lain down on the sofa beneath a thick quilt to watch some senseless television show that would not require her to think in any way, and fallen asleep halfway through it. The show was long over now, she realized when she glanced at the time, and it was no hour for anyone to be visiting her. Unless, of course, her visitor did not follow the same schedule humans did. With a tight knot forming in her throat, she wrapped the quilt over her shoulders and took light steps toward the door. She was safe, she repeated to herself under her breath. No vampire could walk inside her home without her express permission to do so. Even if it were Matthew on the other side of the door, he would not be able to come in to try to convince her again that these fantastic confabulations of his were true. Yet when she cautiously opened the door, she was disappointed to discover that no one was there. She almost closed the door again before noticing the simple, full-sized envelope lying on her doormat. She picked it up after looking around to check that no one was hiding just out of sight. It seemed to be filled to its maximum, its sides bulging. Her name was scrawled over the top of it, and beneath it, a smaller message was impossible to read without more light. Claire closed and locked the door before taking the envelope to the kitchen and its bright lights. She knew who had left the envelope the instant she read the message. "I thought I owed you something in exchange for the picture. Now maybe you'll believe me." With some trepidation, Claire opened the envelope and tilted its content onto the counter. Dozens of letters fell out, spreading on the tiles in front of her. Putting the envelope to one side, she picked up a letter and read the address. Written in an elegant cursive handwriting, it spelled out Matthew's name and an address in Dublin. Claire's hands were trembling when she pulled a letter out and unfolded it. She started reading sotto voce, her eyes easily sliding over the aged paper. "My dearest Matthew, A second winter is starting since your departure, and I find myself saddened that you will not be here to enjoy the fireside with me. Our house seems terribly empty, without you. Mother has been visiting me every day for the past week, and trying to convince me to meet this gentleman, a son of her friend. I know already what she has in mind, and..." She stopped reading at that point, remembering something, and stood abruptly. She needed only a couple of minutes to climb to the attic and return with the suitcase. She laid it on the table next to the pile of letters and flipped the top open. After a few minutes of scanning through the letters inside, she found the one she needed, the one that referred to the cold winter air and the pleasantness of fireplaces, and hinted that if Helena wanted to meet other men, and maybe remarry, Matthew would be happy for her. She compared the dates, and sure enough Matthew's had been composed less than two weeks after Helena's. Feverishly, she began pulling the letters out of their envelopes and organizing them by date. She mixed

the letters from the suitcase and the ones she had just received, finding it easy to order them in a correspondence that had gone back and forth for more than thirty years, to the rhythm of four or five letters from each in any given year. It took her almost an hour to accomplish her task, but when she was finally done, she had in front of her three stacks of about a hundred letters each, the oldest at the very top of the closest pile in front of her. She picked up the stack and carried it almost reverently to her living room, where she sat down in her favorite armchair and started reading. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirteen Matthew's hands moved from her waist to the small of her back, pressing her closer to him, and Claire sighed against his bare chest. This had to be heaven. The music she had turned on when they had walked into her house had long since stopped playing, and yet they kept swaying together, slow and gentle, enjoying the quiet and each other's presence after a couple of hours in the loud and crowded ambiance of the club. A little earlier, Claire had unbuttoned Matthew's shirt and slipped it off his shoulders just so she could enjoy the feel of his skin against her cheek. He had retaliated by pulling free the laces that held her top together from the back, and it had joined his shirt on the floor. Eventually, she knew, they would divest each other of the rest of their clothes and she would lead him to the bedroom. There was no rush, however. They had the night in front of them—they had forever. **** Maggie paused, the coffee cup never reaching her lips, and looked at Claire through wide eyes. "OK, I take it back. I don't want to know more about those dreams of yours.” Placing the cup down on the table in front of her, she fanned herself with her hand. “Wow. Is it me or did the heat jump up suddenly?" Claire gave her friend a lopsided smile. “And that's nothing. I gave you the PG version." She looked around them meaningfully. The coffee shop was full and buzzing with customers. It was the first time since Claire had found a new job that they had met for coffee after work, and Maggie had started asking Claire about it. The discussion, however, had quickly shifted toward Claire's visits to On The Edge, Matthew, his stories, and the dreams that had plagued Claire since she had last seen him. Maggie had been shocked, at first, but she had quickly shown acceptance and curiosity, asking questions and pushing Claire to say much more than she had ever wanted to tell. Maggie picked up her cup again and took a long sip, her eyes never leaving Claire. Then she leaned forward intently, all mirth gone as she turned very serious. "Listen, I'm no shrink but it looks pretty clear that this vamp is still on your mind." Claire hid a snort in her cup. It was quite an understatement. That she was obsessed with him was closer to the truth.

At first, the dreams had been simple. They merely repeated the events that had led to Claire meeting Matthew. She watched him dance, as she had for nights, and he finally came to her, spoke to her. Then they had changed, and with a twist on the real events’ timeline he told her about knowing her great grandmother. She believed him right away, in these fantasies, and asked the hundreds of questions that had come to her mind when she had read his and Helena's letters. His answers always made sense, always explained everything to perfection, but she never remembered them in the morning, only the feeling that, if she had simply given his story a chance rather than refusing to hear him, she might have received an answer to the questions that now plagued her mind. These simple, innocent dreams hadn't lasted, however, and in the past week they had evolved into things that could have happened if Matthew had been any less of a gentleman, or if Claire hadn't been so wary of him—and of herself. Possibilities presented themselves to her, night after night, and all of these dreams ended with her sleeping with Matthew. Sometimes, they touched for what seemed like forever, teasing each other almost until completion and back, before rutting as wildly as animals. Sometimes, they clawed at each other's clothes, but when Matthew finally pushed into Claire, when she finally guided him inside her body, things slowed down, became tender, and they made love as though they had eternity in front of them. It didn't matter which variation prevailed on any given night. Claire always awakened from these dreams aching from the lack of hands and cock on her, in her. Cold showers, she quickly learned, did not help in the slightest, nor did taking matters into her own hands. If anything, she became more frustrated as time passed. That was why she had told Maggie: to let it all out. All, or nearly all. As nerve wrecking as the erotic dreams could be, she had even stranger ones. They weren't as frequent, but they were just as vivid. In those dreams, she wasn't herself; instead, she was her great, great grandmother Helena. She had thought, the first couple of times, that maybe she was reliving Helena's life through her dreams, but soon she realized that the explanation was far simpler. Everything she dreamed of, she had learned from either Matthew's mouth or the letters he and Helena had exchanged. It was merely a case of her mind playing tricks on her, and nothing more. On the one hand, she felt relieved that it was no more than that. Her life was beginning to be strange enough without adding past lives and reincarnations to it. On the other, she almost wished she could have truly experienced the depth of Matthew's feelings for herself, rather than having to rely on her imagination. "So, are you going to go back and see him?" Claire sighed. “I don't know. I shouldn't." "Why not?" "Because he has fangs? Because he could kill me in the blink of an eye? Because I'm not that desperate?" Maggie rolled her eyes. “I've listened to you talk about him for the past hour, honey. If you're not desperate yet, it's a close thing. And who cares that he's a vamp? Not all of them are killers." Claire knew that, of course, and she had come to believe that Matthew wouldn't ever hurt her. It was hard to let go of her best reason to stay away from him, however. If she admitted he didn't scare her, she might just go find him.

Now that she knew who he was, the way he had approached her at the club the first time, his warning, and the rescue on her drunken night all made more sense, and she liked the portrait these events painted when combined together. It was the portrait of a man dedicated to a promise, but also capable of stepping out of his role when required; the portrait of a man she regretted having chased out of her home. "It's been two weeks since you last saw him?” Maggie asked. Claire nodded. Two weeks ago today, she had acted like an idiot and gotten drunk. Two weeks of dreaming about Matthew. "I think,” Maggie said very slowly, “and it's only my opinion so don't get in a huff, that you should go see him. Do what you need to get him out of your mind...” She paused, took a good look into Claire's eyes, and reached over the table to clasp her hand. “...or into your life." Claire started leaning back, but Maggie held on to her hand. "Don't tell me you can't because he's a vamp. That's not a good excuse. If you didn't think there are good vamps around, you wouldn't have gone to the police to try and stop Jonas. What matters is that you're attracted to him, and from what you've told me, he's a good man." Maggie's words stayed with Claire long after they had said their goodbyes. In all truth, she had started thinking along the same lines in the past few days, and maybe she had told Maggie about Matthew because she wanted to hear from someone else that it was all right to be interested in him. And now that she had... She had waited long enough. She would find Matthew, tell him she believed him, ask these questions that haunted her, and then ... Then she couldn't help but hope that some of her most daring dreams might come true, even if she didn't know whether Matthew was attracted to her in that way or not. The sun had not yet set when she left her home and drove to On The Edge. She wasn't planning on drinking at all—she had learned that lesson, at least. She had dressed in the same dark blue dress she had worn the night he had come to her on the catwalk. She didn't know if he'd recognize it, but to her, it was a message to him. She wanted to make the first step she had been too frightened to make that night. She only hoped she would have the occasion to take that step. But as she waited vainly at the club, Matthew did not come. The woman that usually accompanied him came alone instead. Claire wondered if, maybe, he had changed his habits. Maybe he had taken his hunting to other grounds. Maybe he had even left town altogether when she hadn't believed him. Maybe... The idea that she had chased him out of town felt like a hand clenching over Claire's heart, and she refused to accept it. He had to be in another club. She would find him. Remembering names of places she had once heard Jonas mention as vampire grounds, she left the club and drove to the closest one. She never noticed the shadow trailing after her until he came to her. **** "Our last night in town, Childe. Are you ready?" Matthew smiled at Diane as she linked her fingers through his and brought them to his lips for a brief kiss. She sounded as excited as a child on the eve of a big trip.

"Ready,” he repeated, though more sedately. He had returned to observe Claire several times in the past two weeks, but had caught nothing more than glimpses of her. It was certainly better for him to leave her be, at least for a few years. He'd keep an eye on her thanks to a private investigator—he had arranged those details earlier that day—but he'd stay away. He had never been as obsessed with any of his girls as he seemed to have become with her, and he didn't like the mistakes he had made because of it, the worst of which had been to reveal himself to her. He decided he wouldn't go to see her, this night; instead, he would accompany Diane to the club, choose a willing girl, and enjoy himself. His resolve shattered when he recognized Claire's car, parked only a street away from the club. He had seen that car often enough, he knew its license plate, and there was no doubt in his mind that it was Claire's, or that she was at the club. He stopped on the sidewalk, so abruptly that Diane took two more steps before turning back to him. "What is it?” she asked, her eyes searching his face. "She's there. She's at the club." Diane closed her eyes for a brief moment and sighed. "We're still leaving tomorrow night,” she warned. “Whatever happens, I am not changing my mind on that." Matthew lowered his head, acquiescing. “Go ahead,” he told her. “Go hunt, and have fun. I'll stay away from her." The look she gave him before leaving told him all too well that she didn't believe he would be able to stay away from Claire when she was so close. In truth, Matthew did not believe it himself. He flagged down a cab, and gave the driver enough money that he was content to park just a few cars away from Claire's and wait. Claire eventually came back to the car, and Matthew had the driver follow her from one club to another all over town. She never stayed more than a few minutes, and Matthew finally understood that she had to be looking for someone. He tried not to let himself hope that she was looking for him, but at the fourth club he decided that he had had enough. As she was coming out of the club, he walked out of the shadows and caught up with her. "You're looking for someone, sweetie? Or you're looking for trouble?" She practically leapt away from him, her hand rising to her chest. As she blinked in surprise at him, he could hear her heart accelerate; not in fear, though, he was sure of it. Her scent did not lie. "Trouble, then,” he answered his own question with quiet resignation. She gave him a hesitant smile. “I ... I was looking for you, actually." "Why?” He asked, challenging her. “You made it clear last time we talked that you wanted nothing to do with me." A couple exited the club at that instant, and caught Matthew's last words. They peered at him and Claire curiously, and Matthew felt the urge to walk away, where their conversation wouldn't be overheard.

Tilting his head toward the club, he invited Claire to walk in with him. To his mild surprise, she did. "I've had time to think,” she said, cool and composed, after they had sat at a table together and ordered light drinks. “About what you said. And I read the letters. All of them." Something tightened in Matthew's chest; he had parted with Helena's letters with difficulty. He had been meaning to get rid of them for decades, both because Diane had suggested it many times and because he knew he spent too much time reading them, but had never been able to let go of them. At least giving them to Claire had served a purpose. He had been hurt when she had accused him of lying, and to hear that she had changed her mind about his story touched him. He smiled. "So you believe me now?" "I do believe you. It's still incredible, and I can't begin to understand how or why you'd keep an eye on her family for so long, but I believe you." He shrugged. “The how is easier than you'd think. Money will help you track down anyone if you only know who to go to, and people are often all too willing to gossip about their neighbors and their problems. After that, helping someone find the job they need or buy the house they want is only a matter of being discrete and pulling the right strings." It was a little more complicated than that, and it had taken Matthew long years before he had perfected his anonymous benefactor act. Claire didn't need to know everything, however, and Matthew realized he might even have said too much as it was. She looked at him intensely, as though seeing him for the first time. "So ... you had my neighbors spy on me?" She sounded more perplexed than upset, and he took that as a good sign. "Sometimes,” he admitted. “One of them thinks she's helping your father make sure you're all right. She never liked Jonas much, so she was happy to keep an eye on how he treated you." The shake of her head only made her confusion clearer. “Why would you want to know about that?” she asked. “It's not like you could do anything about it." "No, but I could come back if something seemed strange and make sure you were not with someone who might hurt you." She took a sip of her lemonade before asking with a casualness that sounded forced: “What would you have done, if he had?" Matthew saw no reason to lie. “Talked to him and scared him away." He had done as much for her grandmother's first fiancé the night after he had first laid a hand on her. The man had left town within the hour. "Wow,” Claire murmured, her eyes wide as she looked at him. “That's ... nothing I'd ever have imagined. It's like having a guardian angel or something. Except, a vampire one." Matthew chuckled at that and raised his glass to salute her. She raised her own to touch his, smiling the

entire time. Suddenly, her smile wavered and her eyes widened. "You,” she breathed. “The pictures of Jonas and that girl ... It was you, wasn't it?" Once again, Matthew refused to lie. “It was me." Observing her closely, he waited for her reaction. He had debated with himself, before sending her proof of Jonas’ infidelity, knowing that it would hurt her. He almost felt like apologizing for it now, even though he still believed it had been the right thing to do. Her eyes filled with tears, but a small smile curved her lips. "Thank you." [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Fourteen The club was much smaller than On The Edge, with the bar and dancing area on the same floor and tables of various sizes scattered on the periphery. The atmosphere, however, felt similar. The DJ played the same kind of music, the lighting was alike, and the patrons seemed no different from those at On The Edge. The one difference was the ceiling. Wall to wall mirrors reflected the entire space, and almost all of the patrons. At the moment, only one of them showed no reflection in the mirrors, and if Claire looked directly up, she could see herself sitting alone at a small table. If she looked straight across the table, however, deep brown eyes looked back straight into hers, eyes that were as captivating as they had been the first time Claire had plunged into them. She and Matthew had been talking for almost half an hour, and the two glasses between them on the narrow pine table were almost empty. Claire's was lemonade; after her last debacle with wine, she preferred to stay away from alcohol. Matthew had smiled at her choice, and chosen a vodka cocktail for himself. As she continued to ask him questions about what he had done over the years, and what his life with Helena had been like, Claire realized that the letters hadn't lied, nor had they given her a false impression of the man sitting next to her. He was every bit as passionate about the promise he had made to Helena to keep her family safe as Claire had begun to suspect. It made something extremely clear to her. "You really loved her,” she said quietly. “Didn't you?" He smiled. His answer was simple, but it tightened Claire's heart like the most poignant declaration. "She was my life." She couldn't help feeling some disappointment at that. If she believed the tone of his voice rather than his words, Helena might be long gone but Matthew's feelings for her were still as strong. Claire felt a little silly for thinking he cared about her for herself. "And you lost her when you died, and again when she did,” she murmured, unable to resist voicing the end of Helena and Matt's relationship. “It's very ... sad."

Matthew's head bowed for an instant, as though in remembrance, but when he replied, after taking a sip of his drink, his voice was steady and calm. "Sad, yes. But I didn't lose her completely. We wrote to each other. And then I looked after her family. I promised to her I would, and I did." Claire had admitted, both to herself and to Matthew, that she believed him, but that didn't mean it was easy, especially when it didn't mesh with what she had always believed about vampires. "That's where it's really weird for me,” she said with a frown. “Promising to take care of humans doesn't really sound like what a vampire would do." "So my Sire tells me. But other vampires think differently. It's all a matter of perspective, I suppose." Claire shook her head and her frown deepened. She wasn't sure she'd ever truly understand. Maybe she needed to be a vampire to do so. "All that because of Helena,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. Looking up again, she tilted her head and asked another one of these questions that had tormented her: “Why didn't you ever tell anyone?" "They didn't need to know.” His gaze seemed to lose focus as he raised his glass to his lips once more. “And vampires were not always tolerated by humans as they are today. Helena accepted what I had become because she loved me, but her daughters would have been horrified at the idea that a vampire was so close to them. Telling them was not an option. I never even approached them." Claire's spirits perked up at that. “But you told me,” she pointed out. “You talked to me, and then you told me. Why me?" She hoped, during the few seconds it took him to come up with an answer, that he would confess she was special, and different from the others. His words, however, had the same effect as a bucket of icy water. "Because you look a lot like Helena." She took the blow and nodded to herself. She should have known. She had heard him talk about Helena; she should have expected something like this. Still, she needed to ask, to be sure. "Do you see her when you look at me? Is that why you talked to me that first night?" This time, Matthew answered right away. "At first, yes. But you're different from her. She'd never have dreamed of going to On The Edge. She'd never have asked so many questions. She'd never have sat with a vampire, or talked to him as you're doing now. Writing letters was the most she could bring herself to do, and you've read them. You know the subject of me being a vamp never came up." Claire's hope sprang back to life, and she made a decision. She was attracted to Matthew, had been since the first night she had seen him at the club, and the dreams of him she had had in the past two weeks had only deepened her attraction. Maybe she was wrong in thinking that that same feeling was reflected back in his words, but she would never know if she didn't at least try.

"Would she have done this?" Trying not to think about what she was doing, she leaned toward him over the narrow table to reach his lips. They were cool, and soft. All she did was press her own lips to his, but as chaste as the kiss was, it had her heart thundering in her chest. Breaking the contact when he didn't respond to her touch, she sat back and wondered, close to panicking, if she had crossed a line, if she had gone farther than he was ready to go, if... The flame she saw in his eyes, just a second before he leaned in and crushed his mouth to hers, reassured her that she hadn't gone too far—but it didn't help her panic or hammering heart in any way. **** Left to decide what would happen between them, Matthew would never have taken that first step. He could admit that he wanted her, her body, not because she looked like Helena but because she was beautiful in her own way. Mostly, though, he longed for her to know what and who he was, longed for one of his girls to finally acknowledge his existence and understand that he was keeping them safe. Such recognition would have been enough. A simple kiss changed that. He had broken so many of his self-imposed rules, already, that he couldn't feel guilty about abandoning one more. He had talked to one of his girls. He had interfered in her life with her knowledge of that fact. He had told her about the link that existed between them. How wrong could it be to have a relationship with her—because in his mind, already, it would be more than a kiss, more than one night, never mind that he was supposed to leave town the next day—when she was the one to light that spark with a kiss? Leaning over the table between them, he cupped her chin in his palm to draw her closer and savor her mouth all the better. Her kiss had been chaste, no more than her lips pressing to his, but her mouth parted easily when his tongue pushed at the seam. The lemonade flavor on her tongue made his own tingle as he hunted down the taste, slowly discovering her mouth and warmth. He was pleased when, rather than remaining passive, she covered his hand with her own and leaned in just a little more, offering herself more fully, but also taking advantage to run her tongue against his own, then his lips. It was the same kiss he had given her the night he had tried to scare her away from the club—and at the same time, it was like nothing he had ever experienced. Matthew would have liked nothing more than to continue kissing her, but the table between them and the crowd around them did not make for the most romantic setting. Pulling back, he answered her disappointed pout with a smile and stood. She took his hand immediately when he offered it to her, and he helped her stand. He was about to suggest that they find a more intimate place when a loud voice interrupted them. "So, will you be calling me in the morning to do another disinvite spell on the house?" Claire jerked away from Matthew at the question and turned toward the sneering man two feet away from them. Matthew's gaze followed hers, and discovered Jonas, standing there with his arms crossed but the poise of someone ready for violence. A flash of anger ran through Matthew. He had warned Jonas about leaving Claire alone, but it seemed like he hadn't listened. Without thinking twice, Matthew curled his arm at Claire's waist and drew her closer to him. She tensed for a second, but Jonas’ frown was worth her unconscious reaction.

"What I do is none of your concern,” she lashed out, her words like ice. "It's not, unless you fuck with dangerous vamps. It would be a pity if I had to stake your new beau." "On what grounds?” Matthew asked mildly. “I haven't hurt her or anyone, nor am I going to. Oh, wait, that never stopped you before, now, has it?" Jonas’ body became very rigid and he stepped forward, one single, menacing step. The cold, silvery blade of violence rose from his scent and Matthew's hand tightened at Claire's waist. "I see you found someone to listen to your ramblings.” Jonas kept his voice quiet, but the muscle clenching in his jaw screamed of danger. “Funny how the police never found any evidence. Perhaps because there's nothing to find." "Or perhaps,” Matthew replied before Claire could jump in, “I've finally caught you on tape and you can expect the police to ask you about it soon." Matthew could feel Claire's little jerk of surprise at his words, and from the corner of his eye he saw her face turn toward him, but he kept his gaze on Jonas. The thinly veiled threat had sharpened the edge of violence in his scent and eyes. He looked ready to leap at Matthew's throat. If they had been alone, and preferably without witnesses around, it wouldn't have been a problem. With Claire right there, however, Matthew refused to let himself get dragged into a fight in which she might get hurt. "Come on, sweetie,” he murmured close to her ear. “Let's go." He pulled her lightly to the side so they could walk around Jonas. Matthew remained tense as he led the way toward the bar's exit and then Claire's car. A nagging doubt had crept up in him when seeing Jonas, and he wasn't too sure how to voice it. He needed to, though. **** Claire was confused when she climbed into her car, opening the passenger door for Matthew to join her. Confused, and angry. Why was it that everywhere she turned, Jonas was there, making more of a mess out of her life? Things had been going so well when he had interrupted them. And what Matthew had told him ... was it true, or had he been bluffing? She started the engine and pulled into the light traffic, letting habit take over as she tried to sort her thoughts. "Where are we going?” Matthew asked after she had been driving for a few moments. She took advantage of a red light to look at him. The car was too dark for her to read any emotion on his features. “I thought...” In a blink, she changed her mind about what to say. “Do you really have proof that he stakes innocent vampires?" "I do. I've been keeping a close eye on him for a few weeks. I finally got him last night." The car behind her honked and Claire jumped. She returned her eyes to the road and started driving again, her mind trying to process what Matthew had just said. "How long ... how long have you known about Jonas?" "Since I heard you at the club, the first time you went there. I didn't think much of it at first, but when you

went to the police I figured it had to be true." Claire mulled on that for a little while, wondering whether he had looked for proof of Jonas’ wrongdoings because of her, or because he thought Jonas needed to be punished. "Both,” he replied when she asked the question aloud. “I started looking into it because you seemed so upset by it, but I kept at it because that was the right thing to do. I've been playing by the rules for decades. I've been very careful not to kill anyone ever since vampires and humans struck the Coexistence Bargain. It's only fair that humans and Special Enforcers play by the same rules." She had never thought about it that way. For her, it had been about saving vampires who had done nothing to deserve being staked. She was a bit surprised that Matthew didn't sound more upset that someone was killing his kind. "Where are we going, Claire?" Matthew's gentle but distant words pulled her out of her thoughts and she frowned, glancing at him. Had she read more in that kiss than she ought to have? “I thought we could have another drink at my place,” she answered, her voice cautious. "Will you be calling Jonas in the morning, like he said?” he asked, his light tone at odds with his words. “Brag about the vampire you slept with to get back at him for leaving you?" "What?" Unsure she had heard him right, she turned to look at him again, the car swerving as she did. She realized her mistake and corrected her course, then parked on the side of the road to turn fully toward Matthew. "I don't give a damn about what Jonas thinks,” she said, her voice wavering with outrage. “And if you think that's the reason I'm interested in you, you're a jerk and you can get out of my car right now!" She almost expected him to do as much, but instead he looked at her very seriously. "I just want to be sure,” he said. “You lived with a Special Enforcer for years, and when you two separated you started frequenting a vampire club. You can admit it looks like a way to get back at him." She snorted. She hadn't been surprised when Jonas had come up with such nonsense, but she wouldn't have expected Matthew to think the same. "Or it could be,” she pointed out with a roll of her eyes, “that I dated Jonas because of the stories he could tell me about vampires. And when he left, I just went ahead and saw for myself if what he had told me had any truth to it." That seemed to leave him pondering, but Claire didn't intend to let him ruminate. Instead, she struck back. "Since we're being honest here, let's go all the way. If we fuck tonight will it be because I look like Helena?" The shock on Matthew's face before he even answered was the reply Claire needed.

