When he appeared at three in the morning, she told him she had changed her mind.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes. But do it quickly before I chicken out,” she ordered.

“You don’t have to help me,” he said.

“I know.” She swallowed. “But I want to.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he said.

She put a hand to her neck as if to protect it. “Promise?” How could she trust this strange boy? How could she risk her life to save him? But there was something about him—his sleepy dark eyes, his haunted expression—that drew her to him. Hannah was the type of girl who took in stray dogs and fixed broken bird’s wings. Plus, there was that thing out there in the dark. She had to help him get away from it.

“Do it.” She decided.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded briskly, as if she were at the doctor’s office and 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 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 hot and wet.