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My pulse quickens. My tongue darts across my lower lip as I think about how his fangs felt piercing my skin. I want to feel that again. His big hands on my body, pulling me close, pressing me against him. Something flutters between my legs and I squirm, hoping to God he can’t sense how I’m feeling. He shifts in his seat, a muscle in his jaw tensing, making me think he is probably a little

too aware.

‘Well … okay then. You just let me know when you need to,’ I say, attempting to sound casual, but sounding breathless and weird.

‘Okay,’ he murmurs back softly, still unable to look at me.

‘You drive very fast for someone without a seatbelt,’ I point out, just to break the accumulating tension building between us.

He smirks, looking amused. ‘You know that I don’t die easily, right? A car crash would not kill me, or even really hurt me.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Well, that makes sense, I guess. It’s confusing because you look and seem quite human, even though I know you’re not. I always just expected vampires to be completely ruthless and not be able to have conversations or go about normal life in any way.’

‘We can,’ he says, shrugging. ‘We just do everything better.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Uh huh.’

The farther we drive, the quieter it gets between us, but I’m feeling more comfortable. Both of us are full of questions that neither of us knows how to ask yet.

‘What was your family like?’ I ask, blurting out the words without much prior thought, realising now that he may have had to leave his family behind once he turned. The old me would have assumed he wiped them out in a blood-soaked haze, but the new me realises now that everything I originally thought about vampires is completely warped. I shift in my seat and glance at Theo, attempting to read his expression.

He doesn’t answer straight away, giving a little shake of his head, like he’s rummaging through his mind and sifting through a range of distorted memories.

‘They were nice,’ he eventually says. ‘Pretty normal, from what I can recall. Weirdly enough, I seem to be able to remember this, but not more recent things. Mum worked as a receptionist at the doctor’s office. Dad was a history teacher. He was cranky and old. Their relationship was strained. Both were probably overworked and didn’t communicate enough. I felt like I was always a burden to them.’ He exhales. ‘Had a little sister too. Emily. I was always in trouble. When I turned, I compelled them to think I went travelling with …’ he trails off, as if losing the rest of his sentence. ‘Travelling with …’ he pauses, rubbing his forehead as if he has a migraine. ‘I can’t remember who.’ He frowns after a moment, looking puzzled. ‘Anyway. I haven’t seen them since I turned but I know they’re okay.’

‘Oh,’ I say softly. ‘That’s not what I expected.’

‘What were you expecting?’ His eyes shift to mine, the corner of his mouth twitching. ‘Coffins? Capes? A tragic back story?’

I laugh, feeling a bit exposed by that, since that’s pretty much the kind of thing I was thinking.

‘I guess I thought you’d be a bit more brooding. Like you were raised in some dark castle somewhere and always knew about vampires.’

‘Ah,’ he says, with mock seriousness. ‘Sorry to disappoint. I’d just like to point out that you’re the one with the mysterious background who grew up in a gothic mansion.’

I consider this. ‘You do have a point there.’

‘Let’s not forget the knives and crossbow comment.’

I lean back in my seat. ‘So basically what I assumed about you is sort of actually my reality.’

‘Sounds that way.’

‘I’m just confused. Like, you’re a vampire. The way you talk, I could picture you working at JB Hi-Fi on the weekends, and going to school during the week. Hanging out with friends and family as normal.’ I gesture at him vaguely. ‘But you literally drink blood to survive and have inhuman speed and strength.’

He lets out a real laugh, like my comment caught him off guard, the sound booming around the car, surprising me at the volume of it.

‘I was working at a bottle-o, actually. Before.’

I grin. ‘Seriously?’

‘Swear on my unholy soul.’

I stare at him, trying to picture it, just a normal teenager, stacking beer cartons and arguing with old blokes about specials. It’s … weirdly easy to imagine, even though I know what he is.

‘So what happened?’ I ask. ‘How did you get turned?’

That wipes the smile off his face. He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again. I realise now that his memory of the event has probably been wiped.