"Of course not! Don't be ridiculous!" A little relieved, she smiled and started the car once more, easily inserting herself into the light flow of traffic. “I'll try not to be if you'll do the same." "I'll try,” he conceded, a grin tinting his words, and proceeded to give her directions toward his apartment. It was only a few blocks, and at this hour the traffic was minimum, but the road seemed to stretch with each second of silence. Claire kept glancing at Matthew, finding it hard to calm down the hammering of her heart. What could he be thinking, every time he looked toward her and met her gaze? A couple of minutes before they arrived, he finally spoke, very low, the words as much caress as sound, and Claire, for a moment, forgot to breathe. "We're not going to fuck, Claire. I've wanted you too long and too much for it to be only fucking." [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Fifteen The apartment building was in the center of town, in the ancient factory district, not very far from On The Edge. Claire had driven past the nondescript building before, but never given it a second look. A delivery elevator served the five or six floors, each transformed into two or three lofts. As soon as Matthew had pulled down the safeguard of the elevator, he pounced on Claire. She let out a little yelp of surprise, but right away his arms were around her, pulling her close so that she stood on tiptoes. His mouth pressed against her, demanding, unyielding, but as soft as the caress of his fingers along her spine. She closed her eyes and clung to Matthew, her hands clutching at his shirt as waves of sensation rolled over her. Every time he kissed her, every time he took her in his arms, the same overwhelming intensity flooded Claire, an urgency that she hadn't understood until now. Something Matthew had said in the car, however, cast a new light on it all. He wanted her. He truly did. And he had wanted her for some time. Would he ever tell her how long? He had been watching her for years. Had he wanted her for that long, or was it something more recent? The elevator shook lightly as it came to a stop. Matthew broke the kiss, but did not relinquish his hold on Claire, keeping her close enough that she could feel the hard length of his cock trapped between them. Her fingers itched to wrap around it and feel it without the barrier of clothes in the way. "Last chance to change your mind." His voice was low, rough with the same lust he had poured into the kiss. It sent a flash of raw need through Claire's body. Her throat was too tight to speak, so she shook her head and smiled. She wasn't going to change her mind. A few months of wondering ‘what if?’ topped by a week of vivid dreams assured that she wouldn't, but it was more than that. It was also the gleam in his eyes when he looked at her, a gleam that made her

forget the small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. It was the possessiveness in his touch, so apparent even when he simply held her hand to guide her to his apartment. It was the strength of his body when she leaned against him while he fumbled with the keys, and the gentleness with which he tilted her face up for the briefest kiss before inviting her inside. It was simply who he was, inside and out, and she wanted to know more of him, know everything there was to know, from the texture of his skin to the look on his face when pleasure took him. Matthew did not turn on any lights as they walked inside the apartment. The darkness of the place intimidated Claire a little, but she would have felt silly asking for light so she remained quiet. Clinging to Matthew's hand, she remained close to him and hoped that she wouldn't trip over something and make a fool of herself. Matthew led her through a large room and past a door into what she supposed was the bedroom. Outside, the almost full moon was shining bright, and a soft light filtered around the curtains draping the only window in the room, allowing Claire to make out the shapes of a large bed in the center of the room and a couple of furniture pieces. They didn't hold her interest for long, however, not when Matthew embraced her again, his arms like a cocoon around her. "I always thought you were attractive.” His words were but a whisper, raising goose bumps on her skin where his lips trailed over her neck and shoulder. “But the first time I saw you at the club, when you held your head high and sent him to hell with a few words, that night I wanted you more than I thought possible. You were gorgeous, standing there as though you owned the world. Youare gorgeous." Claire wanted to return the compliment, wanted to tell him how he had attracted her eyes, that same night, dancing in the club, but all that passed her lips was a needy moan that she immediately tried to stifle. She wasn't that desperate. Or at least, she didn't want him to think she was. "Shh ... It's all right, sweetie." His right hand slid up from the middle of her back to the hidden clasp of her zipper, and he pulled it down slowly, too slowly when Claire longed to finally feel his hands on her skin. She showed her impatience by promptly divesting him of his own jacket and shirt. She had intended to continue with his pants, but she was sidetracked when her fingertips discovered his chest. Tight muscles rippled beneath skin smooth as silk and a spattering of short hair. Her dress made a muffled sound when he slid it off her shoulders to fall onto the floor. Claire had a second to be thankful that it was too dark for Matthew to see her clearly before his murmur made her blush and she remembered that vampires were supposed to see quite well in the dark. "Lovely. So very lovely." He ran his fingers along the edge of her bra, tracing the lace that bordered it. She shivered. His hands met at the front clasp, and the bra soon joined the dress on the floor. Claire wished she could have distinguished Matthew's features. She reached up with her right hand and touched the tips of her fingers along his jaw, his cheeks and mouth. He was smiling. His lips parted and his tongue flicked at her fingers, curling around them. At the same instant, he cupped her breasts in his hands. Her nipples peaked under his light touch. Pleasure sparks coursed through Claire; all she could think was that she wanted more. Now. Instead of closing the gap between them, she took a step back, breaking all contact. She toed her shoes off, then hooked her thumbs inside her panties and pulled them off. A couple more steps back, and her legs brushed the edge of the bed. She sat down and slid up the coverlet toward the center of the mattress. She would have expected satin sheets, but the fabric against her skin, although fine and cool,

was simple cotton. Leaning back on her elbows, she looked in Matthew's direction. All she could see what his silhouette, but she could feel the intensity of his eyes on her. He couldn't have stood there, immobile and watching her, for more than a handful of seconds, but to Claire, it felt like an eternity. "Matthew..." He moved at once. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from begging further. She heard first the thump of a shoe falling down, a second one, then the rustle of fabric as he divested himself of his pants. The bed dipped slightly when he climbed onto it and moved to lie on his side next to her. He rested his hand on her knee and Claire tensed, waiting for it to move higher. She opened her thighs a little, hoping to entice him, but his hand remained where it was. He leaned into her until his mouth caressed her shoulder. "Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what you like. What you want." Images flashed through Claire's mind, burning memories of her dreams that seared her body and dried her mouth. She took Matthew's hand and led it along her thigh and to the apex of her legs. He combed her damp curls before sliding a single finger along her lips, lightly parting them to find her wetness. Claire let out a shaky breath. It had been too long. She turned her face toward Matthew and sought his mouth with hers. She wrapped her hand around his cock where it pressed against her hip. Before she could do more than slide her hand up toward the tip, he pushed two fingers inside her and slid his tongue into her mouth when she gasped. His fingers moved to the same fast beat of his thumb pressing against her clit, banishing coherent thoughts from Claire's mind. She wanted—no, she needed—to return the pleasure he was giving her, to feel him writhe against her just like she was writhing against him, trying to intensify his touch. As pressure built inside her body, all she could manage to do was pull and tug at his cock in an erratic rhythm, her palm spreading down the precome she brought forth until he was slick in her hand. Her quicksilver release took her by surprise. She arched up, gasping and breaking the kiss. His fingers slid in a little deeper. The sensation intensified, becoming too much, too fast. Without thinking, she clasped his wrist and pulled his hand away. He drew it to his mouth, and she could imagine what she didn't see, his tongue curling around his fingers as they had around hers just a few minutes earlier. His whisper was absolute sin. “Sweet, sweet Claire ... I knew you'd be so sweet." "And I ... I still don't know what you feel like. Show me?" He didn't reply, or at least not in words. He rolled over her, easily finding his place between her thighs as though he had always belonged there. One push of his hips, and he was sheathed inside her. Claire closed her eyes and sighed. When he began moving, it was with the strong assurance of a long-time lover, his thrusts hitting the perfect pace to ignite again the pleasure that had begun to fade. She splayed her hands over his back, caressing his cool skin and pulling him closer to her. He leaned onto his left forearm and covered her breast with his free hand. He circled her hardened nipple with a finger, then pinched it lightly when she moaned. Colors started exploding behind Claire's eyelids. She raised her hips, changing Matthew's angle, and pulling a very satisfying little noise out of him. Another one followed when she tried to move in

counterpoint to his thrusts, accentuating them. For the first time she was doing something for his pleasure, returning what he was giving her, and she only wished she could make him feel as good as she did. This time, pleasure was slow to rise, building steadily with each caress, each slide of his cock, each sweet word murmured against each other's lips. This time, when Claire surrendered and cried out breathlessly, she felt Matthew become rigid against her, and move erratically as he took a few harsh breaths. He collapsed on her, his weight comfortable rather than stifling. His body was shaking lightly, and Claire smiled into the darkness. Still breathing heavily, she ran her fingers through his hair, dimly realizing how close to her neck his mouth was. It wouldn't have taken much for him to bite her, feed from her, kill her, even, if he wanted. She tensed at the realization, but did not move, nor did she throw him off her. She wasn't even afraid. A little curious as to why he hadn't tried to bite her, maybe, but not afraid. And as seconds passed, slowly changing into minutes, he still didn't bite her. Instead, he rolled off her body, taking her with him as he did, so that she was the one resting against his still chest. "You think too much,” he murmured, sounding a little amused. “I'm not going to bite you. You know that, don't you?" She did, she admitted to herself, then to him. If nothing else, she believed him. But she didn't knowwhy he wouldn't. "Rest, sweetheart. You're safe." Catching the inside of her cheek between her teeth, she managed not to ask how he had known what she thought. She was quite sure she wouldn't be able to sleep, not in this bed that wasn't hers, not with a vampire lying with her, alongside her, his body slowly warming at her contact. Still, she decided to indulge him and pretend, closing her eyes to do so. Within seconds, she had drifted off. Her last thought before she did was to wonder again why he didn't want to bite her. **** Claire's heartbeat echoed in the room with the soothing regularity of sleep. It pulsed against Matthew's fingers where they rested at the crook of her neck. Rarely had he heard lovelier music or felt a more peaceful rhythm. The brief thread of fear that had entered her scent before she had fallen asleep was long gone, having faded in the heavy smell of sex that hung in the room. Matthew was glad she had realized she had nothing to fear from him. After all he had told her, all he had explained and confided, he didn't know how he could have convinced her if she had needed more reassurance. A sigh disrupted the quiet. Matthew's arms tightened, just barely, around Claire, but he didn't move further, despite his desire to glare at the intruder he knew had to be standing by the door. "This changes nothing. We're still leaving tomorrow night." Silence was his only reply to Diane's cool murmur. He adored his Sire, but these few words angered him further than they had any right to. She had known him for decades; she knew he needed no such reminder. That she even thought necessary to voice it was either insulting or cruel. In either case, he had nothing to tell her. She left after a few more seconds, and Matthew listened to her steps through the apartment until he

heard the small click of the latch. Then he closed his eyes, and tried to let Claire's heartbeat soothe him again. In the morning, he would find the words to say goodbye to Claire. Until then, her body cloaked him in warmth and softness like no other woman before her ever had. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Sixteen By the ambient light that the curtains failed to completely keep out, it had to be already morning when Claire awakened. A heavy arm was curled at her waist still, and she smiled even before opening her eyes. Her dreams in the past week had been torrid, but after a night with Matthew they paled in comparison. Waking up next to him and feeling the strength of the body pressed against her back was slowly stirring the flames of her desire again. She almost woke up Matthew before deciding against it. He looked adorable in his sleep, his short hair curling to frame his face in shadows. She would let him sleep a little longer. As lightly and quietly as she could, she slipped out of his embrace and out of bed. Glancing back, she grinned then tiptoed out of the room. She tried the first door on her right; it opened noiselessly. The tiles were cold beneath her feet when she walked into the bathroom and she wiggled her toes. As the light flickered on above her, she was taken aback at first by the black tiles on the floor and walls, then by the lack of a mirror above the sink. Both features made the spacious room appear smaller, more intimate. She regretted not having awakened Matthew, even more so once she stepped into the shower. The multiple jets shot instantly hot water, the pressure delicious as it struck and massaged Claire's flesh. In her mind, each touch of the water was suddenly from Matthew's hand. She noticed a bar of soap on a recessed ledge just in front of her. She picked it up and brought it to her nose, then sighed at the discreet scent. She only had to close her eyes, and Matthew was there with her, his lips playing over her skin in the wake of the soap as she ran it over herself. Her imagination quickly ceased to be enough. Why should she content herself with daydreams when Matthew was just in the next room? In seconds, she had rinsed off the soap, turned off the water and slipped on the heavy terrycloth bathrobe left hanging behind the door. It was much too large for her, with the sleeves falling over her hands and the bottom hem brushing against her calves. She left the robe open; she didn't intend to keep it on very long. Stepping out of the bathroom, she noticed the lights were on in the living area. She had to have awakened Matthew. It was too bad he hadn't joined her, though. She followed the quiet noises, walking on tiptoes even if she doubted she'd surprise him. She hadn't seen much of the apartment the previous night, too caught up in Matthew's hands and lips to try to pierce the darkness, but now that she had time to explore, she was a little surprised by what she found. The heavy drapes hanging in front of all the windows were, she supposed, a necessity, but the large mirror over the imposing fireplace puzzled her as much as the fireplace itself. What use would a vampire have for either warmth or a mirror that did not reflect him? Matthew was nowhere in sight, but she could hear the buzzing of a microwave just past the corner.

Supposing he was feeding, she decided to give him some time and continued looking around her, snooping without a thread of guilt. Matthew had done the same thing the night he had accompanied her home. Apart from the fireplace, the rest of the room was bland, almost lifeless, with a nondescript sofa and armchair, a plain coffee table and a bookcase that held only a handful of books. On the same bookcase she noticed the picture Matthew had taken from her home. He had placed it in a simple silver frame, and Claire felt compelled to look away from Helena's soft smile. She had no reason to feel guilty, none at all. As she averted her eyes, she noticed the dozen or so leather-bound journals on the same shelf as the picture, and picked one up on a whim. Flipping through the pages, she was quick to realize that the handwriting was familiar; it was Matthew's. Something else was familiar and gave her pause. Every few pages, the writing began with a date, and the words “My dearest Helena." Troubled, she paid closer attention to the dates. They covered a period of a few years nearly fifty years earlier, long after Helena had died. It appeared that Matthew had kept on his side of their correspondence even after her death. From bits and pieces that she read over the pages, she realized that, for the most part, he told of the lives of those he called ‘his girls', describing what he learned of them, or how he helped them when he could. "I've been trying to make him stop writing to her for almost a century,” a voice suddenly said from behind Claire, and she jumped, startled. She whirled around, the book still in hand. A woman came out of what Claire had thought was the kitchen. Claire needed a few seconds to recognize her. So far, she had always seen her in the pulsating lights of the club, shadows playing over her face when she danced, her body moving as though the beat of the music ran through her veins. She was the woman who had shown up with Matthew, night after night, but never left with him; the same woman Claire had once admired, and had been, just a little, jealous of. "But that is one subject on which he refuses to heed me,” the woman continued, coming to sit on the sofa. She curled her legs under her, and Claire noticed she was barefoot. “He can be so stubborn, when he sets his mind on something. I'm sure you've noticed, already." To see her here, looking very much at ease as though she were home, made the jealousy resurface in the surprised blink of Claire's eyes. The words came out before she could stop them. "Are you Matthew's girlfriend?" The woman laughed, a quiet but clear laugh that almost sounded like metal chimes in the wind. Claire felt a wave of cold slide down her spine and suddenly realized she hadn't closed the robe. Her cheeks flamed brightly. She hastily tied it off with the belt. The woman didn't even seem to have noticed. "No, dear child, I am not his girlfriend,” the woman finally answered. “It's a bit more complicated than that." Claire couldn't help looking toward the bedroom. The door was closed. She couldn't remember whether she had closed it behind her when walking out. "Do you know you're the first woman he's ever brought here?" The quiet question drew Claire's attention back to the woman. Still curled on the couch, she was looking

at Claire with a very intent gaze. Claire shifted, tightening her arms around herself. She glanced toward the door again, then back at the woman. Part of her wanted to go to Matthew, but at the same time she was intrigued. "You're a woman and you're here,” she pointed out. “So how do you know other women haven't been?" The woman laughed again. “I just know, Claire. You'll have to believe me on that. He's not the kind of man to allow just anyone inside his lair. You're special." Claire tried not to smile. She would have been much happier to hear this from Matthew himself rather from another woman, especially when she didn't know what her relationship with Matthew was, or how she even knew Claire's name. "Who are you?" The woman rose from the couch, graceful as she stretched like a cat just warmed from sitting in the sun. Smiling, she took a few steps to the side, coming just a little closer to Claire as she did. Unwilling to lose sight of her, Claire turned to keep facing her; she was a vampire, she knew that much, and having spent the night with a vamp didn't mean she trusted all of them. "Why are you here? I thought this was Matthew's place." Claire's uneasy feeling only grew with each of questions, with each step the woman took toward her. Yet, she couldn't manage to move, couldn't look away from the woman's clear eyes, couldn't raise her voice to call for Matthew. "It is his lair,” the woman acquiesced, inclining her head. “But Matthew is mine, he was mine from the night he rose, and everything he owns, everything he touches, is mine too." Claire's heart leapt in her chest as she slowly understood that the woman was referring to her. "Shh ... no need to be afraid, child,” the woman murmured, smiling, and Claire swallowed hard when she caught a glimpse of elongating fangs. “All I want is to repair an old mistake. Everything will be just fine, you'll see." Claire shuddered when the woman touched her cheek and brushed her hair back, but still she was unable to move, caught in her own paralyzed body and watching the scene as though through someone else's eyes. It finally dawned on her that she had to have been hypnotized, or thralled, but it was too late now to do anything, too late to fight the hold of the woman on her mind, too late to cling to the robe when the woman tugged the belt undone and slid her hands beneath the collar, pulling it off Claire's shoulders. Her hand gently cradled the back of Claire's neck and drew her closer. She leaned toward Claire's bared shoulder, and her lips touched the curve where her neck and shoulder met. A small whimper escaped Claire's lips when the fangs sank into her flesh, and she wanted to cry at the irony. A few hours earlier she had been ready to beg for Matthew to bite her, and now she couldn't do a thing as that woman took her blood, her life, in long sips that quickly made Claire lightheaded. The bite itself had been painful, but now all she felt was cold slowly descending on her, seeping into her skin through the woman's cold embrace.

She heard a shout and thought for a second that it was her own. It was too strong however; she could barely whisper Matthew's name as she noticed him, only a few feet away, his eyes wide and full of an angry fire. Her eyelids fluttered and everything turned black. **** In more than a hundred years, Matthew had accepted from his Sire anything she had demanded of him, even when his own desires would have led him to another path. He would have followed her to the end of the earth and back—actually, he had done as much a couple of times. He would have died for her, had she requested his heart on a platter. In all this time, he had never raised his voice or hand against her, nor had he ever dreamed of doing so. He did both when he found her draining Claire of her blood. He shouted first, a plea to stop, and a curse when she didn't and he saw Claire's eyes flutter shut. Then he stumbled to them, pulled Claire free from her arms, and slapped Diane. The look of shock and incredulity in her eyes when she touched the tips of her fingers to her cheek would have paralyzed Matthew if he hadn't been too shaken to care about what he had done. "Why?” he pleaded, unsure whether he was talking to Diane or to Claire. He slid to his knees, cradling the naked body of his lover against his own. Her heat was slipping away too fast, her heartbeat slowing down with each passing second. "For you,” Diane murmured, her calm completely at odds with Matthew's growing panic. “You know what you have to do. From your wrist will be best. Then you can take care of her for the rest of eternity." Her words made no sense, and Matthew said as much with a shake of his head. She knelt down next to him, and gently took his hand in hers. Matthew watched her, not understanding why she would slash his wrist with her fangs. Then she led his hand so that the bloody cut rested against Claire's mouth, and things started to make sense. "She did not ask for this,” he murmured, his eyes going from Claire to Diane and back again. “She will hate me for this." Diane snorted softly. “You did not ask for it either. Did you ever hate me?" Reluctantly, and without ever looking away from Claire's pale face, he shook his head. "If she must blame someone,” Diane continued, “you can point her in my direction, I'll be more than happy to play scapegoat in this instance. But she will be yours, my Childe. I want her to be yours." Her hand caressed his hair, light as though she feared he would reject her touch. He pressed back into it instead, and bit back the protests and accusations he wanted to throw at her. She had never understood his attachment to Helena's family, and his vow to keep them safe. It was useless to ask her to understand now that the last member of this same family was dying in his arms. Claire's heart ceased to beat. Matthew could have sworn his own had stopped along with it. The pain was nearly physical, and nothing, not even the sight of his blood dripping into her half open mouth or Diane's free hand massaging her throat to make her swallow, eased his pain and sense of loss. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seventeen Hunger. Loud, powerful, all consuming hunger. Claire wasn't completely awake yet, her mind still struggling to free itself from a sleep as deep, as dreamless as the darkest night, but despite her comatose state, the hunger was already there, overwhelming her and making it impossible to think beyond the pure need for blood. She opened her eyes, and closed them again immediately at the sharp, lancing pain caused by a too bright artificial light. Something in her had expected darkness, and maybe even stars, and was displeased that it wasn't what she had found. A low growl resounded in the room, and it took her a few confusing seconds to realize thatshe had growled. Growled because she was hungry, because the light was too bright, she wasn't sure which; maybe both. "Try again,” a quiet voice said, just inches above her. If she had been able to think, she might have realized that she had known someone was there. Not just someone, but him. Matthew. Cautiously, expecting the light to burn her again but unable not to obey him, Claire opened her eyes again. Comforting darkness greeted her. That, and his face, leaning over her. A word rose to her lips, pushed by a knowledge that felt older than she was but that belonged to her now. The simple word contained much more than she was capable to express at that instant; it held comfort and family, blood, love and pleasure. "Sire." Despite the lack of light, she had no trouble seeing his face, and the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips thrilled her until she realized it was a sad smile. Why was he sad, she wanted to ask, but the hunger claimed her attention again, and she forgot the half formed question before she could voice it. "Hungry, sweetie?” he asked, caressing her cheek with his knuckles, and she let out a quiet whimper as she pressed into his touch. “It's all right, I have exactly what you need." His hand slid to cup the back of her head and he pulled her up at the same time as he leaned down. Claire brought her arms up and around him, drawing him closer until her face was against his shoulder and the hunger became downright painful. His scent filled her, familiar already, even though it was the first time she had really noticed it. Soothing, also; it was the scent of Sire, of home. But with the need raging in her, his scent mainly hinted at blood, and relief, and she could feel another whimper rising in her throat. She wanted to take what he was offering, but at the same time something was stopping her. "Go ahead,” he murmured. “Bite. Take all you need." His words seemed to break a barrier in her mind, and what was left of the human in her was still wondering what he had meant by ‘bite’ while her fangs elongated and her mouth closed on the flesh at the crook of his neck. The first burst of blood on her tongue was bliss, and she started sucking eagerly, eyes closed in pleasure as the thick, rich liquid appeased the hunger that had made it so hard to think.

