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If that momentary touch of his lips sparked such fire, what would happen if you just… let go?

Was the fact that he was a vampire – that he had killed, and might kill again – enough to make me walk away from whatever was happening between us? Tom would say yes. Jon, however, might disagree.

From the moment I’d met ‘Cole’, I’d felt safe with him. Despite everything he’d done – things I’d struggle to forget – I couldn’t let him go. And I didn’t want to.

There was a darkness in me – a love of the fight, the kill, that was incompatible with normal, human relationships. But Nicholas… not only did he believe I was meant for him, he wanted me despite what I was. And fuck, I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in mylife.

Admitting it to myself was pure relief. The clarity felt like breathing properly for the first time in weeks. Even my face showed it – a glance in the hallway mirror when I got in showed a version of me I hadn’t seen in a long while. Cheeks flushed, hair loose around my shoulders as I freed it from its plaits. My fingers itched for pencils again; maybe now my art would find its focus too.

My dad’s call caught me off-guard as I was unlacing my boots. I could tell he was concerned about the letters and theeerie phone calls, but he chattered away, trying to hide it. For once he was cooperative, agreeing to take a trip without argument – it was the only thing I could think of that didn’t leave me stuck standing guard outside their house. But that was one less worry, at least.

Upstairs, I ran a bath and examined my healing injuries while steam slowly filled the room. The bruises were mostly gone now, leaving only yellow shadows on my hip and elbow. As I twisted my hair up, I caught my reflection – pale, pointed, perfectly ordinary. What did Nicholas see in me that he hadn’t found in centuries of searching? Beauty like Isabel’s was everywhere in his world. There had to be more to it.

Sinking into spearmint-scented water, I watched the late afternoon light filter through the stained glass of my tiny window, painting the bathroom in autumn colours. For the first time in weeks, my mind was clear enough to see what I’d first wanted in my mural. Yes, painting shouldn’t have been my top priority with a killer on the loose, but I did my best thinking with a brush in my hand. Or so I told myself.

Drying off, I threw on old, paint-spattered jeans and a light, green jumper that reminded me of Nicholas’s eyes. I was halfway up the ladder to the attic when a frantic knocking shattered my peace.

I hesitated, one hand on the rung. Tom wouldn’t knock, and Adam was headed in the opposite direction. It was still too light for other visitors – and I didn’t have any other friends, anyway. After a moment’s debate, I ignored it and bounded up to the attic.

Moments later, while rummaging through my paint box for the right shade of sienna, I jumped as a voice spoke behind me.

“Erin.” The word was a prayer of relief, jagged with barely contained fear.

I spun around, dropping into a fighting stance without thinking. My body knew him before my mind did – a sudden awareness that sent my pulse pounding.

Nicholas stood in the shadowy corner, his back against the wall and his skin faintly smoking. The black Henley shirt he wore clung to the lean lines of his chest and shoulders, doing nothing to hide how the muscles tensed beneath as he pressed himself away from the light. Deep orange rays flooded the attic from the two large windows on either side of the roof, trapping him. The urgency of the knock on the door now made sense.

“Shit. Was that you banging on the door?” I asked, dropping my fists. I tried to keep my words steady, but my heartbeat seemed suddenly louder than before.

“Aye,” he exhaled the word. “I needed—”

I hurried to pull down the blinds, affording him some space to move.

“Burnin’ to see you wasnae quite how I planned it though,” he murmured, a hint of his usual playfulness surfacing.

I moved closer, noticing the angry red marks on his exposed forearms where the sun had caught him. “You’re hurt,” I said, reaching for him without thinking.

His eyes followed my fingers as they hovered over his skin. “Tis nothin’” he insisted. “Already healing.”

I brushed the marks, watching in fascination as they fadedunder my fingertips, the angry red receding to pink, then to nothing at all. My voice was barely above a whisper as I asked: “Is it painful?”

“No,” he said, but his eyes darkened as I continued to examine his arm, tracing the places where the burns had been. “No anymore.”

The smell of charcoal and smoke clung to him, traces of his desperate run through daylight… but I had no clue what could be urgent enough for him to risk that.

Nicholas watched me with an intensity that made my skin tingle, adding to my already racing heart. For a moment I thought he might reach for me, but he seemed to think better of it, and I took an uncertain step back.

“So,” I said, forcing myself to breathe evenly, “what’s up?” I winced at how awkward I sounded. Despite my earlier revelations, I struggled to look him in the face – I couldn’t control my reaction when I did.

Nicholas swept a hand through his rumpled dark hair, looking around the room with interest. It stuck up in boyish tufts, and I hid a smile.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked.

I nodded, watching as he settled back onto my ratty old sofa, somehow making it look like a throne. His dark shirt and old, worn jeans should have made him look more human, but instead he looked… dangerous. The way the fabric pulled across his chest when he leaned forward, the casual strength in the way he moved – he looked like he belonged here in my space, even as everything about him drew my eyes to places they shouldn’t linger.

“Did something happen?”

He paused before answering, resting his arms on his knees. “I thought you dead.” His voice broke on the last word.