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“Are you sure?”
She nodded briskly, as if she were at the doctor’s office and had been asked to give consent to a particularly troublesome, but much-needed operation. She took off her glasses, pulled the right strap of her nightgown to the side, and arched her neck. She closed her eyes and prepared herself for the worst.
He walked over to her. He was so tall, and when he rested his hands on her bare skin, they were surprisingly warm to the touch. He pulled her closer to him and bent down.
“Wait,” he said. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
She did. She stared at into his dark eyes, wondering what he was doing.
“They’re beautiful—your eyes, I mean. You’re beautiful,” he said. “I thought you should know.”
She sighed and closed her eyes as his hand stroked her cheek.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
She could feel his hot breath on her cheek, and then his lips brushed hers for a moment. He kissed her, pressing his lips firmly upon hers. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. His lips were so hot and wet.
Her first kiss, and from a vampire.
She felt his lips start to kiss the side of her mouth, and then the bottom of her chin, and then the base of her neck. This was it. She steeled herself for pain.
But he was right: there was very little. Just two tiny pinpricks, then a deep feeling of sleep. She could hear him sucking and swallowing, feel herself begin to get dizzy, woozy. Just like giving blood at the donor drive. Except she probably wouldn’t get a doughnut after this.
She slumped in his arms, and he caught her. She could feel him walk her to the bed and lay her down on top of the sheets, then cover her with the duvet.
“Will I ever see you again?” she asked. It was hard to keep her eyes open. She was so tired. But she could see him vividly now. He seemed to glow. He looked more substantial.
“Maybe,” he whispered. “But you’d be safer if you didn’t.”
She nodded dreamily, sinking into the pillows.
In the morning, she felt spent and logy, and told her mother she thought she was coming down with the flu and didn’t feel like going to school. When she looked in the mirror, she saw nothing on her neck—there was no wound, no scar. Had nothing happened last night? Was she indeed going crazy? She felt around her skin with her fingertips and finally found it—a hardening of the skin, just two little bumps. Almost imperceptible, but there.
She’d made him tell her his name before she had agreed to help him.
Dylan, he’d said. My name is Dylan Ward.
Later that day, she dusted the plaque near the fireplace and looked at it closely. It was inscribed with a family crest, and underneath it read “Ward House.” Wards were foster children. This had been a home for the lost. A safe house on Shelter Island.
Hannah thought of the beast out there in the night, rattling the windows, and hoped Dylan had made it to wherever he was going.
FAMILY RECORDS:
LLEWELLYN
KINGSLEY MARTIN
Araquiel, Angel of Vengeance, the Angel with Two Faces
Birth Name: Kingsley Anderson Martin
Origin: Silver Blood Enmortal
Known Past Lives: Tiberius Gemellus (Rome)
Bondmate: None
Assigned Human Conduit: None