For long, wonderful seconds, she took in as much blood as she could, holding Matthew tightly to prevent him from moving away and robbing her of his neck and blood. He didn't try to pull back, though, and merely laid down next to her, shifting her body so that it was half draped over his own. The soothing embrace and blood he was offering Claire made her body thrum with a pleasure that hinted at much more to come. More than that, though, it filled her with the quiet and sure feeling that her Sire cared about her, and something in her was delighted in that knowledge, the same something that had known what to call him, or that had hesitated until he had granted her permission to bite him. The pangs of hunger finally receded and she stopped pulling on his blood, starting instead to unhurriedly lick as it rose to the surface of the two slightly jagged punctures her fangs had created. Little by little, the wounds closed, and while she regretted that her feast had ended, the contentment that she felt was boundless. She had been so hungry, and her Sire had given her exactly what she had needed, what she had wanted without having the words to express it. She laid a simple kiss to his neck, right where she had bitten, thanking him. His hand slid over her hair, caressing, and she let sleep claim her again. **** Matthew had turned off the lights when he realized they hurt Claire's eyes, but the lights in the living area were still on, and they reached just enough inside the bedroom to cast shadows against Claire's sleeping features. She looked peaceful once again, but too unnaturally still for Matthew's comfort. He kept expecting her chest to start moving in the slow movements of breath, but of course it didn't, and neither did her heart awaken to fill the emptiness of silence. The void left by her stillness and quiet was disconcerting, but it wasn't the only thing troubling Matthew. Her scent had altered, already. He could have recognized her anywhere before, but her scent now went beyond identifying her to him. He only needed to breathe in to see her in his mind, and for protectiveness to surge through him. His goal had always been to keep her safe. He had failed when she was human, but he wouldn't fail twice. She was his lover but also his Childe now, and he would rip the world apart before seeing her hurt again—by anyone. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted this to happen to you." His murmured words moved a strand of hair that had fallen across her face, but she didn't stir. Matthew held her a little closer and quietly renewed his vow to protect her. He had not expected her to fall asleep so soon after having fed. If he looked back toward his own Siring, he had been ready to learn to hunt when he had first awakened as a vampire. That first night had been bloody; there had been no Special Enforcers, back then, and no agreement between humans and vampires to coexist peacefully. Afraid that he might be doing something wrong, or not doing something he was supposed to do, he carefully extricated himself from beneath Claire. He was loath to leave her alone, but he didn't plan to be gone for very long. Still wearing nothing more than the pajama pants he had thrown on when discovering Claire had left his bed, he walked out of the bedroom. He left the door ajar behind him so he would hear any noise Claire might make. Diane was where he had left her hours earlier, curled on the sofa with a book. She raised her eyes from the worn-out pages to look at him when he came to stand by her. An eyebrow arched high, she gave him a look of impatience. "Well? I heard talking, so I suppose she rose already?"

Matthew nodded, his hands clenching and opening repeatedly. “She did. And she fed. But she fell asleep again. Is that normal?" Her small shrug made him want to shout. “Unusual, but not alarming.” She uncurled her legs from beneath herself to sit up, then tapped the seat next to her as an invitation. Matthew didn't move. “It was already morning when she was Sired,” she continued, “so she might need more time to transition." Her eyes slid from Matthew's face to his neck, weighing so heavily there that he touched the bite marks with his fingertips. She clucked her tongue in reprobation. "Her first meal should have been human blood, not yours. You should keep your blood as a reward rather than dispense it too freely to her. And even then, your wrist is where a Childe should feed from, not your neck. Have I taught you nothing?" Matthew's eyes widened and he let out a bark of incredulous laughter. “When have you ever taught me to be a Sire? When have you ever cared about customs, or things a Childe should be taught?" Annoyance flashed through Diane's face, but after a few seconds she inclined her head, a queen granting a request to her subject. "Maybe some of these things are not so important. But youwill need to teach her to hunt, and to choose her prey safely. I will not have us hunted by Special Enforcers because she's careless when she feeds." Matthew did not answer. He and Diane had learned the rules of this particular game together, but it was Matthew who had convinced her that it was necessary to change their way of feeding. In other circumstances, he would have found it humorous that she was giving him advice on the matter. Shaking his head lightly, he walked over to the kitchen and threw a package of blood in the microwave. He hadn't fed the previous night, and had given his blood to Claire twice. He was famished. The blood revolved slowly in the microwave; Matthew kept his eyes on it, though he wasn't really seeing anything. "I will give her a day to get used to who she is now, but we're leaving town at sunset tomorrow. No more delays." Turning his attention toward the entrance of the kitchen, he observed Diane, standing there with her arms crossed and no idea whatsoever how close she was to leaving Haventown alone. He had tried to tell her, the previous night, but she hadn't understood. She truly thought he should have been grateful to her for killing Claire and making him turn her. He doubted anything he could say would change her mind, but maybe if he did more than tell her, if he let her go on by herself, if for the first time in more than a hundred years he did not follow where she led... The idea was tempting, a fitting consequence for her hurting him more than she would acknowledge, and Matthew considered it for a few seconds. He could stay in town with Claire, or go somewhere else, just the two of them. He could teach her to hunt and feed without killing, teach her the things Diane had never taught him and that he had figured out for himself or learned from others, teach her how vampires had once protected humans in exchange for blood. He could leave with her, and be reminded, night after night, of his failure to protect her. Or they could remain with Diane, and Matthew could try to convince himself that she was the one responsible for it. "We'll be ready.” The words grated his throat like sandpaper. He looked away from her and back at the beeping microwave. “Just ... leave us alone until then. Come back at nightfall, and we'll go with you."

He could hear her take two steps inside the kitchen, coming closer to him. He tensed despite himself, waiting for a touch that didn't come. "Nightfall,” she murmured after a few seconds, then left the kitchen. Matthew kept listening until he heard the latch of the front door, then walked to the door and for the first time, locked it behind her. He wished he had locked it the previous night. If he had, Claire would have still been alive. Back in the kitchen, he drank the warmed blood straight from the plastic package. It was the finest blood a vampire could buy, human rather than animal, but Matthew didn't even notice the taste of it. Still hungry, he went through the motions of warming another package and forced himself to drink it before he returned to the bedroom. Claire was still asleep and he lay next to her, not touching her but watching her closely. Maybe by the time she woke up, he would figure out what to tell her. **** Awakening the second time was easier. The hunger was still there, lurking on the edge of Claire's mind, but it didn't overwhelm her anymore. Remembering the pain of too bright lights, she kept her eyes closed and took a deep breath in. She smiled. Matthew was there, very close. "Awake, sweetie?" She hummed her answer and cautiously opened her eyes. Matthew's face rested on a pillow, just inches from hers. "Did you watch me sleep the entire time?" He reached over to trace his thumb across her mouth, and Claire parted her lips to nip at the fleshy underside of it. By the way he smiled, she knew he had even before he answered. That knowledge made her feel warm all over, and she scooted closer to him, where she could press her body against his. His arms closed over her, and the questions she had wanted to ask disappeared in a blink. For a long moment, she remained silent, content to be with her Sire and needing nothing more. But when he shifted and gently told her that he wanted her to get up and get dressed, she did as he asked without a hesitation. She recognized the terrycloth robe he handed her as the one she had slipped on before encountering the woman, but the memory did not faze her. Instead, she looked around her and frowned slightly as she noticed something. "It's dark in here." None of the lights were on, neither in the room nor outside, and no sunlight filtered around the drapes. "Yes. So what?" Claire looked at him and detailed his features. She could see the slight frown that matched the puzzlement in his voice, and the dullness of his eyes. She could see every line of his face, every individual eyelash, better than she ever had in the bright lights of On The Edge. "I can see. As clearly as though the lights were on."

Matthew's smile was no more than a slight quiver of his lips before he took Claire's hand and guided her out of the room. “Part of the vampire package." "Is that why the light hurt when I opened my eyes?" "Clever girl." Just a day earlier, the words could have sounded condescending and Claire would have scoffed at them. At that moment, they were a delicious praise, and she couldn't help grinning proudly before realizing what she was doing. The same part of her that wanted to call Matthew ‘Sire’ also wanted his approval, almost more than anything else. Her smile faded as she understood that. She had changed, she knew as much, but it looked like some parts of the change would be more unexpected than others. Shaking her head, she tried to dismiss the pride and focus on the discussion. "But you're around bright lights all the time. How can you endure the pain?" Once they had reached the kitchen, Matthew let go of her hand and flipped the lights on. Claire shut her eyes tight immediately, expecting pain to flare through her. "It shouldn't hurt anymore by now,” Matthew assured her. “Go ahead, sweetie, open your eyes. Get them used to the light." That same part of her that had craved Matthew's approval now obeyed his request before Claire knew what she was doing. The brightness of the kitchen was uncomfortable, but not painful. When Matthew nodded, she started grinning before she could stop herself. "There you go. In no time, you won't even notice the lights anymore." Turning away from her, he pulled a dark package from the fridge and threw it in the microwave. Claire winced at the buzzing noise when he pressed the ‘start’ button. "All of your senses are more sensitive,” Matthew said, noticing her grimace. “It might get overwhelming for a little while but you'll learn to tune out the information you don't need." He pulled a chair for her, and Claire sat down at the table without hesitation. She splayed her hand over the wood, and her fingertips picked up every nuance and imperfection of the grain. She was certain that if she had touched this table when she had been human, it would have seemed polished to perfection. She wasn't sure she liked the roughness she was picking up now. "Hungry?" Even as he asked, Matthew placed a glass full of a dark red, thick liquid in front of her, then sat down at the end of the table. "Try it,” he encouraged Claire when all she did was peer into the glass. The smell of it was making her dizzy with pangs of hunger. "Is that ... is that human blood?” She knew the answer before she even finished voicing her question. “How...” Her voice trailed off and she picked the glass with both hands, holding it up very carefully.

"Easily. Blood banks aren't just for hospitals. And usually, those run for vampires offer more than cookies and orange juice as a reward." Claire barely heard his explanation, her entire attention focused on the glass in her hands. She sighed. “It smells so good..." "I know. Go ahead, sweetie. Drink up." As enticing as the scent of blood was, it seemed strange to bring the glass to her lips. Something in her claimed that vampires fed from live humans, not reheated blood. She couldn't have said if the thought came from what she had learned during her mortal life, or from the demon she could practically feel stretching inside her as though getting used to her body. Whatever it was, she forgot her reluctance with the first swallow of the warm liquid. It coated her mouth and slid down her throat, flavorful and strong and before she knew it, she was putting down the empty glass and wondering whether she could ask for more. "Good, huh?” Matthew smiled. “Wait ‘til you take it right from the source. You'll think this is nothing afterwards." "Why do you have it, then?" "Because you never know when you'll go home without having found a prey. Or when you'll be too busy to go out and hunt." Unable to stop herself, Claire slid a finger inside the glass and gathered some of the blood coating it. Matthew's eyes followed her every movements when she brought it to her mouth to lick it clean. The fire that flared in his gaze awakened Claire's own lust. She crossed her legs tighter beneath the table, relishing the pressure even if it was far from sufficient. "Too busy doing what?” she asked, her voice catching in her throat. It took Matthew a few seconds to come up with an answer, and when he did, he shook his head, as though trying to clear up his mind. “Sleeping. Healing if you've been hurt." Trying very hard to silence the little voice that claimed a Childe ought to listen to her Sire and not demand, she stood and came to stand by Matthew's side. He looked up at her face at first, but when she tugged the belt of her robe undone, his eyes trailed over the bared flesh from her neck to the apex of her legs. "Too busy fucking?” Claire whispered. "That, too." He pushed his chair away from the table, and Claire took that as an invitation. She sat down on his lap, facing him, her arms around his neck and the curls of her sex pressing against the hardening bulge that pushed at the fabric of his pants. She leaned over to speak inside the shell of his ear. "Can we?" His fingers slid inside the robe, resting on her skin in the promise of more to come.

"Fuck?" "Yes." "Anything you want, Childe." [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eighteen Anything she wanted, Matthew had said, and he meant it. All she had to do was ask, and he would give her the world. Give her his blood, his cock, his life. Anything. Everything. After all, he had taken everything from her. It was only fair he pay it back—which didn't mean he didn't enjoy himself as much as she did. He had bedded more women throughout the years than he cared to remember, and some of them had been prettier than the woman now sitting on his lap. He didn't delude himself about that fact. She wasn't just any woman, though, picked to play for a night. She was one of his girls. He had been ready to give his existence to protect hers, first because of whose family she had been born in, then because of who she was, deep down. Everything about her had resonated in him, and made him care more for her than he would have thought possible. And now, even those boundaries were breached, and whatever he had felt for her was amplified beyond what he could express in words. She was his Childe. The first vampire he had ever turned. And even if it hadn't been his choice to do it, even if Diane had forced his hand, the demon inside him and the blood in his veins knew that she was his. The knowledge was as heady as the scent of her lust. She had opened her robe before sitting on his lap, and it framed her skin tantalizingly, hinting at soft curves more than it revealed them. Sliding his hands beneath it, he caressed along her torso, up and down, barely brushing against the sides of her breasts even when she shifted under his touch. Her hands tightened where they rested on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin with small pinpricks of pain. He dropped a kiss into the hollow of her throat and smiled when she shivered and pressed her pelvis against his cock. "Anything you want, sweetie?" "Yes. I want you to stop playing with me." His instinct to reply that he had never played with her was quelled by the realization that it wasn't true. At the club, his dancing and flirting had been a cruel game when he had known he would end up scaring her away. But he hadn't played with her since; if anything, he had been too open, though he doubted she would see things that way. "Is it playing when I do this?" He pressed another kiss to her throat, and when she arched her neck back to give him better access, he nipped at her skin with blunt teeth. She moaned softly. "Yes..."

"I guess I should stop, then." She blinked at that and looked straight at him, her brow furrowed in incomprehension. “What...” She finally got it and glared at him. “You're a bad man." His grin wavered and he fought back the urge to apologize. It was too soon. She was still getting used to who she was now, to a body and mind that were the same and yet weren't; she needed support and strength, not apologies for making her a vampire. "What should I do, then?” he asked through a tight throat. She answered with a gesture rather than words. She rolled her shoulders, and the robe slid back a little, revealing more of her and baring her breasts. Matthew took the hint and, sliding his hands to her back to hold her in place, he kissed the tip of a nipple. It hardened just a little against his lips, then a little more when his tongue flicked out to caress it. Claire hummed, a soft, almost purring sound that Matthew took as an invitation to continue. But before he did... He could feel her wetness, pressing against his length as she arched into him, wordlessly begging for more of his mouth on her skin. It wasn't very difficult to think back and remember how burning the core of her had been when he had pressed into her, and his cock twitched at the memory. Sliding his hands back to her sides, he pulled her back onto his lap; she protested with a small whine. "Shh ... Just a second, now. Take my cock out. That's it, sweetheart. Hold it, just there..." They both sighed as he raised her off his lap and onto his straining cock, her hand guiding him until he was sliding inside her to the root. "Now,” he said, his voice tight with the need to start moving inside her. “Where was I?" His mouth descended on her breast again, reawakening a neglected nipple until it was a hard nub between his careful teeth. Claire started bucking against him, trying at the same time to pull away and get closer to him. The movement made his cock slide a little deeper inside her and pulled a gasp from her. Using the leverage of her hands on his shoulders, she raised herself until his cock was almost slipping out of her, then slid back down. On the next try, she added a twist of her pelvis, and ground her clit against him. Switching from one nipple to the other, Matthew smiled to himself. She'd find the rhythm she needed in no time, he was sure of it. All he had to do was keep distracting her and delay pleasure for them both as long as he could—and make falling over the edge that much sweeter in the end. **** Water was cascading over Claire, deliciously hot and filling the room with steam. She hadn't realized until that moment how much she missed the heat. She didn't exactly feel cold, but simple things, such as closing her hand into a fist, reminded her that she had no heat of her own. Light fingers, warm fingers ran down her arms and tangled with her own. She leaned back, pressing her body to Matthew's behind her. "This feels good. Can we stay here forever?"

The laugh she would have expected didn't come. Instead, Matthew bent down to press his lips to her shoulder, just a couple of inches to the left of the still sensitive bite where her neck and shoulder met. "I'm afraid we can't, sweetie. The sun will set in an hour or so, and we'll leave then." Turning in his arms, Claire looked up at Matthew. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead and laid flat over his head. She couldn't read any emotion on his features or in his eyes; they were as blank as his voice. "We're leaving?” Claire repeated. “Where to? Why?" From resting flat against her chest, her hands slid up to his hair and she started stroking lightly, fluffing the wet strands up and looking for the soft curls she was used to. Matthew closed his eyes. "Not sure where to yet. North, probably. And as to why ... we've been here for a while, we were planning to leave last night but ... your ... siring delayed that." Claire's hands stilled in Matthew's hair then fell to his shoulder, resting there for support as she tried to understand. His closeness was making it difficult to think, and she pulled back a little. "We? Who is we?" Matthew reached behind her and turned the water off. A wave of cold slid over Claire as he opened the glass door and stepped out. "Diane and I." Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and watched Matthew towel himself dry. He was very studiously avoiding looking at her. She had to force the words out, and hated the waver in her voice when she did. "Diane ... that's the woman who ... who killed me. Right?" Matthew froze as he was wrapping the towel around his hips. The raw pain on his face was a blade sliding in her gut, and his forced smile didn't make it any better. He picked up the robe she had hung over the heater, then held it open for her to slide into. "You're shaking. Come out, sweetie. Let's get you dry." Claire didn't want to listen to his quiet words or get closer to him. She wanted answers, wanted to understand. And yet, she climbed out of the shower and let Matthew wrap her in the thick robe and its illusion of warmth. Once he had tied the belt at her waist, he guided her to the living area and sat with her on the sofa. Her eyes wandered around the room and stopped on the mirror above the fireplace. It reflected nothing more than a sofa as empty as Claire felt. "Diane is my Sire,” Matthew said quietly. He pulled Claire closer until she was in his arms. “And yes, she drained you." Everything that Claire had felt until that instant had told her that Matthew was her Sire, that a link existed between them deeper than a night spent in each other's arms. However, a nagging doubt surfaced at the

sadness in Matthew's voice when he used that word—drained—rather than say Diane had killed Claire. "Is she my Sire too?" A finger beneath her chin angled Claire's face toward Matthew's. "No." The simple denial was a balm on Claire's mind. "She drained you, but it's my blood you drank. I'm your Sire. I thought you knew that." "I did. I do. It's just ... why did she drain me? If you wanted to turn me—" "I did notwant to turn you. She didn't give me a choice." The cold was back, no matter the thick terrycloth around her or Matthew's arms holding her tight. Pulling herself free from his embrace, she stood and took two steps away from the sofa. When she slowly turned toward Matthew again, for a brief moment she could see the woman in his stead; Diane. She had sat there, before coming to Claire. The more she thought about her behavior and what she had said, the more Claire became certain that her fate had been sealed at the instant she had walked out of the bedroom on her own. "So you didn't want me?” she asked, focusing her attention on Matthew again. She remembered something he had said earlier, and it still didn't make sense. “You'd have left town without even telling me if this hadn't happened? You'd have forgotten making love to me and never—" "Stop." The word was a whisper, but it might have been a shout for the instant effect it had on Claire. She shivered at the disapproval in that one syllable, but she hurt too much to care for longer than a second. She had gone looking for Matthew two nights earlier hoping to understand the decades he had spent looking over her family. She had found not only an explanation, but also a man dedicated to what he believed, a man she was attracted to beyond what she had ever felt before. She couldn't believe, didn't want to believe that it had only been a one-night stand for him. She had thought she was different from all these other women for him. "You've got to understand...” His eyes were pleading for her to listen, and she couldn't refuse to hear him. “Without her intervention, I'd never have sired you. I wanted you safe, and happy. I wanted you to have a long life, children, grandchildren—" "But you slept with me,” Claire interjected. “How did you figure I'd get children that way? How was I supposed to be happy if you were going to leave after just a night with me?" The sadness she had read on his face before returned, bringing along guilt. His hands were tight fists resting on his knees. She could have sworn his voice was shaking. "I've wanted you for months. I told you that. When I realized you were looking for me I thought ... I don't know. I thought I could have a night with you before getting out of your life. I never imagined Diane...” He sighed and shook his head. “I should have protected you better. I'm sorry, sweetie."

"I'm not." His eyebrows shot up at Claire's words. She managed to get close to him again until the robe brushed against his legs despite her fear that he would reject her. "I'm not sorry,” she said again. “If this means you won't leave without me, then so be it. I knew what I was doing when I went looking for you, I knew what you were, and I—” The words were difficult to push out. She had never said them before without having a pretty good idea of how they would be received. “—I think I'm in love with you." The look of utter surprise on his face could have been comical in other circumstances. As it was, it gave Claire no hint of what he thought of her declaration. Unfurling his fists, he took her hands in his and held them as though they had been fragile birds. "You barely know me, sweetheart. You don't love me, not like you think you do." She tightened her hands over his and her voice hardened. “You think I'd sleep with just anyone?" He stood from the sofa, never letting go of her hands. She had to look up to keep her eyes locked to his, but she didn't break eye contact, hoping he would see the truth of her words in her gaze. "I think,” he said very gently, “you had a crush on the mysterious vamp who danced with you in a crowded club and protected you from another set of fangs. I think it was very romantic for you to discover someone had been looking over you all your life. You just didn't realize I wouldn't be able to protect you from everything." Claire laughed, the sound holding no joy and falling flat. “I'm not a child—” she started, but Matthew interrupted her by raising their still linked hands to her mouth and laying a finger over her lips. "You're not a child,” he agreed. “You're my Childe. A demon has taken residence in your body, in your very heart, and that demon knows three things. It needs blood to survive, sex to be content, and its Sire for guidance. You don't love me, sweetheart. The demon inside you does, because I've given you these three things since you woke up." The sadness was back and it broke Claire's heart. She pressed her lips to the finger that still barred her mouth, and shook her head once more. “I know what I felt when you took me here, and I know what I feel now. The exact same thing." "Call it attraction, then. Or lust. But not love. Vampires don't love. That's the first lesson you'll need to learn." She would have protested and argued with him all night if need be, anything until he understood that what she felt was real, but two things happened, one right after the other. A shiver ran from the base of her skull and down her spine, not of cold or fear or annoyance, something much more primal that that. "The sun just set,” Matthew said. “You'll get used to the feeling." He had just finished speaking when the door rattled, as though someone had tried to open it and found it locked. Three sharp knocks followed. "Damn. We should have been ready by now. Go get dressed, sweetie, I'll join you in a minute."

Her protest that they weren't done talking died on her lips at the sharp look he gave her, and she retreated to the bedroom, keeping an ear out for any sounds coming from the living area. She heard the lock click open, then the door, and a woman's flat voice. "You're not ready." Whatever Matthew answered, Claire didn't catch it. She found her dress and underwear folded on a chair, her shoes neatly positioned in front of it. She grimaced, wishing she had something else to wear, then took off the robe and picked up the garments. She was slipping the dress on when Matthew entered the room. He came to her and tugged the zipper all the way up. "There's a brush in the cabinet above the bathroom sink, if you want to brush you hair." With a murmur of thanks, Claire went to get the brush. The glance she threw in the direction of the living area on her way out revealed no one. Matthew had black pants on when she came back with the brush, and he was buttoning a dark blue shirt. Claire thought distractedly that it matched her dress. "It's Diane?” she asked as she started brushing her short hair. "It's Diane." "So we're really leaving?" Matthew threw her a quick glance at that before pulling a suitcase from beneath the bed. “We're really leaving. In just a few minutes." When he opened the suitcase, Claire could see it was already packed with clothing. Matthew walked around the room, adding only a few items in, including a video camera small enough to fit inside his hand that he picked up from the dresser. Claire knew what it was at once. "Is that ... the evidence?" Matthew picked up the camera again and turned it between his fingers. “It is. Small thing, but it could put an end to Jonas’ career. Itwill ." It did look innocuous, a small box of silver plastic and metal. Claire started reaching out toward it, wanting to see what it held, but thought better of it. She knew what Jonas did, she had known for months and not been able to do a thing about it. Now the matter was solved, or on its way to be. A little voice inside Claire was crowing that her Sire was the one who would stop Jonas. "You're ready?" He held out his hand. Claire gave him the hairbrush that he promptly dropped in the suitcase. She followed him out of the room and into the living area, where he placed his suitcase next to a slightly larger one by the door. "I need to go home and get some things,” Claire said to his back as he disappeared inside the kitchen. “I can't leave town without even a change of clothes."

