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 pin-pricks, 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 very 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 felt like 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. Did nothing happen 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 was a home for the lost. A safe house on Shelter Island.

She thought of the beast out there in the night, rattling the windows, and hoped Dylan had made it to wherever he was going.