When he reappeared, Diane was just a step behind him. She had a tall glass full of blood in her hand; Matthew held two. "I'll take you shopping when we arrive at our next lair.” He handed out a glass to her. “Drink up. It's going to be a long trip and we're not stopping for food." She took the glass but didn't bring it to her lips. She was uncomfortably aware of Diane's gaze on her, but she tried to ignore it and keep her eyes on Matthew. "It's not just the clothes. I can't leave everything I own behind me like this. I want—" "Who will invite you in?” Diane's quiet words seemed to echo in the room. “You're a vampire,” she continued, her voice still very mild. “You can't enter any home, not even your own unless someone who lives there invites you in. Who exactly will that be?" Taken aback. Claire looked from her to Matthew and back again. He looked sorry, but he wasn't offering her much help other than a small gesture to remind her to drink. "My friend Maggie!” she exclaimed after a few seconds. “She doesn't live there, but she has a key. I can ask her to grab some things for me and—" "No. We're leaving. Now." Diane's voice had hardened, and Claire didn't feel like she had a chance to convince her. Matthew on the other hand might side with her if she just said the right thing. "The letters! We can't leave those behind." Claire could see right away that he was hesitating, and from the dark look Diane gave him, so could she. "No. These damn letters will stay here. I didn't do all this to keep the status quo." From the icy tone of her voice, it was clear that her decision was final. She turned on her heel and reentered the kitchen. Matthew gave Claire an apologetic smile. "We'll be back some day. You'll get your things back. Now drink up, sweetie and let's go." The blood tasted bitter on Claire's tongue, as bitter as the realization that she was leaving her life behind her, and that, despite what Matthew said, it was unlikely she'd ever get any of it back. Her thoughts drifted toward the wedding dress in her closet, her most cherished possession, a reminder of her mother, and of the little girl she had once been, dreaming of a sumptuous wedding with a prince from a faraway land. Then Matthew reached over to run a finger along her cheek, and Claire's resentment withered. She'd never wear the dress, but at least she had her prince. All she needed to do was convince him that she truly loved him, and Diane's cold, calculating looks wouldn't stop her. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nineteen All three occupants of the elevator remained quiet while its mechanism creaked noisily. Two nights earlier, when going up, Claire hadn't noticed the sound at all; now it was all she could hear. It did nothing to help her sort through the jumbled pile of confusion that was her mind. While she had always been curious about vampires, maybe a little more than many people she knew, she had never thought about what it would be like to become one, much less wanted it. Now that she was a vamp, she found that the change did not bother her. Some things were still strange, of course, and would take time to get used to, like the increased sensitivity of her senses or the fact that she now fed on blood. Beyond the immediate feeling of strangeness, though, she was looking forward to growing into these new abilities and learning what being a vampire meant from day to day. The real difficulty for her wasn't what she was now. Rather, it came from Matthew. She observed him as the elevator stopped and he pulled up the safeguard for a couple to climb in. He gave the woman a perfectly polite if a little cold smile when she thanked him, then looked at Claire. His smile warmed up to hold the same quiet, gentle sadness he had shown when telling her vampires couldn't love. She knew what she felt for him. She had been attracted to him since she had first seen him dance at the club, and that superficial attraction had become something deeper when she had learned to know him through the letters he had exchanged with Helena and the conversations she had shared with him. Spending a night with him had only accentuated her feelings, and the butterflies in her stomach when she had first awakened to find him next to her hadn't lied. She could have told him, right there and then; she wished she had. Maybe then he would believe her instead of claiming that her feelings were the result of the bond that now linked them. This bond existed, Claire could hardly deny it when she had felt it from the first seconds of waking up as a vampire, but it merely strengthened what had already been there. She would need to find a way to make Matthew see that. The elevator finally reached the first floor. The couple walked out first, the man's arm around the woman's waist and their heads close together as they whispered loving words to each other. Claire heard every word. Envy was a longing pain, only heightened when Diane took Matthew's arm and stepped out of the elevator with him. They took a few steps together, each of them carrying a suitcase. They looked like a couple, every bit as much as the man and woman who had preceded them out. Frozen still, Claire could only wonder what her place was supposed to be. Matthew stopping and looking back shook her out of her torpor. By the time she reached him, Diane had let go of his arm and was walking ahead, already pushing past the building's entrance door. He took Claire's hand and they followed her. Claire wished that simple gesture had answered any of her questions. After the somewhat neutral environment of the apartment, stepping out into the street was as strange as stepping out onto a different planet altogether. Dozens of sensations assaulted Claire's senses, and she tightened her hand on Matthew's, her mind reeling with an overload of information. The irregularities of the sidewalk in front of her jumped to her eyes, and when she looked ahead she could see a small dent in the trunk of her car where it was parked on the side of the street. She knew the dent was there because she had noticed it before, but it had been broad daylight when she had, and she had been standing right next to the car. Somewhere in the street, music was playing out of an open window, and she could hear someone humming along with it. The cars passing by roared as loudly as though they had been on a racetrack. The smell was overwhelming, and she fought very hard not to try to

separate the many strands that wove together to form a pungent odor she had never noticed before. It was so strong, she could practically taste it; the urge to spit was hard to control. Shutting all of these sensations out seemed like the best thing to do, and Claire tried to do just that by deliberately not inhaling, narrowing her eyes and looking down at her feet as she walked. She struggled not to shove her fingers into her ears. Matthew stopped walking and looked at her, an eyebrow raised. He seemed to understand what was happening because his face softened and he spoke very quietly. "Don't try to stop it, and don't try to identify it all either. Let it all roll over you until you get used to it. It'll take weeks before you stop noticing everything, but the sooner you accept the extra input, the easier it'll be to deal with." Claire tried, but found herself growing dizzy as she struggled to assimilate too much information. “I can't..." "Yes, you can. Choose one thing and focus on it and nothing else. Don't block the rest, just let it pass through you. One thing, sweetie." His thumb was stroking against the back of her hand. It was a light touch, barely there, the echo of a caress, but its regular rhythm soothed Claire and grounded her enough that she let out a quiet sigh. "OK. Better." They started walking again. Claire tried not to think of anything save for the repetitive motion of his thumb on her skin. It took her a few moments to realize that the woman striding past her car, her ankle-length dress billowing around her legs and her heels clicking on the pavement was Diane. "My car..." "We have a car in a garage just past the corner,” Matthew said when she didn't finish. “With enough light proofing in case we're still on the road by morning." 'We’ again. Every time Claire heard that word in Matthew's mouth, she couldn't help wondering who he meant. He and Diane, he and Claire, or all three of them? From what she had witnessed so far, Matthew followed where Diane led, whether it meant leaving town or turning Claire. He had called her his Sire, but Claire suspected she was more than that. She wasn't sure what role that left for her. "Where are we going?” she asked, both because she had just realized he had never answered her and because she wanted to hear his voice again. What she heard, however, was spite and reprobation, coming from a side alley just as they were passing it. "Yeah, I'd like to know that too, so I know where to find you when you cry out for help." Claire's hand tightened over Matthew as a flash of fear coursed through her. Had she been human, her heart would have been racing. But then, if she had been human she wouldn't have been afraid of Jonas—at least, not for herself.

"I thought I made myself clear about you leaving Claire alone,” Matthew lashed out, his words cold as the dead of winter. "Funny, I thoughtI had made myself clear about it." A gust of wind brought Jonas’ scent to Claire. She had never known before that instant that jealousy was a smell as well as a feeling, but she recognized it instantly. It was acrid, like the smell of burning tires, and it irritated her nose. She rubbed at it with the back of her hand. In a blink, the acridness disappeared. The shock in Jonas’ widening eyes as he looked from her neck to her face was plain enough that Claire knew immediately what he had just figured out. He had often claimed he could identify vampires on sight, but she had never realized until now it was more than boasting on his part. "Fuck, Claire, no..." His right hand shot to the stake at his belt and he gripped it so hard his knuckles turned white. He didn't pull it out, though, not yet. "Don't even think about it,” Matthew practically growled. He angled his body so that he fully shielded Claire. “If you even try to touch a hair of her head—" "Touch her?” Jonas spat. “You're the one who did this. I should have dusted you that first night before you could hurt her!" Claire couldn't see him anymore, but she could hear his heels on the sidewalk, coming closer. Matthew let go of the suitcase handle and it made a dull sound as it fell. Claire reacted instantly. She stepped to the side, evading Matthew's arm when it shot up to push her back. Raising her hand up toward Jonas, fingers spread out, she wished she could find the words to stop him now before it became ugly. "Please don't." Jonas shook his head. After the way he had talked to her when performing the disinvite on her house, she would have expected a resounding, “I told you so” and the same disgust he always showed when talking about a newly turned vampire. What she saw instead, anger and even, maybe, just a bit of sadness, surprised her a little. "You've accused me of killing vamps without cause. You think I'll let go of the one who killed the woman I was going to marry?" After all these months, she was taken aback to hear him refer to her as such, but she didn't have time to figure out what it meant. "He didn't kill me." Jonas laugh was almost a bark. “And I'm supposed to believe that?" "You're supposed to believeme ." "You're not the woman I knew. Not anymore." He took a step closer, straightening so that he was standing of all his height. Claire could feel Matthew tense at her side, and she was sure he would get between her and Jonas again. She didn't give him time,

and placed herself in front of him instead. "What do you think you're doing?” he hissed into her ear. She didn't answer him, and stood her ground when his hand closed on her shoulder and tried to pull her back. Keeping her chin high and her eyes on Jonas, she put all her conviction in her words. "I'm leaving town, Jonas. My...” She caught herself just before calling Matthew her Sire. She doubted Jonas would have been impressed. “...friend is coming with me. And if you ever loved me, you'll let us go." He was laughing again before she even finished. "It's because I lovedClaire that I'll avenge her, don't you get that?" She was about to start arguing with him when she realized something. His scent, his voice, the way he stood and finally eased the stake out of the loop of leather, all gave the same distinct feeling to her. She knew him well enough to know when he lied, and this wasn't it. He truly believed the Claire he had known was gone, and that killing her killer was the right thing to do. She wouldn't make him change his mind, not like this, and if he didn't change his mind, someone here was going to get hurt, or worse. "Unless..." She blinked in surprise. In her experience, Jonas didn't yield, not when he thought he was right, not like this. "Unless what?” Matthew asked. His voice was steel. Jonas’ eyes narrowed. “You mentioned a video." Claire shook her head in disbelief. Seconds ago, Jonas had been promising vengeance for her death, and now he seemed only interested in protecting himself. A car came to a stop in the street behind Matthew and Claire, and Diane's voice rose, calling for them. Jonas gave the car and its driver a cursory glance before looking at Matthew, now ignoring Claire even as she stood between the two men. "Give it to me,” he continued, “and I'll let you leave. No hunting you down, no alert sent to the S.E. network. Free pass." Claire snorted. “Free pass for who? If you believe for one second—" "Get in the car, sweetie." Startled, she looked at Matthew. His eyes were still on Jonas. "What? You can't mean—" "Go ahead. Now." There was an edge in his voice that made Claire's shoulders tense.

"He kills vampires who have done nothing to deserve it,” she insisted. "And right now he's menacing to kill you. In the car, Claire." As much as she wanted to protest still, she realized that she couldn't; the part of her that had known as soon as she had awakened that Matthew was her Sire refused to let her. She gave him a look that, she hoped, said how much she disagreed, and walked to the car where Diane opened the back door for her. She slipped in and closed the door again, watching what was going on through the tinted windows. Matthew had picked up the suitcase and opened it, just enough to slip his hand inside. The camera came out, the silver gleaming in the night. It changed hands. There was some talking, which Claire didn't pay attention to. She had hoped for so long for evidence to strip Jonas of his Special Enforcer license, and now it was slipping out of her hands. Never turning his back on Jonas, Matthew walked to the car. He threw the suitcase in the trunk before opening Claire's door. She scooted back to make room for him, and through the door heard Jonas’ parting words. "If you ever bring her back ... you're both dust." Diane started the car. Within minutes, they had passed the city limits. Claire kept her tongue as long as she could, but she just had to let out her disappointment. "I wish you hadn't given the video to him." Next to her, Matthew reached to take her hand and squeezed it. “We got out of there without a scuffle. That was worth the video." She was about to protest, but Matthew didn't give her time. “Itwas worth it. You're safe, and that's worth anything. Besides, we can get more evidence." She doubted it would be that easy, but Matthew's tone made it clear that it was useless arguing. She fell silent for a little while, and then the words slipped out before she could stop herself. "I can never go back, can I?" She knew the answer already; she had known since realizing that for Jonas, she was dead and gone. If he ever saw her again, he wouldn't be seeing Claire, only a vampire he would have no qualms about killing with or without reason. But even though she knew she had just left her life behind her, both figuratively speaking and very concretely, she needed to hear someone confirm it to make it more real. She had directed the question toward Matthew, but his only answer was to pull their linked hands to his lips for a kiss. The same sadness Claire had noticed before but still couldn't understand filled his gesture and face. From behind the wheel, Diane spoke without looking back at them. "You'll learn that never is not a word vampires use too often. You will go back, if you want to, just not anytime soon." The car reached the highway; Diane inserted herself easily into the traffic and sped up. Behind the tinted glass, other cars were little more than trails of light, as ephemeral as the fireflies in Claire's backyard. She wondered if she'd ever sit on the porch again to enjoy a quiet night.

"I know it's hard,” Matthew murmured, drawing her attention back to him, “but in time you'll get used to it." Claire considered his words for a few moments. He meant well, she could see that, but he didn't seem to understand what she felt. "No, it's not that hard.” She leaned toward him, resting her head against his shoulder and her hand on his thigh, and closed her eyes. “Not anywhere near as hard as it could have been." She didn't finish the thought, unwilling to voice it where Diane could hear, but hoped that Matthew understood. He might not believe she loved him yet, but she did. Starting a new existence by his side, even with so many unknowns, wasn't such a hardship at all. **** Diane drove for half the night, then Matthew took over, continuing to go north. He kept glancing back in the rear-mirror, half expecting to see Claire in it. Every time he didn't, a jolt of guilt ran through him. She had said it wasn't hard for her, but it definitely was for him. "I can take a turn at driving if you want." "I'm fine, sweetie. We're almost there." A couple hours at the most, and they would be on their new hunting grounds. Diane had called their landlady there when they had stopped for gas and asked for the apartment to be cleaned and supplied in blood by the time they arrived. Matthew had heard her ask for clothes in Claire's size as well. He regretted not having thought of it himself. Next to him, Diane cleared her throat. When he glanced at her, she had shifted in the passenger seat so that her back was to the door and she was facing him. "That's all you're going to tell yourChilde ?" Matthew's hands tightened on the steering wheel at the stress she put on that last word. She did not need to remind him what Claire was; he was highly unlikely to forget what had happened. "What else do you want me to tell her?" "You could start by explaining that her reflexes are much faster than they used to be, and she needs to get used to them before trying to drive.” Her voice was strange, part indifference and part ice. Matthew wasn't sure which was the true feeling. “You could also say that there's blood in the cooler if she's hungry, which she's obviously been for hours even if she hasn't said a word. You'd have noticed if you weren't so lost in your own mind. And while you're at it, you could tell her more about the way we hunt, that is, if you even started on that." Matthew kept his eyes on the road and pushed a little harder on the gas pedal. "I have time to tell her about all that.” He had to struggle to speak, his jaw clenching so that he wouldn't blurt out Diane hadn't been so forthcoming with information when she had turned him. “I don't want to overwhelm her."

"You don't want to overwhelm her?” Diane snorted. “So you'd rather leave her to be confused and lost—" "I'm here, you know. So please stop talking about me like I'm not." Claire's words were calm, but a tiny bit of annoyance colored them. Matthew threw a glance at the rear view mirror, only realizing his mistake too late. It didn't escape Diane's scrutiny however; he saw her shake her head from the corner of his eyes. "I could ask questions if I wanted to,” Claire continued. “I can speak for myself." The seat creaked slightly as Diane shifted on it, turning toward the back of the car. Whatever transpired between the two women, Matthew wasn't privy to it, and he tried not to wonder. When Diane turned back to face the road, there was a hidden spark of laughter in her tone. "You might want to teach her respect for her elders, too.” She paused for a few seconds, then added more seriously. “At least she's defending you. That's a start." Matthew could imagine himself slamming on the brakes until the car stopped and getting out of it. He had never before wanted to get away from Diane, but every second in this car with her, Claire and his guilt was turning the borrowed blood in his veins to acid. He kept driving, though, going yet a little faster so that they'd arrive that much sooner. He kept driving, because he didn't know what would be worse: stopping and leaving both Diane and Claire behind, or taking Claire with him, and have no one left to blame but himself when he looked at her. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty Claire had thought and hoped that she would be alone with Matthew again once they arrived wherever they were going. Alone with him, she would have felt more comfortable asking questions and giving in to her need to touch him. In the car, when he had taken the wheel, she had needed to fight herself not to reach over and simply lay her hand on his shoulder or on his arm. She didn't want to know what Diane would have said if she had. With the sharp tongue Diane had used toward Matthew, it almost seemed as though she regretted killing Claire and having her around. When they reached their destination however, it soon became clear that Diane wasn't going anywhere, and Claire was a little dismayed to discover that the three of them would live in the two-bedroom apartment together. "Something wrong, sweetie?" From behind the threshold, Claire looked inside. Diane was already disappearing past a door on the left of the large living area, while Matthew waited just inside the apartment, a suitcase in hand and a slight frown on his face. Next to him, Laura Ashfield, the landlady who had just uttered an invitation for Claire to enter, gave a discreet glance at her watch. It was close to five in the morning. "Nothing wrong,” she lied, and walked in.

Matthew gave her a small approving smile that soothed her at the same time as it made her feel silly. Something inside her still needed him to be proud of her, but entering their new home was hardly a feat to be celebrated. "The clothes are in the second bedroom,” Laura announced, guiding Matthew and Claire down to a room facing the one Diane had entered. “The selection was limited at this hour but I did my best. I hope you'll approve of my choices." The cream walls of the bedroom matched the heavy drapes covering the window as well as the bed's comforter. The effect was to make the room seem bland, and even the solid wood of the headboard and dressers did not change that. It looked like a bedroom that had rarely been used until this night, the antithesis to Matthew's space in his old apartment. Claire knew, then, that she would sleep alone in that bed. Her chest seemed to compress abruptly, feeling strangely hollow. "Claire? Did you hear me?" Blinking away her disappointment, Claire looked at her Sire, and tried to keep the betrayal she felt out of her eyes. "Do you like the clothes?" Her eyes followed his gesture to the foot of the bed, and the neat piles of clothes she hadn't noticed before. Jeans, shirts, underwear, mostly in blue and green colors. "Nice,” she replied without thinking. "I hope they fit you.” Laura gave her an appraising look. “I think they will. The measurements seem right. As for the colors...” She gave Matthew an impish grin. “I took the liberty of going with your favorites." Only then did it dawn on Claire that the clothes were for her. Matthew had to have asked Laura to get them for her, so she would have something to change into as soon as they arrived. Her chest loosened slightly, enough for her to smile. "Thank you. It all looks great." Laura nodded gracefully before leaving the room, while Matthew looked at Claire as though trying to decipher a riddle. "Thank Diane. She's the one who thought of this and guessed your clothing size. We'll get you more tomorrow night. Why don't you put it all away in the dresser? I need to talk to Laura." With his words and his departure, Claire's spirit tumbled down again as she became certain that the room would be for her alone while Matthew slept with Diane. It would certainly fit with the distance he had put between them since they had left. Trying not to think, she transferred the clothes to the nearest dresser. She stepped out of her shoes, then undressed and stood in the middle of the room for a moment, torn between the desire to take a shower after the long trip and the bleakness that had draped over her and made even the smallest effort seem beyond her power. She climbed onto the bed and curled up, drawing the comforter over her. She felt cold but it had nothing to do with the coolness of the fabric on her skin, a tactile memory rather than

actual sensation. On the edge of her consciousness, she could hear Matthew's voice, and Laura's, then the click of a door being locked. Next came the buzzing of an appliance, and Matthew's voice again, this time talking to Diane. Claire hummed quietly to herself to drown out their words, then their steps in the apartment. She wasn't sure she'd be able to ignore them if they started doing more than talking. Not if. When. "I brought you ... Claire? You're asleep?" Claire's fist tightened where she clutched the edge of the comforter over her. She kept her eyes closed despite what her other senses were telling her. Matthew was close, so very close, and he had brought her blood. She was hungry, she had been for hours, but she preferred not to see Matthew again before he abandoned her. He had to know she was only pretending to be asleep, her clenched fist and eyelids had to give her away, but his gestures were gentle as he opened the bed and shifted Claire until she was lying beneath the cover rather than on top of it. Her body involuntarily tensed then, waiting for his footsteps as he left the room. Instead, she heard the soft rustling of fabric falling to the floor before the bed dipped under his weight. He came right behind her, molding his body to hers, and wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer. "It'll be all right, sweetheart,” he murmured against the base of her skull. “I'm sorry I couldn't stop it, but it'll be all right. I'm here for you, as long as you need me." Claire wanted to weep with joy. She wanted to tell him that she wouldn't forget his words, and that she'd always need him. She wanted to tell him, again, that she loved him until he believed her. All she could do however was turn in his embrace to face him and lay her lips upon his, hoping that a kiss might tell him even half of what was running through her mind. "It'll be all right,” he repeated after a little while. He had guided her head to rest at the crook of his neck and was running a slow hand up and down her back. “Tomorrow night, I'll start showing you what it's like to be a vampire. You'll feel better when it starts making sense." She opened her mouth to ask if the lessons would include an explanation of what Diane was to him exactly, or how Claire fit into their relationship, but the words refused to pass her throat and she closed her mouth again, her teeth clicking lightly, then pressed her lips to his skin. His hand stopped in the middle of her back. “Are you hungry?" "Yes." She knew there was a glass of blood nearby, probably on the bedside table, and she expected Matthew to remind her of it. Instead, his hand slid to cup the back of her head. "First lesson, then. Extend your fangs, then bite. Do not hesitate, but do not go too fast either. Nice and easy." She followed his directions and sank her fangs in the curve of his shoulder. "That's it. If you go too fast or if you hesitate, they'll tense up and you'll hurt them. Now retract your fangs, still nice and easy. Take slow pulls on my blood, as regular as you can."

She continued to do as he said, vaguely aware that she had been much rougher when she had drunk from him before; she had to have hurt him. She would apologize, later, and thank him for teaching her. She was determined to learn everything he decided she needed to know, and to prove herself the best pupil he could possibly have. Over the course of the following weeks, she had many occasions to show how well she could listen, with every night bringing a new lesson on how to hunt, how to feed, how to defend herself or how to use her enhanced senses. Matthew's praises, however hard Claire tried to make him proud, remained few and far between. **** It was a good thing that vampires couldn't throw up; if they could, Matthew would have when he observed Claire biting her first human. "Slowly now.” He forced the words out and fought to keep watching. “If you drink too fast, you'll hurt him and you're more likely to take too much. Remember, three or four slow mouthfuls, no more." "She's doing fine,” her willing prey drawled. “Why don't you quiet down and let us enjoy the moment?" Matthew's gaze drifted from the man's wrist in the cradle of Claire's hands and lips to his face. His heavy eyelids and silly smile made it clear that he did enjoy her touch, but if anything they annoyed Matthew. He could only blame himself, though. He was the one who had brought Claire to this bar and who had chosen her first prey for her. He could see the instant when she stopped pulling on the man's blood. Her mouth stayed in place a few more seconds, just like he had taught her. She was the perfect student, so eager to show she had listened to him and had understood what he wanted her to do. So eager to please him. His stomach roiled, the feeling as unpleasant as it was impossible. Finally done, Claire exchanged a few words with her prey before he left their table, issuing an invitation for her to look for him on her own, next time. She looked up at Matthew, eyes and smile shining bright. "That was ... I'd never have thought..." "So you liked it, then?" "Of course I did! It's a hundred times better than blood bags!" There was a bounce to her step when she stood and pulled Matthew to his feet with a gentle tug on his arm. "Let's find another one. Have you eaten yet?" The simple thought of her watching him feed was making Matthew nauseous. "I'm not hungry." **** "You want me to do what?"

Eyes wide, Claire stared at Matthew with incomprehension. She had gone along with the practice biting because he had said she needed to control her bite, but this... "Hit me. Or try to." "But I don't want to—" "Wanting has nothing to do with it. And don't believe for a second that you're going to hurt me. I know you took martial arts lessons when you were a child, I want to see how much you remember." Claire still stood frozen in the middle of the living room, still unable to comprehend what Matthew expected of her. He had pushed the furniture to the perimeter of the room, freeing a large space in the middle, and then made his strange request for her to attack him. "He hasn't lost his mind,” Diane commented from the side of the room. Claire looked at her. Leaning against the wall near the kitchen, she seemed very close to laughing aloud. "You know firsthand that not all Special Enforcers play by the rules,” she continued. “And some vampires are highly protective of what they think of as their territory or hunting grounds. Sooner or later, you'll have to fight, and how well you do will determine how long you live." When she returned her attention to Matthew, he was nodding. She wished he had explained his strange request himself rather than waited for Diane to do it. "Come on, sweetie. Show me what you can do." It had been more than fifteen years since she had taken her last karate lesson, and Claire wasn't sure she remembered anything at all. With hesitation still coursing through her, she gave an absentminded little bow and, without much enthusiasm, launched her first attack. Her right foot flew through the air toward Matthew's midsection. He not only avoided it, but he also caught her bare ankle and held it up. Claire had to hop and flail in a rather undignified fashion not to fall on her behind. "How about you try again,” Matthew said with a snort. “And this time you actually try to hit me?" He let go of her foot and Claire felt embarrassment sweep through her. The feeling only worsened when Diane chuckled behind her. On her second try, she put more force behind her blow, and while she still didn't touch Matthew, he nodded his approval. "Better. I'm sure with a little training, it'll all come back to you. You'll be faster, have better reflexes and more strength to put behind your blows, so you should be able to defend yourself if you ever have to." There was more to his words, a hidden but very obvious, “if I'm not there to help you,” that made Claire want to scoff and protest at the same time. Scoff because she had never hidden behind a man before and wasn't about to start now. Protest because he'd always be there for her. He had promised as much. But as was so often the case, she kept her thoughts to herself rather than reveal them where Diane could hear, and at Matthew's prompt launched another attack. Before long, they were sparring, Matthew showing her new moves, and Claire found herself almost eager to be given a reason to truly fight. She would make her Sire proud. ****

The balcony had always been Matthew's favorite feature of this apartment. Standing there, seven floors above the noisy downtown streets, he could see not only the town, but also its suburbs. On very clear nights, the view extended all the way to the ocean. "Tell me. What do you smell?" At his side, Claire took a deep breath in through her nose. Her hands tightened a little on the railing as though she needed the support to stand upright. "It's too much,” she sighed after a few seconds. “It's all ... jumbled together. And it's not nice." She rubbed at her nose with the back of two fingers before clutching the railing again. Matthew leaned against it, resting his forearms on the wide metal guard. Like she had an instant earlier, he took a deep breath in. The scents that had been lurking just beyond his consciousness leaped forward and he grabbed at one of them. "There's a bakery down the street. They make the most wonderful bread from scratch. Can you smell it?" From the corner of his eye, he could see Claire shaking her head. "You know what bread smells like, don't you? Warm bread, just out of the oven, the wheat perfuming the air all around ... Focus on that smell. Remember it, and look for it in the mix of scents of the city. Untangle the threads until you can—" "I have it!" He turned toward her at her exclamation. Her face radiated both surprise and joy, and he couldn't help smiling at her pleasure. "Good. Now that you have it, hold it tight and push it away. Out of your mind. Push it back until you're not aware of it anymore." Long moments passed. Matthew could see the struggle in the tension of her body and in her rigid knuckles, still grabbing the railing. Then all at once, her stance loosened and she breathed a heavy sigh. "Good,” Matthew murmured. “Now the next scent. This time, you find it." And she did. **** Low ceilings and dark velvet draperies covering the walls made the bar appear smaller than it truly was. After the large, bright open spaces of On The Edge, it was oppressive enough to make Claire feel claustrophobic. She had thought she would get used to it, but after seven nights of visiting the bar, the feeling was only getting stronger. She was seated alone in a small booth, her hands splayed on the table, framing the half empty glass in front of her. The marble was black silk beneath her fingers. She followed the veins of gray with her eyes, focusing on them so she wouldn't look up and see the humans passing by. The first nights, she had watched with both trepidation and interest, taking in the sight and scent of the customers, wondering what they saw in her when they returned her scrutiny. She had quickly tired of the elegant clothes and haughty

looks of the town's finest citizens. Even without looking, she was all too aware of their presence. She could hear them, soft steps on the lush carpet and excited heartbeats that drowned the piano notes descending from the scene in the middle of the bar. Sitting in the open, where she could have seen the skilled hands of the musician playing over the keys, might have helped her not feel caged. However, when they had arrived the first time, Matthew had explained in hushed tones that sitting in a booth signaled that she wanted nothing more than blood, while sitting in the open broadened the invitation. His hand had been firm on her arm when he had guided her to a booth and left her there as he slid into a nearby one. One vampire per booth, waiting for a human to show his or her interest, that was the rule of the establishment. One of the many rules. "Hello. May I sit down?" The woman standing just past Claire's table looked at her with a nervous smile, her hands clenched on a drink she held in front of her. Numerous fine lines over her face and silver threads woven through her dark hair gave away her age, somewhere in her fifties. Claire had always felt she was one of the oldest customers of On The Edge; she wouldn't have imagined finding someone that much older in a blood bar. She waved her hand in an inviting gesture. “Please do." The woman sat down on the cushioned bench across from Claire. The glass of soda clanked softly when her shaky hand deposited it on the table. Claire observed her, trying to understand what had brought her there. Her conservative clothes and discreet jewelry did not point toward a woman who sought thrills to spice up her life like so many other customers here. As for her scent, it was laced with fear but without the anticipation Claire had learned to associate with the humans coming to such a place. "Hardly the place for a lady,” Claire commented before taking a sip of her beer. The woman's cheeks colored lightly, but when she talked her voice was firm. “On the contrary. This is the most upscale establishment of this type in town." Matthew had told Claire as much, promising her sophisticated prey to feed on, and she had since realized he had been right. She still wasn't sure how that mattered exactly; blood was blood. "I have a feeling tonight is your first time here. Can I ask what you're looking for?" The fear was still in her scent when the woman extended her arm over the narrow table, offering the inside of her wrist to Claire, but she wasn't shaking anymore. "I want to understand what would bring my son to places like this one. Now will you do this for me, or not?" Smiling at the reluctant impatience now coloring her prey's voice, Claire nodded. With gentle hands, she took hold of the proffered wrist and pulled it up toward her mouth, leaning forward at the same time. The skin felt a little like dry parchment against her lips. It parted easily when she sank in her fangs and pierced the wrist. The woman gasped, then again when Claire started pulling on her blood, slow but strong sucks. Four mouthfuls, no more, Matthew had warned her over and over, and she obeyed his instructions to the letter even when she wanted more. Then, for a few seconds, she pressed the flat of her tongue to the wounds, waiting for the flow of blood to cease. When it did, she pulled back and gently laid the woman's hand on the table. For the first time since biting her, she looked up at her face. Her features reflected

shock and some pain, but, more than that, it showed the incomprehension Claire had expected. "You won't understand him,” she said, trying to soften her words with a gentle tone. “Not like this. If he allows vampires to bite him, it isn't with the same fear you're feeling right now. You'd have to actually want the bite itself to begin to understand, want to be prey, and to both seduce and be seduced, and to—but if you wanted all that, you wouldn't be wondering why he does it." The woman drew her arm back to her and traced the two puckered bite marks with a finger. Her heartbeat slowly calmed down, at the same time as her scent slowly shifted from the spice of fear to the sourness of despair. Tears began filling her eyes, but she blinked them away. "Did you ... I mean ... Is this how you became a vampire? By going to ... to places like this one? Is this going to happen to him too?" Claire opened her mouth, ready to reply it had been the case for her but it didn't mean the woman's son would be killed too. A quiet laugh, somewhere in the club, stopped her. It wasn't Diane's; she wasn't here tonight, having rolled her eyes when Matthew had told her where he was taking Claire once again. But the laugh reminded Claire that her visits to On The Edge weren't to blame for what she was now. She had been perfectly safe until Diane had decided Matthew ought to turn her. "I have no answer for you,” Claire said as she slipped out of the booth. “The only one who does is your son." With a quiet word of thanks, she walked over to the coat check. Matthew joined her before she had even slipped her jacket on. "You've fed enough?" The doubtful edge of his words clearly let her know what he thought. She shrugged off the hand that was trying to straighten the collar of her jacket and went for the double doors, knowing he would follow. "I don't like this place." She took a deep breath when she stepped into the street, as deep as it was useless. The cold air, even laced with the many scents of a town she had learned to ignore, was refreshing and cleared her head. She could feel the weight of Matthew's eyes on her, inquisitive and puzzled. "It's one of the nicest blood bars I've ever been in. What else do you need?" "I guess I don't like blood bars in general, then.” She started walking, and looped her arm with Matthew's when he fell into step with her. “It's too...” She hesitated, finding it difficult to put a word on her discomfort. “It makes me feel ... cheap. Like I was on display for someone to buy me with a little blood." She shook her head, but the feeling still clung to her. Matthew ran a soothing hand over her arm. "Think of it as an offering they make to you." She tried to wrap her mind around the idea, but it wasn't working. Her thoughts kept drifting back to On The Edge, and the flirting games she had witnessed there, and even played. Predator and prey, each aware of what they were, dancing around each other and enjoying the chase and the anticipation as much

as whatever finally came out of it. That was what hunting ought to be, a game of seduction rather than a scared human choosing her as she put herself on display in a velvet-lined booth. "I want to go to a club,” she said, making her voice as determined as she knew how. “Like On The Edge—" "There's no other club like that one in the country,” Matthew interrupted her. "Then a regular club,” she insisted. “Wherever Diane went tonight. Anywhere but a blood bar." Matthew did not reply, and when Claire glanced at his face, he was looking straight ahead, his jaw locked with visible tension. "You're not ready,” he said after a few minutes, and his voice made it clear that it was useless to keep pushing now. Claire swallowed back her arguments, keeping them for another time when he would be ready to listen to her. She wouldn't relent, not when she knew that Matthew enjoyed the chase as much as she thought she would. She had watched him for too long from that suspended bridge not to be aware of it. Eventually, he'd have to relent, and then she'd get to hunt like a proper vampire. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-One If Claire closed her eyes, it was easy to believe she was back to Haventown, back to On The Edge and the first night she had danced in Matthew's arms. The music was the same; the loud, slow, heavy beat drummed through her body, an echo of the heartbeat that hadn't pulsed in her chest for two months. Against her, so close she could feel his muscles flexing as he swayed, Matthew was leading her through the steps as he had been leading her since she had been turned, guiding her through a new existence and all that entailed. The gentle slide of his hand up and down her spine was both soothing and exhilarating, calming her mind as it reeled with the presence of so many potential prey around them and at the same time making her crave more—more of his hands on her, more blood, his or any human's, she wasn't sure anymore, she only knew shewanted . She remained where she was, however, waiting for the moment he would grant her permission to hunt. Soon, now, she was sure. With her hands resting on his shoulders, she could feel the tension building there as the time approached. He hadn't wanted to take her to this club, arguing that blood bars were a safer, easier way to get the blood they needed. What he didn't seem to understand was that she didn't care. She wanted to hunt. She wanted to choose and seduce a prey until she was offered blood. She wanted to do what she had seen Matthew do so many times, with so many prey. It had taken her weeks of trying to convince him and finally it had been Diane who had made him yield. "Stop pretending your girl is anything other than a huntress,” she had lashed out, intruding on their discussion. “She is hardly the defenseless kitten you'd like her to be." Claire had been as surprised by the unexpected help as she had been by the form it had taken. If Matthew had wanted her to be defenseless, he wouldn't have taught her how to fight. After her

reproaches to Matthew in the car that first night, Diane had seemed to lose all interest in Claire until taking her side in that heated discussion. Matthew had seemed shocked by her exasperated intervention, shocked enough that he had nodded his assent without further arguments. Even so, he had repeated countless admonitions to Claire on their way to the club, and he hadn't let go of her since they had arrived, his hand always curled at her waist or wrapped around her own. She didn't mind, far from it. It was the first open display of affection he had offered her in weeks. When he taught her, and he had done little more since she had become his Childe, he looked at her through the dispassionate eyes of a teacher, not those of a lover. If she had her say in it, she would show him before long that she had learned her lessons well and that he could be proud of her. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Eyes still closed, Claire chuckled against Matthew's chest. "I don't just want to do this. I need to do this. And you know I do, because you need it too." She thought, for a moment, that he would deny it. She wouldn't have believed it, not when she could feel his hunger in the way his body remained poised, when she could smell it in the lustful scent that tickled her nose. He had deprived not only her, when refusing to take her to hunt. He had deprived himself as well. "Go then.” He sighed against her forehead. “Go, hunt, and be careful." Claire opened her eyes and raised herself to her toes to brush her lips to Matthew's. His hands dropped from her waist, and although she missed his touch right away, she was smiling when she stepped away from him and looked around. The closest dancers were just far enough to be out of reach. Mirrors on the ceiling had alerted the crowd that she and Matthew were vampires as soon as they had stepped in. By law, club's owners could not refuse entrance to vampires, but nothing prevented them from using mirrors to alert their human customers to who was dancing next to them. Vampires intrigued most humans, but the majority of them were wary enough not to want anything more than a close look and the opportunity to boast to their friends that they had seen a real vamp. There were more daring ones, however, and they weren't hard to find. Eyes that looked directly at Claire instead of turning away when she glanced in their direction were a good clue about who might play with her rather than flee. Three men and a woman, in particular, caught her attention. She chose the one who was closest to her in height; it would be nice for once to be able to look at someone without craning her neck. That his hair and eyes mirrored Matthew's wasn't as much of a coincidence as she told herself it was. The music changed as she took her first step toward the man, the tempo accelerating just like she imagined his heartbeat would. Their eyes locked. He gulped nervously, but didn't try to flee. She smiled. She had a feeling this would be even more fun than she had ever imagined. **** As soon as Claire started dancing with her chosen prey, Matthew turned away. He couldn't watch her do this. He couldn't even think of her doing this. A dozen steps took him to the bar, the humans parting in front of him so quickly that he imagined he had to look menacing. He didn't care. "Scotch. No ice." A couple other customers at the bar gave him dark looks as he jumped the line, but the bartender served

him right away, the expression on his face both wary and tense. "You might want to know there's a Special Enforcer here tonight,” the bartender said, his voice very low, when he placed the glass in front of Matthew. “And there are cameras both inside and outside." The warning was clear, but Matthew ignored it, just as he ignored the way people around him seemed to pull back as they understood what he was. He missed On The Edge and the easy prey that had come there. He missed the mixed blood and alcohol they served there. He missed feeling Claire's eyes on him. With some surprise he realized he had emptied his glass already. The taste of alcohol tingled on his tongue, but it did not in any way help the growing void inside him. He turned back toward the dance floor and leaned against the bar. Instantly his eyes found Claire. With her back to him, she was dancing close, very close to the man she had chosen, her arms raised and waving to the rhythm of the music like so many around her. The man's hands were resting on the curves of her hips and Matthew found himself staring at them, at those splayed fingers slowly sliding toward her ass. He cursed when other dancers got in the way, startling the woman on his right. She pulled back a little more, he noticed from the corner of his eye. "What a freak. They shouldn't let vamps in here." He heard her mutter as clearly as though she had shouted. He didn't pay it or her any mind, his entire attention focused on the glimpses he was getting of Claire and her prey. His hands were blatantly cupping her ass now. The protests he had expected and the slap he had almost hoped for didn't come. Instead, she kept dancing, now lowering her arms to loop around the man's neck. He practically jumped, and his hands retreated back to Claire's hips. Matthew could feel the smile pushing at his lips. There was no way she'd get anything more than a dance and some groping out of this guy. Matthew had met many humans like him, over the years. He knew what she was and he was intrigued enough to let her get close for a little while, but when it would come down to it, when she would hint at wanting a taste of him, he would balk and backpedal and she'd be left holding nothing more than air. A hard way to end her first time in a place like this, but maybe it would dampen her desire to play the hunting game. Matthew could only hope she'd be content with blood bars after tonight. The crowd moved just long enough for Matthew to see the two of them completely once more just as Claire was leaning in, her mouth trailing over her prey's neck. Matthew cursed again. If she tried to bite him here, in full view of whoever was watching, he was going to kick her ass back to the apartment. Hadn't he taught her anything? He had the time to throw a bill on the counter and take two steps before her prey threw his head back and laughed. The man was smiling when he looked back at Claire. He murmured something in her ear. The next moment, they were walking together toward the exit. Blinking his surprise away, Matthew followed them out. They were out of sight when he reached the cool night air, but all he had to do was follow Claire's scent and the man's furious heartbeat to the nearest back alley. "You ... you won't kill me, right?" There was an edge of fear to the whispered words, but that fear wasn't enough for the human to stop Claire from urging him back until he was leaning against a wall. "I won't,” she replied, no trace of humor in her words. “Trust me."

The man tilted his head to one side, an unequivocal answer if there had ever been one, and Claire closed in on him. Matthew tried to turn away but his body refused to obey him. The trickling seconds, as Claire's mouth remained at the man's throat, seemed to stretch into hours, made even more unbearable by the man's small sounds of pleasure. She had learned well, Matthew thought. Maybe even too well. When she finally stopped and pulled back, it was clear that her prey was only standing thanks to the wall at his back. "That was ... Wow. I never imagined ... it felt..." Claire chuckled at the man's incoherence. "I think I'll take that as a compliment." "Oh, it is, definitely." Finding his legs again, the man pushed away from the wall and raised a hand toward Claire's face. Matthew swallowed the growl rising at the back of his throat. "Listen,” the man continued, his voice regaining a little assurance, “I've never done this before, so I'm sorry if I'm being rude or presumptuous but I ... I mean ... Would you like to come home with me?" It was more than enough for Matthew. "Childe." He did not raise his voice to call her, but her face whipped toward him as though he had shouted. There was no surprise on her face, and Matthew wondered if she had known all along that he was watching her. "We're leaving." Immediately, she was coming to him, and Matthew wanted to let out a sigh of relief. "Hey, wait, where are you—" This time, Matthew did nothing to stop the growl from passing his lips. The human seemed to get the message very clearly and he stopped following Claire. Judging by her small smile when she reached Matthew, she had understood as well. Annoyed with himself, Matthew wrapped her in his arms and crushed his mouth to hers to erase that smile. She moaned softly, then parted her lips. The taste of the blood she had just taken filled Matthew's mind, accompanied with images of her dancing with her prey, taking blood from him, kissing him, fucking him... With a grunt, Matthew broke off the kiss and considered the woman in his arms. Gone was the little girl he had once known and protected from afar. In her place was a vampire, a predator he had helped create and whom he had trained himself. She did not need his protection anymore, and he had taught her everything she needed to know. That realization was frightening, but more than that it was a relief.

"Matthew? Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?" "No, you didn't, sweetie. You were perfect.” The light of pride in her eyes burned Matthew as midday sun. “Let's go home." She babbled like an excited child as they returned to the car and he drove them back to the apartment, narrating with details Matthew didn't want to hear how she had convinced her prey to let her feed from him when he had been more than reluctant at first, and how it had felt to seduce someone with nothing but her own satisfaction guiding her. Matthew tried to block out her words, but every bribe that filtered through was like venom slowly poisoning the treasured image of an innocent Claire in his mind. He had lost her, tonight, more than he had the night she had died. "Sire?" The simple word was a jolt of electricity coursing through Matthew's mind and bringing him back to the present. The car was in front of the apartment building, he noticed, though he didn't remember having parked. "Are we getting in?" Matthew had half a mind to send her in and go hunt by himself. Caught as he had been in his observation of Claire, he hadn't even thought about feeding. The idea of taking blood however was strangely unappealing, especially with the taste of Claire's prey still lingering on his tongue. He looked at her, sitting next to him in the passenger seat. The only light came from a street lamp halfway down the street, but she seemed to glow as she looked back at him, a small smile still dancing on her lips. She was as beautiful as the night he had first seen her at On The Edge, the same uncertainty and determination coloring each of her small movements. The uncertainty would fade. After tonight, she would only grow more confident and become the huntress Diane claimed she was, the huntress she should never have been. With every night, he felt he was losing the Claire he had once known, the Claire he had cared for so much. And while he cared for his Childe even more, his guilt colored everything, making it painful to even look at her. It was then that he made his decision. "Yes, sweetie. Let's go in." As soon as he locked the front door behind them, he knew Diane had not returned yet. It didn't matter; she'd be back by morning, when he would need her. His mind blank, he followed Claire to the bedroom they had shared for the past eight weeks, realizing for the first time why her dress seemed so familiar. "It's the dress you wore the night ... the night you came looking for me." Now that he thought about it, he was sure she hadn't worn it since they had arrived at the new apartment. She glanced back at him, beaming. “I thought you'd never notice. It seemed fitting to wear it tonight for another new beginning." The void in Matthew's chest expanded. “Fitting, yes,” he murmured.

He helped her out of the dress, just as he had that first night. He took his time, trying to memorize and map out each inch of skin reveled to his eyes, offered to his fingers one last time. Claire was much more efficient when she undressed him; feeding had sated her hunger for blood and for the hunt, at least for now, but it had awakened her lust. The alluring scent had been all around her since they had walked out of that alley, but only now, only when she guided Matthew's hand to the apex of her legs to make him feel the wetness waiting for him there, did he allow himself to notice it. His plan to take things slow and make them last disappeared. Pulling Claire onto the bed with him, he entered her in one strong push than pulled groans from both of them. He started thrusting hard and fast, and she responded by arching into him, touching him, pulling him down for frantic kisses that were almost soft bites. His Childe, his beautiful Claire, his just one last time. The thought made him falter and he slowed down, never stopping but taking his time now. Her kisses changed to the same softer beat. Her tongue stroked his gently, as gently as her hands playing over his shoulder and down his chest. Resting his whole weight on his left forearm, he pulled back just a little and freed his right hand to touch her face with his fingertips. Her eyes closed when he followed the bridge of her nose, and her lips curled into a smile at his touch. She had always had a beautiful smile. "I love you." The whisper touched his fingertips, a returned caress; he pulled his hand away as though burned. Her eyes opened but he could not bear looking into them. In the same instant, he crushed his mouth to hers and let his hips fall back into a faster rhythm, almost punishing, though he wasn't sure who, of the two of them, needed punishing. Claire for expressing a love he couldn't believe in or himself for failing her? Her release took him by surprise; his own was wrenched out of him almost painfully. She said the words again, when he lay by her side, her body struggling to catch a breath it didn't need. Head turned away from her, he forced himself not to reply, not even to say yet again it wasn't love she felt, but the blood bond that stretched between them. It was hard enough to come to terms with what he had done to her, pulling her into the darkness when she had been made for the sun. If he had believed there could be love between them, the guilt would have been unbearable. She fell asleep curled against him, her hand resting in the center of his back. He turned his face to look at her, then, and spent the best part of the night detailing her features until he had each eyelash committed to memory. When morning came, he pressed a goodbye kiss to her cheek and left the bed. As quietly as possible, he crossed the hallway and entered Diane's room. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-Two Throughout the late night and early morning, Claire came close to wakefulness several times, something inside her warning her that she was being watched. Each time, she drifted back into sleep, feeling content, the knowledge that Matthew was right there and keeping watch over her warming her mind, body and heart. Too many times, over the past weeks, he had treated her as a pupil more than a lover. She didn't know what had brought on the change last night, but in her half-asleep state, she already hoped it would

last. This hope lasted until the moment she woke up alone. It was early in the afternoon, her senses were telling her; her usual waking time. She had awakened alone before, but after the previous night, after Matthew had made love to her with such passion, after he had heard her declare her love for him without immediately denying she could feel any such thing, after he had watched her sleep for so long, she had thought things would be different. She discovered as soon as she stepped out of her room that things were indeed different, much more so than she had anticipated. Matthew hadn't simply left their bed. He had joined Diane in hers. For long minutes, she stood in front of Diane's open door, frozen mid step and her mind wiped blank. Deep down, she had known that Matthew and Diane were lovers. She had known since the first time she had seen them on the dance floor at On The Edge, focused on each other and ignoring the world around them. She had thought she had taken Diane's place. She had never seen them so much as kiss since she had been sired. She had never imagined that Matthew might begin a night in her arms and finish it in Diane's. She managed to force herself into movement when one of them stirred. It was hard to tell who, tangled as they were, half covered by rumpled sheets. Shivering, she walked to the bathroom and locked herself in. She remained under the spray of hot water for close to an hour, but the ice that had settled in her bones did not even begin to melt. She was still in shock when she finally came out but determined to understand what was going on. Matthew was reading in the living room, clad only in a robe and reclining on the sofa. Claire kept her eyes on his face as she approached to sit on the armchair next to him, but he never looked up at her until she finally managed to speak, her voice very low because of her too tight throat. "Did I do something wrong?" He lowered the book just enough for her to know she had his attention. "Something wrong? Not that I know of. Why would you think so?" He seemed genuinely puzzled by her question. Claire wrapped her arms around herself. "You weren't there when I woke up." "I told you before,” he said, his tone taking the accents of a lecture. “I don't need as much sleep as you do. As years pass, you'll progressively need less and less sleep." Claire let a few seconds pass in silence, unsure how to ask her next question without making it an accusation. She didn't want to whine, nor did she want to sound too possessive, but she needed to understand. **** Seconds trickled by, the silence almost deafening. Matthew waited. His resolve had almost cracked when she had asked if she had done anything wrong. He should have known she would blame herself for this. All he could do now was make it clear that nothing she could

have done differently would have changed anything. As soon as she asked, he would impress that on her. If she blamed him, she would find it easier to let go of the feelings she thought she had for him. "Did you sleep with Diane?” she asked at last. “Did you sleep with her after you slept with me?" Matthew clutched at his mask of indifference even as it wavered with the pain in her voice. "If you're asking if I fucked her, you already know the answer to that. You can smell her on me, can't you?" At her grimace, he knew she had not allowed herself to recognize the scent of sex clinging to him until now. It was so much like her to turn a blind eye to what she didn't want to be true. "Why?" The whisper barely concealed tears that wouldn't take long to fall, now. Matthew could only be thankful that the ordeal was almost over. "Why not?" She shook her head, eyes wide with incomprehension. "We're not married, sweetie,” he pushed on. “I'm your Sire, and as such all I owe you is to teach you enough to survive. I've done that. Nothing says we can't take other lovers." "But I thought ... I thought you ... cared about me." The pleading in her eyes was too much to take. Matthew stood and brushed the tips of his fingers to her cheek. They came away wet with salt. "Of course I care about you, Childe. But that doesn't mean we're in a monogamous relationship. I thought I had taught you better than that." He didn't wait for her to answer and walked away. If he allowed her tears or words to touch him now, it would all have been for nothing. It was better this way, for the both of them. She deserved to find someone worthy of her, someone who hadn't betrayed her trust by leaving her to die. And maybe when she was gone he wouldn't be reminded so often of his broken promise. Whatever pain they felt until then was only temporary, however great it may be. **** The melody drifted down from the scene, the piano chords accentuated by the deep notes of a violin. Claire was barely aware of either, her entire attention focused on the couple sitting at a table near the scene. Diane and Matthew were too far for her to hear what they were whispering, but she could read their faces well enough. She hadn't seen Matthew smile like that in quite some time. She had tried to sit at the table with them when they had arrived at the blood bar, but Matthew had stopped her, explaining in as few words as possible that he and Diane had plans. That these plans did not include her had been all too easy to grasp. She should have understood as much when they had left the apartment, yet again, without inviting her. It had only been sheer luck that she had caught up with them this time as they waited for the elevator, and while they hadn't sent her away, neither of them had told her where they were going or why. Claire had been surprised when they had reached the blood bar; she had

been sure that Diane liked the place as little as she did. A man stopped in front of Claire's booth, blocking her view of Matthew's table just as a couple was approaching it. Frowning, she looked up at the man's face, ready to ask him to move. "Good evening, Miss. Do you mind if I sit with you?" He was cute enough, part of her noticed, ashy blond hair and brown eyes that seemed to sparkle as he looked at her. Any other time, she would have welcomed him. "Sorry, I'm waiting for someone,” she lied. She couldn't bear the idea of feeding now. The man gave a small disappointed shrug. “Pity. Another time, maybe." Claire had dismissed him from her thoughts before he had even walked away. Finally, she could see the small table again. Her stomach lurched. There were now four people seated there, two couples facing each other. Even more than before, she wished she could have heard what they were saying. They chatted over glasses of wine, laughing softly every now and then. The human woman flirted openly with Matthew, which her companion did not seem to mind as he eyed Diane appreciatively. Both Matthew and Diane returned the attention bestowed upon them as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The dance seemed too well choreographed, and Claire itched to intrude on it and claim Matthew back. The only thing that stopped her was the sickening certainty that Matthew would dismiss her again as easily as he had for the past few days every time she had tried to get close to him. Since the morning she had found him in Diane's bed, she had often had the impression that she didn't exist anymore as far as he was concerned. After close to an hour, the two couples rose together. The woman was holding Matthew's arm as they walked toward the exit, and the man helped Diane drape a shawl over her shoulders before they followed them. She wanted to go with them, see whether they were going home to the apartment or to the couple's place instead, and yet she didn't move. She knew, or at least she thought she knew, what was going to happen, and that was more than enough for her. She hurt, as much as she had when waking up to find Matthew in Diane's bed, or as much as when he had dismissed her from his life with no more than a few words. As much as when she had received that envelope, months earlier, and opened it to discover pictures of Jonas with another woman. It was the same feeling of deep betrayal that was chilling her down to her bones. She had offered her love and trust, and yet again found that the latter had been trampled on, and the former ignored. She could have accepted sharing him with Diane. She wouldn't have liked it, but if the same blood link ran between them that ran between Claire and her Sire, she would have accepted it. But the human woman ... that was something completely different. He didn't have to sleep with her to get blood, just like he hadn't needed to sleep with all those girls at On The Edge to feed every night. It was a choice he was making to fuck a pretty woman that meant nothing to him; a choice Claire couldn't live with. She wouldn't share him with every pretty prey that crossed his path. She would lose all self-respect if she closed her eyes on that, just as she had when she had chosen to pretend that Jonas was faithful to her. She realized, when she stood and left the blood bar, that she had already made her decision, that all she

had needed was to see with her own eyes what Matthew did when he left the apartment without her. She would have thought it would be more difficult than that. Leaving her jacket open for the wind to play with, she went home slowly, walking without really seeing anything around her. If she had thought that Matthew loved her as she loved him, she would have fought fangs and nails for him. But he didn't, did he? She was his Childe, and she was the great grand-daughter of a woman he had once loved, but if both things had been sources of obligations for him, they did not mean in any way that he had to love her. Morning was close, when she finally reached the apartment. She went to her room and packed her clothes in a bag, then went to bed. She would leave when the sun would set again. **** As soon as Matthew saw Claire walk out of her room with her jacket on and holding a travel bag, he knew. Part of him wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that the charade was finally over. Another part wanted to protest and convince her to stay. "Where are you going?” he asked, and hoped that his voice would not betray him. "I'm not sure yet." Matthew nodded. He had expected as much. “Just don't go back to Haventown,” he cautioned her. “It would be too dangerous. Jonas would try to stake you." By the way she bristled at his words, he understood he had lost the right to give her advice. That was only fair, he supposed. "I'm not stupid. I'll be careful." "I'm sure you will be,” Matthew murmured. A little louder, he added: “You will need money, wherever you're going." A fleeting look crossed her face; she didn't seem to have thought beyond the idea that she was leaving. Matthew hid his worry by turning his back on her and walking over to the bookshelves. A wooden box there held some cash that they used for day-to-day expenses. He retrieved all of it and came back to Claire, handing out the bills toward her. "I can't—" "Of course you can. We have more than enough, I told you that, and I know you can make sure it lasts you a lifetime." She hesitated for a second before lowering her eyes. "I'll pay you back someday,” she muttered as she slid the strap of her bag over her shoulder and accepted the money from him. She shoved it in a side pocket of the bag. “Thank you." "You're welcome. Have a nice journey." Her eyes returned to his face at the words, and she scrutinized him for a few moments. The look on her features when she finally understood was heartbreaking. Matthew struggled not to let it touch him.

"You're not even going to try to stop me, are you?" "Why would I?" He had repeated to himself that he didn't have to justify himself to her, but in that instant he suddenly needed to. "I've taught you everything I can, and you know all you need to take care of yourself." A bleak smile tugged at her lips. “I thought you had made it your job to take care of me. Isn't that what you promised Helena? To take care of her family?" The blade of her words slid in deep and fast. She couldn't have chosen better words to hurt him, though he doubted she even realized it. "I did my best,” was all he answered, even though he burned to say aloud what he had thought for months. He had broken his promise the night he had let Claire die. The best he could do for her now was to make the cut clean and definitive; make it easier for her to stop believing she loved him. “I've kept you close so long only because you look so much like her, but you're not her. You'll never be her." Her eyes widened and filled with tears, but she did not cry. She didn't say a word. She waited a little longer, standing in front of him as though waiting for a gesture he couldn't give, a word he wouldn't say. The strap of her duffel bag started sliding off her shoulder, pulling at the collar of her jacket. She hoisted it back up and broke eye contact with Matthew. Her voice rasped like coarse sandpaper. "Goodbye, then." "Goodbye, sweetie. Remember what you learned." She walked past him, her head held high. Matthew did not turn to watch her go. The door closed on her with a whisper rather than the angry crash he had expected. The blade inside him twisted a little more. "Silly, silly Childe." The murmured words brought his attention to Diane. She had been standing by her bedroom's door for a few moments already, but Matthew had refused to acknowledge her presence until now. "Here's a promise for you,” she said as she came to him and cupped his chin in her hand. “If you ever use me again like you did to push her away, I will rip your heart out myself." The threat surprised him more than Diane's admission that she knew what he had been doing. He covered her hand with his and slid it to his mouth to lay an apologetic kiss on her palm. Diane sighed. "You can still catch her,” she urged him. Her eyes blazed like a wildfire. “She'll forgive you anything if you just ask." Matthew looked away. “And then what? Listen to her claim she loves her murderer?" Her hand slid to his cheek, the pinpricks of pain where her nails pressed in relenting only when he looked back at her.

"I killed her. If anyone has to be called a murderer, it's me." "I could have stopped you. Ishould have stopped you. I was supposed to keep her safe, and instead I led her to her death." Diane rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. “You were supposed to do nothing,” she snapped. “You never owed any of them anything. Can't you see that, now that it's over?" "What I see is that you don't get it. You never did.” He couldn't help the bitterness from affecting his voice. “It wasn't about owing any of them anything. It was about a promise I made to myself. A promise that means nothing now that she's dead." Her eyes flashed with fire again and pinned him where he was. “She's not dead. She's a vampire. I would think that after more than a century of being one yourself you'd now the difference." Biting his tongue, Matthew left her in the living room and walked over to the kitchen. Two shots of vodka, one after the other, made his hands shake even more. Diane wasn't long to follow him. "So?” she insisted, her crossed arms indicating that she wouldn't let the matter drop so easily. “Do you feel dead?" "I never did,” Matthew murmured. Diane's face began to reflect her satisfaction, but Matthew wasn't done. He poured himself another glass and watched it intently, unable to bear looking at Diane anymore. "I never did until a few weeks back. Until I failed to save her from you." She didn't reply. After a few silent minutes, she walked away. Matthew raised the glass to his lips and swallowed the burning anguish. He started pouring yet another glass before realizing that it would be faster to simply drink from the bottle. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-Three The cab came to a stop. Claire looked at the house behind the fenced backyard. Even by the light of the half moon the walls looked brighter than the last time she had been there. Her chest tightened. Six months earlier, she had promised to help Maggie and Tom repaint the exterior of their house. She had left town before she could follow through. "Miss? Isn't this the place?" Coming back to the present, she pulled bills from her pocket and handed them over to the driver. "It is. Thank you." She opened the door and slipped out, pulling her bag after her and hoisting the strap onto her shoulder.

She closed the door again and watched the cab drive away. It was too late to change her mind now. With some trepidation at how she would be received, she pushed the wooden gate wide open and followed the trail of stepping stones to the front porch. Long stems of lavender, on each side of the trail, brushed against her ankles. She breathed in deeply, the heavy scent reminding her of the sunny day when she had helped Maggie plant the lavender. For a second, she could almost feel the caress of the sun on her skin again, and hear her laugh and Maggie's echoing down the tranquil street. When she reached the porch, another breath brought her the fading but still characteristic smell of fresh paint. She hesitated for an instant, then squared her shoulders and knocked on the glass panel in the middle of the door. Maggie had never let her down; there was no reason to believe she would start now. She could hear noises inside, a television or maybe the radio. Maggie appeared behind the glass, her belly preceding her in an unmistakable fashion. Instantly, a truly happy smile bloomed on Claire's lips at her friend's pregnancy. Maggie covered her mouth with her hand and her eyes widened in surprise, but she opened the door immediately. Her knuckles whitened as she held on to the doorjamb as though supporting herself. "Hey, you,” Claire said softly. “Congratulations seem to be in order." Maggie let out a dry sob. She was beaming when her hand dropped from her mouth to her belly. If Claire listened carefully, she could hear the fast heartbeat that echoed Maggie's. "I found out a week before you disappeared and I never had the chance to tell you. I've missed you so much." With those words, she let go of the doorjamb and started reaching out for Claire, but seemed to think better of it mid-movement. Her smile faded a little, becoming almost pleading. "Are you..." "A vamp?” Claire finished for her when she faltered. “Yes. And I'd never hurt you or Tom or the baby. You know that, don't you?" Her throat closed on the last words as she realized that nothing she could do or say might be sufficient to convince her friend. How could she prove she wouldn't do something? She didn't know what she would do if Maggie closed the door on her. "Of course I know it." Maggie hesitated a little before she crossed the threshold, but she did, and that was what mattered. Letting her bag fall to the ground, Claire opened her arms to her friend and was hugged in reply. Between them, tiny feet kicked and they both laughed. "I'm so happy for you,” Claire said as she pulled back. Tentatively, her hand came close to Maggie's abdomen, and at her slight nod of encouragement rested there very lightly. She grinned in wonder at what she felt and heard, then again when Maggie's hand covered hers. "And I'm happy to see you. I thought you were dead." A smile twisted her lips as Claire looked up. “Well, technically..."

Maggie rolled her eyes. It was good to see her adapt to the situation so easily, but then it was a trait Claire had often envied her friend. “You know what I mean. Really dead. Dust and ashes dead. Everybody thought so. Where have you been?" "It's a long story. You want to sit down?" They sat together on the wooden bench on the side of the porch, and Claire told her friend everything that had happened since the night she had gone out in search of Matthew, everything that she had needed so much to tell someone. It felt good, at last, to share the wonders she had discovered since becoming a vampire, and the pain of having the very existence of her feelings denied by the person she was in love with. "It's been more than four months since I left,” she finished, her voice trembling. “I miss him more every day. But it was the right thing for me to go." "Of course it was.” Maggie squeezed her hand. “And it'll get better. I know it will. And if you need anything, I'm here for you." Claire nodded, thankful. “I knew I could count on you. And actually ... Would you mind helping me get a few things from my home?" Maggie visibly paled and her hand tightened a little more on Claire's. "What is it?” Claire asked. "Your dad ... he sold everything. When you disappeared, I called him to see if he had heard from you. He came in town, and the police investigated your disappearance." Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. She had never even thought of calling her dad since she had been turned. They weren't very close and they did little more than exchange cards for birthdays and holidays. If she had simply called him, things would have been very different, because she could see where this was going already. "The cops found a surveillance video at a club downtown. Of you, with a vampire, and Jonas confronting you. And then this couple stepped forward, said they had seen you and the same vamp in their elevator the next night. They also saw Jonas near their building. And the cops found your car there too." "They figured out Matthew changed me, and thought that Jonas dusted us both,” Claire finished with a sigh. If Jonas had been upset before, he had to be murderous now. "They had so many clues...” Maggie's voice dropped to a whisper. “You had talked to them and they had a record of that, and I told them about the notebook we found when packing his things. A Special Enforcer came forward, and he said you had told him about Jonas too. And then, they received a video. They never figured out who sent it." Claire knew, without the shadow of a doubt, who had to have sent it, but she didn't interrupt Maggie. "It showed Jonas staking a vamp, they investigated but never found out who the vamp was. They couldn't convict him of killing you without a witness, but the video was enough to discharge him. He

stayed out of jail on a technicality. He swore he didn't touch you but...” Her eyes filled with tears. “We all figured he had." Inside the house, the voices from the television suddenly became quiet. "You should get in,” Claire suggested. “Tom is going to wonder where you've gone." "But you just arrived! There's so much I have to tell you!" Claire stood, her hand still in Maggie's. “I'll be back. I just arrived in town, I have to find a place to live." "You could—" She didn't let Maggie finish. “No, I really couldn't." She liked Tom a lot, he was a good man, but he was also scared of vampires, and she had no desire to test his reaction to what she had become. Letting go of her friend's hand, she picked up her bag and walked down the two steps off the porch before turning back, hoping despite herself. "You said my father sold my things ... Did he keep anything?" Maggie must have heard the hope in her voice, and she knew Claire well enough to guess which items she would miss the most. "The letters...” A grimace played over her face. “He was so puzzled about them, I told him what they were, what you had told me. I'm sorry, Claire. He burned them all." Claire forced a smile to her lips despite her disappointment. “It's OK. It's better that way, I guess.” She hesitated, then asked, very softly: “What about the dress?" Maggie seemed worried suddenly, almost apologetic. “He asked if Tom and I were married yet, and when I said we were waiting for the baby to arrive, he ... “. She finished in a whisper. “He gave it to me." This time, Claire's smile was genuine. “I'm glad he did. You'll look gorgeous in it." Maggie beamed, clearly relieved. Claire took another step away from her friend, and she turned back to her again. "Please don't tell anyone that I'm back yet." With both hands cupped beneath her belly, Maggie stood. “Anything you want. You'll be back to see me, won't you?" "Of course. I'll see you soon." Claire waved goodbye before walking away for good; behind her, the front door opened and Tom's urgent whispers rose in the night. She ignored them, ignored his fear, then his relief that Maggie was fine. He had reasons to be afraid, she told herself. He didn't know what kind of vampire she was.

How could he, when she hadn't figured that out for herself yet? Four months on her own, six since she had become a vampire, and the only thing that she knew was that she had never felt so lonely in her life, not even after she had broken up with Jonas. And yet, at the same time, she knew leaving had been the right thing to do, just like breaking her engagement to Jonas had been necessary. In both cases, she would have lied to herself if she had closed her eyes. That didn't make things any easier, however. Every night, she looked for a willing victim to feed from, but even in those rare cases when names were exchanged, she felt no connection with her prey—because that was how she thought of them, always. That was how Matthew had taught her to see them, and she couldn't forget this lesson, or any other. If she hadn't needed blood to survive, she would never have talked to most of those people. She was beginning to wonder if Matthew hadn't been right about blood bars too. She still hated putting herself on display, but at least in such a place it was always clear what the offer was. She had been to many different clubs, in the past months, and had realized that, more often that not, humans expected sex in exchange for their blood. As much as she craved the feel of hands on her, of skin against hers, she couldn't bring herself to sleep with her prey; not when the only person she wanted was Matthew. Lost in her thoughts, she allowed her memories to guide her to the center of town, and to the apartment building she had only visited once. The elevator still creaked noisily, but this time she barely noticed. She didn't have a key to Matthew's apartment, but she didn't let that stop her. A hard push, and the lock gave in. She entered the apartment on the tip of her toes, unwilling to disrupt the ghosts of her past that might still linger. She could see herself, that first night, following Matthew to the bedroom through the darkened apartment. She could see Diane, sitting on the sofa as though she were on her throne and holding court, could see her rising and coming to her. She took a few steps in the living room. Right here, yes. This was where she had died, thralled, unable to defend herself or plead for her life. She didn't remember the next part, but she imagined it was here too that Matthew had fed her his blood and made her his Childe. Continuing her journey through the past, she walked on to the bedroom. The robe she had worn, when awakening in Matthew's bed, wasn't on the chair where she had left it, nor were the sheets rumpled from a day spent in bed with her Sire. She wondered, briefly, who had cleaned up behind them, but it didn't matter. She left her bag at the foot of the bed and stepped out of her shoes to climb onto the bed. The sheets smelled of softener, but if she focused really hard, Matthew's scent was all around her, an almost tangible presence in the room. For the first time in four months, she fell asleep in mere moments. **** The horizon, just a moment ago, had been covered by the darkest ink and morning had seemed farther than even the stars. Already though, a touch of light was creeping up, so slow at first that it seemed like nothing more than an illusion, but gradually faster. The black ink lightened, becoming navy then a deep violet. "Get in. Now." Matthew was moving before he even knew it, leaving the iron scrollwork of the balcony and a half empty glass of blood behind to reenter the apartment. Diane closed the window behind him and pulled the curtains shut in brusque movements that didn't hide her anger. Then again, her voice alone would have been sufficient for Matthew to guess her mood. In more than a century spent by her side, it was only the second time she had used the modulated tones of thrall on him. When she stood in front of him, arms crossed and shaking, her eyes were even darker than the horizon had been a moment earlier.

"If you think I'm going to let you wait for sunrise—" "I was about to come back in." His soothing tone didn't work, and when he tried to lay a hand on her arm she moved out of his reach. "About to?” She scoffed. “Would that have been before or after you started burning?" "I wouldn't—" "Wouldn't you?” Her gaze pierced right through him, as though trying to hunt down his deepest thoughts. “You've not been out of here more than a dozen times in four months. When was the last time you fed from a human rather than a bag of blood?" Matthew tensed against the onslaught, his hands curling into fists before he forced them open again. "I'm just not in the mood to hunt." He walked past her and out of the bedroom. She followed him to the kitchen, silent until he had emptied a blood bag into a tall glass and put it to warm. When he turned away from the buzzing microwave, she was right there, so close that he almost bumped into her. Even with her high heels, she had to strain her neck to look at him in the eyes, and yet he still felt like she was looming over him. "You're a hunter. There's no ‘mood’ about it. I've watched you hunt since the night I made you and I never,never had a doubt that this was what you were born to be. I'm not going to watch you throw it away because you're too proud to go to her." Several seconds passed. They remained immobile, staring at each other. Finally the microwave beeped. Matthew blinked. More than a hundred years spent with Diane; he would have thought she understood him more than that. "You don't get it." Her gaze hardened but she let him continue. "It has nothing to do with pride. It's about having a purpose. Keeping her safe was mine. What am I supposed to do, now? Feed and fuck for the next ten months or ten years until I get tired of it and kill someone just to give a S.E. a reason to stake me?" Diane frowned, uncertainty flickering in her eyes before she shook her head. “You have a purpose. Your Childe needs you. If you hadn't pushed her away—" "I can't even look at her!” Matthew snapped. “I failed her—" "You failed no one, not any more than you failed her mother when she got sick." Resentment flooded Matthew. “Claire didn't get sick. You killed her. And I didn't stop you." "I did what you'd never have done for yourself.” Her face softened and she reached up to lay her hand on his cheek. “Do you know what I've been seeing, since she started showing up at On The Edge? I've

seen the same look in your eyes that you used to have when you talked of turning Helena. The same fire. The same passion." Matthew moved back, severing the contact between him and Diane, and bumping in the counter behind him. “No." "Yes. You can deny it all you want. I know you." He laughed, the sound like crushed glass in his throat. “If you knew me, you'd never have killed her." "No, Childe. If I had known you back then as much as I do today, I'd have sired Helena when you talked of doing it." Pushing past Diane, he strode out of the kitchen. He started going for the door, but belatedly realized he couldn't go out. The sun had to be up by now. When he turned on his heel, Diane was there once again, pushing her words and unwanted memories back at him. He tried to walk past her again, but she put herself in his way and stopped him until he met her eyes. "Claire is not Helena,” he murmured. Diane's hand stroked his arm lightly. “No, she's not. But that didn't stop you from falling in—" "Don't say it. I didn't. I don't. Vampires don't love. You taught me that." Once more, he tried to walk past her, but her fingers tightened on his arm, preventing him from escaping. "I was wrong. You told me a hundred times I was wrong. So why did you teach her something you knew was wrong?" Matthew bit down on his lower lip, refusing to answer. Admitting that he had lied to Claire about what she could or could not feel would be too close to admitting he was lying to himself as well. Even if it was true, it didn't mean he was wrong for doing it. She was better off on her own, and he told Diane as much. "Of course,” she replied with a humorless laugh. “She's much better back in the town of a madman who kills our kind for fun." Matthew stared at her in shock. Claire had all but promised him she wouldn't try to go home. He had never imagined it was necessary to warn her he had made sure Jonas would be dismissed from the Special Enforcers ranks. The man had been ready to kill her before, he would not hesitate again if he learned she was in town. "She's too clever to do that. She wouldn't put herself in danger that way." Diane sighed quietly. Her smile was very soft; a mother indulging her child. “And you're too clever to play hide and seek with the sunrise. Pack your suitcase and get some rest, Childe. We'll leave at nightfall." For the second time that night, Matthew felt compelled to obey by a voice that left him no other choice. Diane wouldn't have needed to thrall him, though. He would have gone to Claire regardless, to shake some good sense back into her. She might be a vampire, that didn't mean she was immortal. He had never thought he needed to tell her that in so many words. He would repair his mistake, convince her to

get as far away from Jonas as possible, and then he would let her be. She'd find someone, eventually, he repeatedly told himself. Someone who would make her happy. [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-Four When she first entered the Scarlet Bow, Claire thought that the flickering light descending from the candelabra came from candles. Combined to the large paintings that decorated the walls, most of them portraits of pale figures that didn't belong to this century, it gave her the eerie feeling of stepping back in time. A closer look, however, revealed that the flickering was due to a special kind of light bulbs, and the paintings were lithographs, not originals. She supposed the people who cared about the décor turned a blind eye to these details as long as the general impression suited them. As for herself, she was here for blood; she couldn't have cared less what the blood bar looked like. After she paid the cover price, a waitress wearing a long skirt, petticoats, an apron and a lace bonnet guided her through a series of small rooms to a private alcove that reminded Claire of the first blood bar she had visited with Matthew. A pang of longing coursed through her, but she pushed the feeling away. She sat down on the padded bench and the waitress pulled a notepad out of her apron's pocket. She didn't ask Claire what drink she wanted however. "Do you have preferences as to the human that will join you?" Pencil poised, she waited for Claire's answer. "I ... a man, I guess." "A favorite blood type?" Claire stifled the nervous laugh that was trying to rise in her throat. “No, no preference." "Very well. I'll be right back." Still a little puzzled by the unusual questions, Claire looked around her. She could see two other alcoves from where she sat, both of them closed off by a curtain that fell down to the floor. Quiet talking came from one of them, two women chatting. The sounds drifting from the other one, although just as quiet, were much more explicit and Claire cleared her throat as she looked away. The waitress was coming back, a man following her closely. Rather short in stature, he was at first glance bulky, but when he bowed slightly toward Claire, she could glimpse the play of well-developed muscles beneath his tight shirt. A little taken aback by his formality, Claire half stood and returned the bow. "Mistress Caroline, may I introduce you to Sir Falcon. Sir Falcon, Mistress Caroline." Falcon, if that was his real name, sat down on the bench next to Claire and she slid farther toward the back on the alcove. "Will you be requiring anything else?” the waitress asked.

Falcon waved her away. Before leaving, she drew the curtains that framed the alcove, enclosing Claire and her prey. Although when he looked at her through hungry eyes, Claire had the brief and uncomfortable feeling of being the hunted, rather than the hunter. "I don't think I've ever seen you before,” Falcon said, his voice a deep rumble. "It's my first time in this bar,” Claire replied. She tried to ignore how he slid closer to her again, his knee coming to brush against hers, just at the hem of her dress. "It's a wonderful place. The personnel are very discreet." "I'm sure. May I offer you a drink? Something to eat?" In her experience, such suggestions tended to set limits to what she was ready to offer in exchange for blood. It was better, she had found, than to deal with the awkwardness of an offer for a last drink in a more private place. Falcon, however, did not seem to play by the same rules she followed. He answered her offer with a small smile and a shake of his head—then placed his left hand high on her thigh at the same time as he offered her his right wrist. She jumped at his touch and moved away from him once more. "I think there's a misunderstanding here,” she started. Her words, cold as ice, made her displeasure clear and stopped Falcon as he was starting to get closer again. “All I want is blood." "And you'll have blood,” he replied, nonplussed. “But don't tell me you expect to get it for free. You're the one who asked for a man, sweetheart. You knew what you were doing." Too late, Claire began to understand why she hadn't seen a single glass of alcohol or bottle of beer since walking in. This establishment, it seemed, was only a bar by name. Matthew had told her such places existed, where blood was exchanged for sexual favors right on the premises, but she had never imagined one existed in her hometown. Her decision not to go to On The Edge seemed like the wrong one, suddenly. At least, there, she would have known what to expect. "I made a mistake." Without further explanations, she slid out of the alcove, pushing the curtains aside as she stumbled out. She hurried back the same way the waitress had guided her in, the muffled moans and sighs suddenly jumping at her from everywhere. How could she have been so naive! The doorman raised an eyebrow at her when she reached the door, but he let her out without a word. She walked out into the street, unable to resist taking in a deep breath to clear her mind of the atmosphere she had just escaped. "Do you have any idea how much they charge humans for the cover?" The voice behind her was angry, its rumbling now resembling the growl of thunder in the distance. She turned around to discover that Falcon had followed her. His eyes were black pits of coal. "As I said, I made a mistake by coming here.” Shrugging, she pulled cash from her short jacket's pocket. “I'll pay you back. How much—"

With a raging gesture, he batted at her hand. A few bills fell down to the pavement. "I don't want your cash. I want what I paid for." He grabbed at her, his large hand easily encircling her arm to pull her toward him. Things seemed to slow down in Claire's head, and she had time to wonder if he was in his right mind before her reflexes kicked in. Until that moment, she had never put to use the self-defense moves Matthew had taught her, but she reacted as though she used the techniques every day. Her hand closed on Falcon's wrist, crushing it until he let go with a shout. "You bitch! What do you think—" He had started advancing on Claire again; clearly, he needed another clue that she wasn't interested. A blow to his face stopped him cold, and the smell of fresh blood tickled Claire's nose as Falcon covered his own with both hands. "Not very clever, that, picking up a fight with a vamp." Surprised by the mocking comment when she hadn't heard anyone approach, Claire pivoted toward the approaching woman, her hands still up and ready to keep fighting. Dressed in dark colors with two stakes protruding from loops in her belt, she was unmistakably a Special Enforcer. "If I were you, I'd find a hospital,” she added, gesturing toward Falcon's face. “That looks nasty." With muttered insults and moans of pain, he walked away. Claire lowered her arms, but she didn't relax in any way. "He provoked me,” she said warily. The Special Enforcer snorted. “Yeah, I saw that. Funny how the big guys always seem to think smaller girls are easy picks.” She bent down and picked up a couple of bills from the pavement. “You're new in town, huh? Vamps around here usually know what to expect at the Scarlet Bow. And now so do you. Be more careful, from now on. You don't want a S.E. to think you're attacking humans without provocation." She stepped closer to hand the bills back to Claire, and as she did her face came into the full light of the nearby lamppost. Claire blinked as she recognized her; she was the girl Jonas had been kissing in those pictures, the girl he had had an affair with. She had only seen her in person once, although very briefly, but she was certain it was her. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who remembered the brief encounter. The girl's eyes widened, and she took a step back as though expecting to be attacked. "You're Claire, aren't you?" Before Claire could even think of denying it, the Special Enforcer had tugged a stake free of her belt. "You shouldn't have come back,” she said, her voice sliding into harsh tones that promised violence if she wasn't obeyed. “But I know someone who will be very glad to hear you're finally ashes."

Claire took a step back, raising both hands in front of her in a calming gesture. "Listen, I had nothing to do with Jonas being accused—" "Don't even try to feed that crap to me. Of course you knew. I know you threatened to make him lose his license." She came closer to Claire, who continued retreating in front of her. Teaching a man to think with something else than what hid in his pants was one thing; confronting an armed Special Enforcer was something else altogether, and Claire wasn't in a hurry to try the experience. "I was going to talk to the police. Show them he didn't kill me." As focused as she was on Claire, the woman never noticed Diane walking up behind her. Claire's eyes flickered toward her, just for a second, but she tried not to give any hint that they weren't alone. "He still wouldn't get his license back. But staking you for good ... Do you know how often he talks about you, still?" She slashed at the air in front of her with her stake, more for show than anything else. The next second, the stake was clattering on the pavement as she clutched at Diane's arm, looped around her throat. Claire watched without a word or a movement as the Special Enforcer's body slowly went slack, until Diane let go of her. She fell to the ground, unconscious, but her heartbeat continued to echo in Claire's ears. "What are you doing here?” she asked Diane, finding it hard to believe it was all a coincidence. "Getting you out of trouble, it seems. Come on, let's get out of here before someone walks in on us." "We can't leave her like that.” She gestured toward the unconscious Special Enforcer. “A vamp might find her an easy snack." Diane tilted her head to one side and observed Claire as though she had never seen her before. "She was talking about staking you, you realize that, right?" "And if she died because I left her on the pavement I'd be just as bad as..." She trailed off when Diane rolled her eyes at her and walked past the woman lying on the ground to come and knock on the bar's door. "Call the police,” she told the doorman when he peeked through the square opening. “Some guy just attacked a girl from behind, knocked her right out." The door opened and the man walked out, a cell phone already in his hand. Diane gave Claire a look that asked if she was satisfied, and at her nod they left together, ignoring the doorman when he called after them. They walked down three blocks before Claire broke the silence. "It's not a coincidence that you showed up here two nights after me, is it?" "Of course not.” Diane snorted and looked at Claire sideways. “And just in time, too. What were you thinking, coming back here?"

Claire shrugged. She dropped her gaze to the pavement in front of her rather than confront Diane's accusing eyes. “I wanted to see my friends." "Your friends? And is Jonas in that category? Or her?” She gestured toward the way they had come. Claire sighed. Whatever had happened, she couldn't change any of it anymore, even if she had wanted to. “You didn't come here to talk to me about Jonas, did you?" "No. I came here to tell you why I drained you." Surprised, Claire stopped walking and looked at Diane. She had not expected such guilt in her voice when she talked about killing her, and she was tempted to think Diane was simply playing with her. However, when Diane looked back at her and met her gaze, all Claire could see in those clear eyes and ageless face was openness. With a small nod to show she was listening, she started walking again, with Diane at her side. "A hundred and twenty odd years ago, my Sire died.” There was old pain in those few words, and if anything they made Claire listen more carefully. “He fought with another Master about a matter of territory, and he died. I wasn't the only one of his Childer, but I was the youngest one, and the only one without a Childe of my own. I had never been alone before. From one night to the next my entire clan dispersed and I was left by myself. To say that I didn't like it would be an understatement." Diane raised her head up toward the sky for a few instants and a soft, sad smile played on her lips. Whatever she was seeing, it was more than high-rise buildings and a bit of sky beyond them. Claire bit her tongue not to ask what had happened next, or how that concerned her in any way. Diane brought herself back to the street they were descending with a sharp intake of breath. She was looking straight ahead, now, and she made a small gesture as they reached a crossroads for Claire to bear right. "I looked for a Childe right away,” she started again, “and I was lucky enough to find a suitable candidate very quickly." Claire couldn't help saying his name then. “Matthew." A small inclination of her head was the only sign that Diane had heard. “I found him in an inn. He had been traveling for his business, and he was on his way back home. I listened to him talk to another traveler, I watched him laugh, and I thought he'd be perfect. I found his room, that night, and I sired him. When he woke up, he was everything I had wanted. Except for one little detail." A quick glance from Diane was all that Claire needed to show she was still following the story. This second name, she pronounced without reverence, and maybe, instead, a bit of resentment. "Helena." Another nod acknowledged that she was right. “That very first night, after I caught his first prey for him and taught him to feed, he asked if we could turn her.” Diane laughed, briefly, a sharp echo down the quiet street. Her laugh held no trace of humor. “Here I was, so proud of making such a beautiful Childe, and all he could talk about was how he wanted his young wife to join us. I refused to turn her for him, and he figured he would do it himself. He escaped my notice one night and went to her, he told her what he was and that he wanted her to be like him."

From what she knew of Helena, from the dozens of letters she had read, Claire could imagine how that talk had gone before Diane even continued. She felt sorry for Matthew. "In that time, vampires weren't as accepted as they are today. Anyone else would have been frightened half to death or would have tried to stake him. From what he told me, all she did was cry out of happiness that he wasn't dead beyond her reach. But she refused to let him turn her. He came back to me a broken man, and I took him away, where I hoped he'd be able to forget her. I took him to a gathering of vampires so he could get to know others, learn about being a vampire from people who weren't me. And that's where he heard about the old stories, about how vampires used to protect humans and how we were created for that very purpose.” Just a touch of exasperation crept into Diane's voice, indicating all too well what she thought of that. “He got it in his head that it was his purpose too, and from that moment on he wrote to Helena, and kept an eye on what went on in her life. When she started dating someone else, he stalked the man for weeks to make sure he was suitable for her. And he made this promise to protect her, and her children. You know what happened after that." In the space of a few steps, everything Claire knew of Matthew, of Helena, even of Diane, shifted slightly. Nothing was altered dramatically by what she had just heard, but a few things were explained, and others fell into place in this large puzzle that was her Sire and his relationships with the women in his life. She thought she knew him better, now, like she had known him better after reading the letters or after talking to him, her last human night. And still... "I don't see what any of this has to do with you turning me." "No, of course you wouldn't." Another gesture, and Claire turned left this time, crossing the street after letting a car pass. The neighborhood was beginning to feel vaguely familiar, and Claire suspected where this would end. Diane seemed to follow, and yet she was the one leading the way. "For years, I saw Matthew's face light up every time he talked of Helena, or whenever he received one of her letters. I had been taught that vampires didn't love, but Matthew proved to me otherwise. After she died, he protected her family, but the fire was gone. And then, you came to On The Edge.” Her hand touched Claire's elbow, a fleeting touch that brought Claire's eyes to her. They stopped together. “You should have seen his eyes, that first night, when you confronted Jonas. Every time he talked about you after that, it was like hearing him talk about Helena all over again. When I found you in his apartment ... well, I figured that this time I could give him what he wanted, even if he wasn't asking for it. Even if he didn't know he wanted it. And that's where the problem is." Claire wanted to protest that she wasn't a gift Diane could offer anyone, and that she had never wanted to become a vampire, that she might have been one of these girls Matthew slept with for only a night, and then her life would have ended for nothing. None of these objections came out however, and instead she tightened her fist, hard enough that her nails dug into her skin, and asked, sotto voce: "The problem?" Diane started walking again, and she took a dozen steps before realizing that Claire hadn't followed. She stopped and looked back, raising an eyebrow, and Claire caught up with her, both impatient and afraid to finally, maybe, understand what was going on in Matthew's head. "Matthew had this notion that his duty was to protect you. He couldn't stop me from draining you, and he'd never hurt me to avenge you. So he holds himself responsible for your death."

The urge to roll her eyes was almost too hard to control. She remembered hearing something very much like this from Matthew, once. She hadn't paid it much mind then. Maybe she should have. "He didn't save you,” Diane continued, “so he has to be punished. And he didn't find a more appropriate punishment than to send you away." "He didn't send me away, I left,” Claire jumped in, frowning as she remembered the events in question with more details than she wanted. The irony wasn't lost on her that the woman she had first been jealous of was the one now giving her an insight into Matthew's mind. "You left,” Diane repeated. “After he arranged to make you mad enough. Can't you see how he manipulated you?" Her impatient words flooded Claire's mind like icy water. She shivered. The memories were replaying in her head once more, but as before the small slant of Diane's words changed everything Claire thought she knew. "So...” She couldn't raise her voice higher than a whisper, for fear that speaking too loudly would shatter her new realization. “If sending me away is his punishment ... Does that mean he..." She couldn't finish. She couldn't even dare hope. But the look she gave Diane must have said it all, because she smiled and ran a finger down Claire's cheek. "He still won't admit it because he's just too stubborn for his own good, but I know him. And I've seen how miserable he's been since you left. He loves you." Claire let out a quick laugh, immediately covering her mouth when she heard herself. It was hard to believe after all that had happened, even harder because of who was saying it, but if it could only be true... "Why are you doing this?” she asked, trying not to get too excited too fast. After all, it was Diane in front of her, and suddenly Claire looked at her through suspicious, almost jealous eyes. “Don't you want to have him for yourself?" Diane chuckled. “If I did, I wouldn't have forced his hand in turning you, would I? He's a wonderful man, and a wonderful Childe, but he's been ready to move on and be a Master himself for some time. The demon inside him is tired of listening to me. And I...” She looked away, and her voice dropped to a near whisper. “I love him, but not like you do. He'll always be my first Childe, but I can let him go if it means he'll be happier." She looked at Claire again, and the plain honesty on her features dissipated whatever doubts still clung to Claire's mind. "Thank you,” she murmured. "Don't thank me yet.” Taking hold of Claire's arm, she gently made her turn around until she was facing the entrance of On The Edge on the other side of the street. “You've still got to kick some sense back into him. He's looking for you in there." [Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-Five From the moment Matthew arrived at On The Edge, images of Claire assaulted him, wherever he looked. When he took a few steps toward the bar, she was sitting there, more than a little tipsy already, finishing a glass and accepting another one from a vampire who, unlike Matthew, didn't have her best intentions at heart. He advanced toward the staircase, and there she was, trading glares and polite insults with Jonas. He started down the stairwell, and his mind continued playing tricks on him. This was where he had scared her after kissing her. Here, he had first talked to her, never getting a word in reply. This bridge had been the one from which she most often observed the dancers. He stopped there, where he had seen her so often, and leaned against the metal banister to look down. The lights were pulsating to the rhythm of the music on the dance floor, so fast that it was hard to make out faces, but he knew Claire's so well, he was confident he would find her. If she were there, he would find her. Even if Diane's sources hadn't claimed as much, he would have known she was in town. He had found her travel bag in his loft, her clothes in his drawers, and the imprint of her body on his bed. But she hadn't been around when they had arrived, soon after sunset. Matthew still raged when he recalled that accident on the highway that had cost them two precious hours and trapped them for the day in a nearby town. She had to be already out and hunting, Diane had commented when they had failed to find her, and Matthew hoped she was right. The alternative was that she hadn't been back to her lair at all, and Matthew could only think of one reason why she wouldn't. If she were dust, he would... He didn't know what he would do, if she were dust. "Hey, handsome. Why so gloomy?" He didn't bat an eyelash at the sensual voice so close to his ear. It wasn't Claire's. "Leave me alone." The full-throated laugh that followed was drowned in the beat of the music. "Leave you alone? When you come back after months of absence? No way. I want a dance." The girl looped an arm through his and tugged lightly. Matthew finally turned his face toward her, annoyed and ready to show exactly how much. The familiarity of her features stopped him. He couldn't remember her name, if he had ever known it, but he remembered seeing her talk to Claire. He remembered scaring her away, too, but apparently the experience hadn't traumatized her. "Have you seen Claire recently? Brunette, short hair, about your height—" "I know who you're talking about.” She tugged once more at his arm, and when Matthew let her have it, she slid her hand into his. “Dance with me, and I'll tell you about her." Despite his better judgment, Matthew allowed her to take him down to the dance floor. He couldn't help

doubting she really knew where Claire was, but if there was a small chance that she was telling the truth, he couldn't let it pass. The wild music he enjoyed so much failed to touch him today, but when the girl let go of his hand, in the middle of the crowd, and turned to face him with a beaming smile, he slid into the well worn persona he wore like a costume in dancing clubs: a flirting smile on his lips, hands that alternated rising in the air and skimming against his partner, movements always in tune with the music. Usually, these were all tools, weapons to attract prey and lure them in. This time, they were just a show, with no other goal than to satisfy his partner enough that she would tell him what he wanted to hear. The song ended, then a second one played through. A gentler, slower beat came up next, and his dancing partner wove her arms around Matthew, her body sliding close to his. They would have needed to be naked to get any closer, and Matthew was tiring of the game. He bent down to her ear, and asked: "I've danced with you. Where is Claire?" She looked up toward him, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “You call that dancing? We're only getting started. I want the full thing, a dance here, a chat around a nice glass of wine and then going to a more intimate place for a little more..." As her voice trailed off, she raised herself on her toes to reach Matthew's lips. He pushed away from her abruptly, glaring. She was playing with him, and he was in no mood to allow it. "Do you even—" "Buy me a drink, at least,” she interrupted him, amusement gone from her face and voice. “I'll tell you." She started fending off the crowd and walking back toward the staircase. After a brief moment of hesitation, Matthew followed her. At the very least, he could use a drink himself. If the girl truly had nothing to say, there were other people he could question, other places he could visit. On the first bridge, the girl slowed down until he had caught up with her. He gritted his teeth when she slid her arm through his, but humored her. She had better truly know something about Claire. They finally reached the first floor and she tried to pull him toward the private alcoves in the back of the room. Matthew resisted, and led her instead to the bar. She was pouting when she sat down on one of the high stools, but a sip of wine soon had her smiling again. Matthew didn't even touch his own glass. "So where did you go for all these months?" Leaning her forearm against the bar, she pivoted to angle her body toward him. She had crossed her legs and her dress was riding up very high on her thighs, giving a hint of black lace beneath it. Matthew caught himself staring—Claire had lacy black underwear; he had bought it for her—and returned his eyes to the girl's face. Judging by her widening grin, she had noticed where his gaze had wandered. "Away. Now have you seen Claire or not?" The grin wavered and she looked away for an instant before looking back at him almost pleadingly. "Listen, I can see she was very special for you, but there are other women—" "You don't know anything,” he cut in flatly. He was losing his time with her. Sliding off the stool, he

glanced at the bartender at the other end of the bar. He had seen Claire chat with him a few times, maybe he would remember if she had been back to On The Edge. "She/s dead." The words caught Matthew like a punch to the jaw. Without realizing what he was doing, he grabbed the edge of the bar and held on tight as he looked at the girl once more. "If that's your idea of a joke..." "It's not a joke.” Her mouth twisted in a grimace. “A Special Enforcer killed her." Blindly, Matthew reached toward the glass he hadn't touched so far and emptied it in one long gulp. Any second now, the ground would open beneath his feet and swallow him. "It was all over the news,” the girl continued. “They said she had been turned, and her ex wasn't happy about that. He was a Special Enforcer. He killed her, and the vamp who had made her. Freaky story. I thought about not coming here for a while but—" "Wait a minute." The knot stopped tightening over Matthew's chest, just enough that he could look straight at the girl, look at her with wild hope. She winced when his hand clenched on her arm, but didn't protest. "You said ... Jonas killed herand her Sire? You're sure of that?" She shrugged. “That's what the newspaper said." "When was it?" "I don't know.” She tried to pull free, but Matthew didn't let go. “Months ago. A bit after you stopped coming here. You're hurting me." An almost hysterical laugh tried to push its way past Matthew's throat and he shut his mouth to keep it in. His body shook with laughter though, and he finally released the girl's arm. For whatever reason, the police thought Jonas had killed Claire right after she had been turned, but he knew better. She wasn't dead. At that moment, he could have shouted it for the world to know. Claire wasn't dead. "It's all right,” the girl said, patting his shoulder awkwardly. “You can cry. Or we could go somewhere more private. I'll make it all better, you'll see." Her voice dropped to a caress on the last words. It dawned on Matthew that she thought he was mourning, and that she was offering to comfort him. He finally managed to stifle his laugh and shook his head. However, before he could say a word, Claire's voice rose from behind them, tight and acidic. "You should know by now he never sleeps with the same girl twice." Matthew's head whipped toward her. He wanted to grab her and pull her into his arms, but the look on her face stopped him. She wasn't too happy to find him here, with this girl, her pinched lips said, but there was more to it. The determination in her eyes, in the tilt of her head, in the way she stood was the important thing here, though he wasn't sure what it meant.

"Not unless she's very special,” she continued. A flash of her fangs had the girl scrambling off the stool and away from them. Claire sat down on the freed seat, and pushed the half full glass in front of her away. "Very special indeed,” Matthew murmured, and raised his hand to catch the bartender's attention. **** When she entered the club and saw Matthew at the bar with a girl, Claire's first reaction was to clench her fists and jaw. Diane had said he was looking for her, but this looked like something else altogether. Trying to quiet down her growling jealousy, she stepped forward, keeping her eyes on Matthew. With the ambient noise, she couldn't hear what they were talking about, but she saw. She saw him stand, ready to leave, and then the look of pure, raw pain on his face at something the girl said. She saw, also, the way he clutched at the bar as though it were a safe line, and the way his throat worked convulsively around his drink. She was close enough to hear, now, and with just a few words she understood. He had just been told she was dead. That pain had been for her. And the relief flooding him and his scent now, bittersweet like rich dark chocolate, that was for her, too. The jealousy was still there, just on the edge of her consciousness, but Claire felt relief too, if not for the same reasons as Matthew. With a few words and a fangy smile, she got rid of Matthew's friend and took her place next to him, accepting the glass of wine he ordered for her. "You shouldn't be here,” were his first words to her. They stung. "I'm only here because you are,” she shot back, pivoting on the stool to look at him. “Diane told me where to find you." A wary look crept on his features. “Did she, now. Did she tell you also how stupid it was to come back to Jonas’ town?" "No. She showed me how stupid I was to believe your lies.” She smiled at him. She knew it wasn't a nice smile, but she didn't care. “I'm not going to give up so easily." He watched her take another sip of wine, his face impenetrable. She had no idea what he was thinking, and she didn't like it. For him to be so closed off couldn't be good. "What you are going to do, Childe, is get out of this bar and out of this town before something bad happens to you. Come on, let's go." Claire rolled her eyes at the protective tone in his voice. Where had this caring streak been for the past months, when she had wandered alone from town to town? There would be time for recriminations later, however, and she allowed him to take her arm and guide her toward the exit. What she had in mind required a somewhat more private setting. "I've missed you,” she said bluntly just as they were stepping into the street. Matthew's stride faltered. He caught himself quickly enough that she might not have noticed, but attuned to his reactions as she was, she couldn't miss it. It didn't matter when he didn't say anything; he had already answered.

"Diane told me something else, tonight. Something I knew but had forgotten." A small glance toward her was once again his only reply, but it was enough. She knew she had his attention. Loosening his hold on her arm with her free hand, she slid her hand to his own and clutched it tight. "She told me that for decades after you were turned, you claimed you loved Helena. Nothing she said would make you admit you didn't. And I remembered the letters. You wrote them after you were sired, but in almost every one of them you said you loved Helena. That made me wonder...” She drew him to a stop, using her hold on his hand to make him turn to her. “Why did you try so hard to convince me that vampires can't love? Why, when you knew firsthand it wasn't true?" The fleeting look of trapped animal in his eyes roused a smile in Claire, but she tried her best to hide it. He would have misunderstood it at that moment. "For your own sake,” he replied very gently, so gently she could almost have believed him. He reached to her face and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn't ... I don't want you imagining there'll ever be anything between us beyond blood. Even if you love me, it doesn't mean that I do." His voice was pleading her to believe him, but she knew she couldn't trust his words. What she did trust was the pain he had shown earlier when he believed she was dead, and the little light in his eyes when she had sat next to him, and the way his thumb stroked the back of her hand now. She smiled at him, and shook her head. "Liar. You can say what you want, you can even sleep with whoever you want. I know you're lying. I can smell it. Your entire scent shifts when I'm near you, did you know that?" "Of course it changes. It's called lust." "Liar." His face closed off and he let go of her hand. She knew he would strike before he even opened his mouth, and she braced herself for the blow. "I loved Helena. You remind me of her. Whatever you think is there when I look at you—” His gaze hardened just a little more. “—it's there only because it's her I see." Claire said it again one last time, very softly. “Liar." She would prove him wrong. She would catch him in his own web of lies, and then he'd have no choice but to relent. And she knew exactly how she would do it. It wasn't exactly how she had imagined things would go when they met again, but romance could wait a little longer. Throwing her arms around his neck, she pulled him down at the same time as she raised herself on her toes and crushed her mouth to his. She ignored his muffled noises of protest and pushed her tongue past his lips. He resisted at first, tried to pull free of her, but she caressed his tongue and his lips, never letting go until he caved in. He began returning the kiss and his hands rested on her hips, stroking tentatively through the material of her dress. She pulled back then, and grinned when he immediately sought her lips again. He caught her grin and stiffened in her arms.

"Claire ... a kiss is not going to change anything,” he sighed. “You can't—" She wasn't interested in what he thought she couldn't do. The important thing, as far as she was concerned, was that he knew exactly who was pressing against him. She kissed him again, as deeply as before, and at the same time she pushed him back until he had to choose between falling down and moving backwards. She guided his slow steps into the cul-de-sac behind them, past two metal dumpsters that would offer them some cover, then angled his body until a wall stopped him. The kiss continued, more intense than before, fiercer, as though they were both trying to catch up on long, lost months. When Claire cupped his erection in her hand, Matthew growled in her mouth, his need and want surrounding her like flames. Emboldened, she unbuttoned his pants and slid her hand inside them, curling her fingers around his cock and gently pulling it out. Matthew's eyes opened wide. He gasped and broke the kiss off, shaking his head, his left hand leaving her waist to clutch hers. "What are you doing?” His voice rasped like gravel. "Trying to decide if I want you in my mouth or in my pussy.” Not being able to blush was a blessed thing. “Any preference?" His hand was still clenched on hers, but he wasn't pulling her off him, and when she started stroking, so very slow, from the root to the very tip of him, his hand accompanied her movement. "Claire, don't." He said her name like a prayer, like a plea, but more important than that, he said her name. "Stop me, if you don't want me." His hand tightened on hers, and for a second she thought he would answer her challenge and stop her. Instead, he released her hand abruptly and caught her hips instead, pulling her closer to him, leaning in once more to kiss her. She moaned into the kiss, then again when he tugged at the hem of her dress, pulling it up until his hands could slide beneath the edges of her panties and cup her ass. "Hold on to me,” was the only warning he gave before he hoisted her up. By pure reflex, Claire closed her fist on the collar of his shirt. She couldn't wrap her legs around him, the wall blocked her, but before she could say a word he reversed their positions, pushing off the wall and turning so that her back and shoulders pressed against it instead. Her legs slid in place around him, and a murmur—"Guide me in."—reminded her that she still had his cock in her hand, now pressed against the soaked material of her panties. She fumbled a little to push the fabric aside, and then he was sliding in, slow and strong. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed. For weeks, she had dreamed of him, of them together again. This was more than all the dreams together. It was ... right. She had come back to Haventown, but only now was she home. With both hands clutching at Matthew's shoulders, Claire opened her eyes again. Brown so deep, so dark it seemed black greeted her, the truth shining in his naked gaze. She wasn't the only touched to the core by this joining. She wouldn't let him claim otherwise, later. But for now...

Using the wall behind her as leverage, she raised herself on him, then slipped down again. Matthew moaned, a half formed sound that, to Claire's ears, sounded like her name. She smiled. When she raised herself again, he accompanied her movement, amplifying it. They wouldn't last long, not like this, not after so much time. It didn't matter. She already had what she wanted. **** Decades earlier, Matthew had shed one of his last human reflexes; he had stopped breathing when he had sex. And yet, with one arm locked around Claire, the other against the wall supporting the both of them, Matthew found himself struggling to catch his breath after his climax, and unable to stop. His only consolation was that she breathed just as hard. Her forehead rested against his and she had closed her eyes, but her whole face glowed with a smile. As gently as he could, he pushed away from the wall and, now holding her waist with both hands, he raised Claire off him then down when she dropped her legs. She wobbled for an instant, but when he let go of her waist, she was steady again, and smoothing her dress back along her legs. Matthew took her cue and made himself presentable again, trying still to figure out what to say. When she looked back at him, she was still grinning. "I knew it,” she said, almost triumphant. "Knew what?" "You just fucked...” She paused and frowned briefly. “No, you made love to me. Not to ... a ghost. You called my name." She reached out to take his hand, and Matthew found that he didn't want to stop her. He had been fighting his feelings for too long. The guilt was still there, and maybe in time it would fade, but in the meantime he wanted to be with her. “I'm not letting go of you,” she said, sliding closer to him again. “You're stuck with me forever, and forever starts now." It was corny, and he would have told her as much—though he wouldn't have denied the truth of her words, not anymore—but a voice behind them didn't give him time to do so. "Forever?" Both Matthew and Claire turned to find themselves in the line of a crossbow. "If you ask me,” Jonas sneered, “forever is overrated." If the crossbow had been directed at him, Matthew would have moved already, and either put some distance between him and Claire or rushed at Jonas without waiting. The crossbow, however, and its very deadly stake were pointed steadily at Claire, and Matthew had little doubt that Jonas could strike down a vampire on the first blow. The only reason she wasn't dust yet was Jonas’ anger, flashing in his eyes, overwhelming in his scent, but this same anger made the man very dangerous. "I gave you a chance, Claire. I let you and your beau get away. And what did I get as a thank you?" "I didn't—" Jonas continued as though he hadn't heard her. “I get accused of your murder. I lose my Special Enforcer license, my job, everything that was important to me. Everything.” He laughed, the sound like

wind rushing down an icy mountain. “And it all started when I lost you." At Matthew's side, Claire raised her hands as though to calm Jonas down. She started taking a step toward him, but Jonas visibly tensed. "Don't,” Matthew urged, very low, and she stopped moving. "I didn't want that to happen,” she said, slow and quiet. If Matthew hadn't been able to read her scent, he could almost have believed she was as calm as she appeared. She was anything but. She was scared, and struggling not to show it. Matthew felt fear, too, but not for himself. He had thought he had lost her already that night; he wouldn't let it happen for good. "If I had thought anyone would believe I was dead, I'd have left a note, or talked to someone. It was an accident, please believe me." Jonas’ aim wavered. He shook his head. Claire wasn't getting through to him, but he was listening. That was good. As long as he listened, he wasn't hitting the trigger. "We can go to the police. We can go together. We'll get it on the record that I'm still alive—" Jonas snorted, but Claire didn't flinch and continued talking as slowly and gently as she had so far. "I'll even say the video was a fake. I don't know if they'll reinstate you, you'll probably have to fight for it, but you'll have a fair shot. I'll help as far as I can. Just let me help." Jonas’ eyes never wavered from her face as she talked, not until Matthew tried taking a step to the side, away from her and closer to Jonas. His gaze jumped to Matthew, daring him to move even an eyelash, before returning to Claire. "I'd like to believe you. If you hadn't tried to kill my girlfriend, I'd have believed you. If." His aim firmed, the difference barely there but a glaring sign for Matthew. He was about to press the trigger. "You tried to kill his girlfriend?" Matthew's outburst surprised Claire enough that she stepped back and sideways, so that her body was angled toward him, now. Better, as it would be a much trickier shot for Jonas now, but not good enough. Only when she was completely safe would it be good enough. "It's not like that,” she started, but Matthew cut her in. "I taught you better than that.” His voice rose in volume, echoing down the alley. He watched Claire's eyes widen as her scent shifted toward uncertainty. “You. Don't. Kill. You don't need to kill. Not unless someone is ready to kill you, and if you're forced that far, don't be stupid enough to leave them alive to tell the tale!" The uncertainty changed into incredulity and Claire faced him fully, her eyes flashing in outrage. From the corner of his eye, Matthew could see the crossbow, still pointing at Claire, but the angle was wrong, now. She'd be hurt if Jonas shot, but she wouldn't die.

"I didnot try to kill her.” The calm from earlier was gone, replaced by righteous indignation. “And I can't believe you'd rant at me now when—" She was going to pull Jonas into the discussion, exactly the opposite of what Matthew had tried to do. He had to act now. He jumped. **** It happened so fast, Claire only understood what had happened when it was over. It all couldn't have lasted than a minute, two at the most, yet time seemed to stretch without limits. Matthew had riled her up on purpose, she could see that now. With her attention off Jonas, she moved without thinking, and Jonas, caught in the argument as well even if only as a witness, didn't call her on it. She didn't realize she was facing away from the crossbow until the stake flew barely an inch in front of her. Matthew had just rushed at Jonas. By the time Claire turned to them, they were on the ground, Matthew pinned beneath Jonas and struggling to get the upper hand. The crossbow was a foot away from them, but Jonas had a stake and thrust down toward Matthew's chest. Claire gasped. Matthew struck at the stake with his hand and it slashed across his palm. Blood blossomed on his skin. The sight of it made Claire cringe, and realize in the same instant that she could be more than a spectator. She looked around her for a weapon, anything to hit Jonas and shove him off Matthew. And then it struck her. She was a vampire. She already had a weapon: herself. She walked up behind Jonas. Caught as he was in his struggle with Matthew, he didn't notice her. She could have caught his head in her hand and broken off his spine. She could have sunk her fangs into his artery and bled him to death. She did neither, however, and instead, remembering how Diane had taken hold of Jonas’ girlfriend, remembering the lessons Matthew had given her, she locked her right arm around Jonas’ neck, clutching her wrist with her free hand and propping that arm against his back. He immediately grabbed her arm, trying to loosen it and get the blood flowing to his brain again. She held on, and kept holding still, even when he struggled to get back to his feet and tried to shake her off. She held on until he went limp against her. She checked for his heartbeat as she released him, relieved to find it going strong. Straightening up, she offered her hand to Matthew to pull him to his feet. "See?” She pointed at Jonas on the ground. “I do listen. He's not dead." Matthew grimaced. “He's not, but it's not over. His girlfriend's a S.E., isn't she? If she reports that you attacked her, it's a death sentence hanging over you." "I didn't even raise a hand on her! She menaced me, and Diane took her down." "Diane?” He blinked at that, as though surprised. “Never mind. She accused you, at least to Jonas, and now we've taken him down but not completely..." He raked a hand through his hair. It was odd to see him like this, unsure of what came next. Claire found that she didn't mind seeing him lose his cool. As ironic as it was, it made him seem more human. "We could still..."

He trailed off without finishing, but Claire understood when he looked down at Jonas. She crossed her arms. "No. We're not killing him. He may be a bastard, but I won't have his death on my mind. You said life is precious. If it's true, evenhis is precious." Once, she wouldn't have even imagined contradicting her Sire so blatantly. This night, she did so without hesitating, vaguely aware of how far she had come since her siring. Walking away from Matthew for all these months probably had helped. A half smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. He reached out to Claire and ran a hand up and down her arm. She realized she was shivering. "You did listen,” he murmured. “But we can't just leave him there. He let us go once, but I don't think he will do that a second time, not after tonight. As long as he thinks we're alive, he'll try to track us down." A single word—'us'—and the small fear that had been growing stronger at the back of Claire's mind dissipated like the mist in the sun. A step was all Claire needed to be in Matthew's arms. They closed around her without hesitation. "If we could only make him think we're dead,” she sighed. “Maybe pour ashes around him in the shape of two bodies and hope he'll think that's us?" She had put enough petulance in her words that Matthew understood she was joking and laughed softly against her hair. After a few seconds however, he stopped abruptly. "That's it!" She pulled back to look at him, incredulous. “What, the ashes?" "No, something much better. Actual memories." Dropping a hand from Claire's back, he unclipped the small cell phone that accompanied him everywhere he went from the waistband of his pants and flipped it open. Claire quickly realized it was Diane on the other end of the line, and she listened to him give her quick directions to where they were. When he put the phone away, Claire looked a question at him. "Remember I told you the older you get, the more things you'll learn to do? Diane is very good at thrall.” At Claire's frown, he continued. “That's a bit like hypnotism—" "I know what it is. It's just ... Do you think it'll work? Can she make him believe, truly believe we're dead?" Matthew shrugged. His eyes returned to the man lying unconscious at their feet. “I don't know for sure, but right now that's the only option I can think of. At the very least, it'll buy us enough time to get out of town and find a place to hide." They were back where they had started, then, with the need to get away from a potentially dangerous place, but Claire hoped, and thought she had good reasons to hope, that something had changed from the moment they had left On The Edge. “Together?"

A car accelerated in the nearby street, then people laughing walked by, unaware of their presence. The sounds filled Claire's mind as she waited for an answer, a sign that what she thought had happened earlier had truly taken place and that Matthew's barriers were down. "I still think I'm responsible for your death,” he murmured at last. “That's not going to change." "And I still think being sired is one of the best things that ever happened to me,” she shot back, “and not only because it brought me closer to you. That's not going to change either." He raised a hand toward her face, pausing at the last instant when he seemed to notice the blood on his palm. He stared at it for a few seconds, long enough that Claire wondered what the blood represented in his mind. Her siring? The link that joined them? She was about to ask when he looked back at her. "I guess we can give it a try. Together." Framing her face with his bloodied hand, he leaned in for a brief kiss. Claire wrapped her arms around him and buried a happy laugh against his chest. Behind them, Diane's footsteps echoed in the alley. [Back to Table of Contents]

Epilogue The snowflakes were few and far between, barely a dusting on the stone-paved streets. Gusts of wind gathered them in swirls that formed as quickly as they disappeared. When they fell on Claire's navy blue coat, the flakes sparkled, catching every bit of light they could from the slim crescent of moon, from the lampposts lining the street, even from the stars that shimmered beyond the torn cover of clouds. It wasn't very cold, and even if it had been, it wouldn't have affected Claire. Still, whatever was left of her human years had her clutching the collar of the coat closed with her gloved hand. She imagined the token gesture was keeping in the little warmth that her body held, moments after feeding. The flavor and thickness of the blood still coated her tongue. At first, she had kept bagged blood in her office's mini-fridge for the nights when she worked late. It hadn't been long before it became her favorite way to feed. Sometimes, she missed sinking her fangs in living flesh, missed also the feel of warm blood spurting onto her tongue, and she went back to hunting. But humans always seem to expect more from her than she was ready to give, and bagged blood always became more attractive again after a few nights of refusing unwanted advances. The deep whistling of a boat on the nearby river caught Claire's attention and she changed her course. It was still early, midnight hadn't descended yet from the churches’ bell towers, and she had no reason to go home yet. It would still be empty. Since she had started her financial advising firm, Matthew hunted alone. Even before that, however, they had avoided as much as possible being seen together in public. Jonas was a continent and an ocean away and, as far as they knew, still convinced that he had killed the two of them, but they were more recognizable as a couple than alone, and they weren't taking any chances. When they had first moved here, it had taken Claire weeks to finally accept his solitary hunts. Getting

used to the idea of Matthew hunting on his own and then coming back to their bed had been very difficult. After several nights of following him and a heated discussion about jealousy and trust, she had made a startling realization—something she should have known from the very first time she had talked to him. Matthew wasn't Jonas. Keeping a hand at her throat, she leaned against the waist-high stonewall that bordered the river. A boat was pulling a large V behind itself on the dark waters; the waves crashed against the pier a few feet beneath Claire, so regular that if she closed her eyes, she could almost believe herself on the seaside. The one thing missing to complete the illusion was the scent of sea salt and brine. The ocean coast was only two hours away, close enough to go there, one night, and make it a date. She wondered if Matthew would walk with her on the beach. She missed the feeling of sand sliding between her toes. Behind her, quiet steps grew louder as they came closer to her. She opened her eyes and tilted her head to one side. A thread of scent on the wind, and she relaxed again, her eyes returning to the boat as it was about to disappear past the round arches of a bridge. "Nice view." She turned to look at Diane, now leaning against the wall by her side, their elbows almost touching. “I thought so too. Where have you been?" "Oh, here and there. Sightseeing.” She paused, and a small, barely there danced on her lips. “Looking for a new Childe.” The smile widened just a touch. "You found one." "Maybe. Possibly.” She sighed and gave an absent shake of her head. “It's hard to find good Childe material, these days. But I've got a good track record." By the sideways look she gave Claire, she wasn't talking only about Matthew, and Claire felt a little embarrassed. Had she been human still, she would have been blushing. As it was, she didn't know how to answer, so she returned her eyes to the river. The waters had become tranquil again, and only small glimmers on the surface hinted that it was still flowing. "I trust you and Matthew have been careful?” Diane asked after a little while. “I won't always be around to thrall your way out of trouble." "Of course, we have been careful. You know Matthew." Diane laughed, bells chiming over the river, and the sky answered with more snow. **** Matthew opened the French doors and stepped onto the balcony. Earlier, the snow, heavy and wet, had fallen hard and long enough to cover the town in a sparkling blanket. It had now slowed down again, so that few flakes fell on him as he looked over the roofs spread at his feet. The apartment building was on a low rise on the outskirts of the city, and from the next to last floor the view was usually gorgeous. Tonight, it was fantastic. "You're going to get cold,” Claire chided from behind him. He smiled and half turned toward her, offering his hand to her. “Then come and warm me."

She shook her head but took his hand nonetheless, her fingers light as a breeze as they curled around his. She allowed him to pull her outside with him. He led her in front of him and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back to his front. "Did it look like this, back in your time?" Matthew's mind slid back to a century earlier, but the images eluded him, and he quickly came back to the present. "I don't think I ever took the time to simply watch, back then. I was too busy living." "And now you take time to watch?" "Now I know that watching is part of living. If you can't see the beauty around you, there's not much point to life." Claire shifted in his arms to face him, raising her arms to loop around his neck. She watched him for a long time, her eyes traveling over his features until they were practically a caress. "I know what you mean,” she said at last, and smiled very softly. A snowflake fell and clung to her eyelashes. He bent down to kiss it away, then kissed her lips, gentle and slow. When he pulled back, she rested her cheek against his chest and sighed. How had he ever believed he could live without her? "Do you have any regrets?" The question had been tugging at his mind for weeks, now. He knew, or at least he thought he knew, that she was happy, but sometimes he still thought of everything she wouldn't experience; the same things he had taken for granted until he had awoken a vampire. "Only that it took Diane's interference for you to turn me." Matthew needed a few moments to wrap his mind around the idea. He had never completely believed her before when she had said she didn't mind what she had become, but in that instant, with peace surrounding them like a cocoon, he couldn'tnot believe her. "Would you ever have bitten me? Not to turn me, just to feed." "No." She chuckled noiselessly against his chest. When she looked up, her eyes held an amused indulgence. "Not even if I had asked?” she insisted. "No." Her voice dropped to a whisper that sent tendrils of need curling around Matthew's spine. “What if I asked now?"

"I ... could let myself be convinced." The amusement disappeared from her eyes and face. She seemed so serious, suddenly, that Matthew wondered what he had said to upset her. Her voice however remained as quiet, although maybe more intense, when she asked: "Bite me?" He leaned down again to her mouth for a kiss; her tongue slipped past his lips and came to stroke where one of his fangs hid. He extended them carefully, unwilling to nick her tongue. This wasn't what she had asked for. Drifting from her mouth to her jaw then down her neck, he trailed his lips and kisses along her skin. She shivered, and he held her a little tighter. He tried to make his bite as soft as his kisses. Claire hummed quietly when he pulled on her blood, slow and strong, just like he had taught her. His right hand left her waist to cup the back of her head, and without ever raising his mouth from her flesh he led her to his neck. She bit down as gently as he had, completing the circle. They were in each other's arms, in each other's mouths and bodies, and even making love rarely felt as intimate. Matthew had closed his eyes, but he could still see the town behind Claire, waiting for them just like the world was. For now, though, he was perfectly content where he stood. Never before had blood tasted like snow, and love, and forever. The End [Back to Table of Contents]

About the Author Kallysten is a French citizen whose most exciting accomplishment to date was to cross a few thousand miles and an ocean to pursue (and catch!) the love of her life. She has been writing for almost fifteen years, and always enjoyed sharing her stories and listening to the readers’ reactions. After playing with science fiction, short stories, poetry and fanfiction, she is now trying her hand, heart and words at paranormal romance novels. To see her other novels, visit: original.kallysten.net Other stories in the On The Edge series available at Alinar Publishing: On The Edge Brett Andrews thought he had it all. His new club, On The Edge, catering to vampires and humans, is a smashing success, and the beautiful vampire Lisa is everything he could have dreamed of. When an old lover of hers, Leo, shows up at the club, Brett's immediate fear is that he will lose Lisa. But if he just stops thinking long enough to follow Lisa's lead, he might gain a lover instead of losing one.

Forget Ever After Seven months ago, Lena's fiancé disappeared without a trace. She spent those months burying herself into textbooks and lecture notes, but never quite lost the hope that, somewhere, Liam was all right, and that he would come back to her. When fate allows them to meet again, Lena is overjoyed and ready to welcome him back into her life. Even the shocking discovery of how much he has changed does not deter her because, he admits it with some difficulty, he still loves her. But what future can Lena and Liam have together, when she wants nothing more than to save lives and he is a newly turned vampire? Dare I? A discussion with her friends leaves Anna convinced of one thing: she has to be the most boring person in Haventown—and that's not who she wants to be. Deciding to show everyone, and herself, that she does have an adventurous streak, she goes to the club On The Edge with the firm intention to bring a vampire home before the night is over. It doesn't take her long to find a prey. Chase, however, might be much more than what she expected to find. www.alinarpublishing.com

Visit www.alinarpublishing.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.