Nor do they worry about a pack of werewolves—at least not quite the same way as I was.

Coming out in public was a bold step for the werewolves; one that could easily backfire. Staring out at the moonlit night, I fretted about what would happen if people began to be afraid again. Werewolves aren't evil, but they aren't exactly the peaceful, law-abiding heroes that they're trying to represent themselves as either.

Someone tapped on my front door.

Vampires are evil. I knew that—but Stefan was more than just a vampire. Sometimes I was pretty sure he was my friend. So I wasn't really afraid until I opened the door and saw what waited on my porch.

The vampire's dark hair was slicked back, leaving his skin very pale in the moon's light. Dressed in black from head to heels, he ought to have looked like a refugee from a bad Dracula movie, but somehow the whole outfit, from black leather duster to silk gloves, looked more authentic on Stefan than his usual bright-colored T-shirt and grubby jeans. As if he'd removed a costume, rather than put one on.

He looked like someone who could kill as easily as I could change a tire, with as little thought or remorse.

Then his mobile brows climbed his forehead—and he was suddenly the same vampire who'd painted his old VW bus to look like Scooby's Mystery Machine.

"You don't look happy to see me," he said with a quick grin that didn't show his fangs. In the dark, his eyes looked more black than brown—but then so did mine.

"Come in." I backed away from the door so he could; then, because he'd scared me I added snappishly, "If you want welcoming, try stopping by at a decent hour."

He hesitated on the threshold, smiled at me, and said, "By your invitation." Then he stepped inside my house.

"That threshold thing really works?" I asked.

His smile widened again, this time I saw a glint of white. "Not after you've invited me in."

He walked past me and into the living room and then turned like a model on a runway. The folds of his duster spread out with his turn in an effect nearly cape-like.

"So how do you like me à la Nosferatu?"

I sighed and admitted it. "Scared me. I thought you eschewed all things gothic." I'd seldom seen him in anything other than jeans and T-shirts.

His smile widened even more. "Usually I do. But the Dracula look does have its place. Oddly enough, used sparingly, it scares other vampires almost as well as it does the odd coyote-girl. Don't worry, I have a bit of costuming for you, too."

He reached under his coat and pulled out a silver-studded leather harness.

I stared at it a moment. "Going to an S&M strip club are you? I didn't realize there was anything like that around here." There wasn't, not to my knowledge. Eastern Washington is more prudish than Seattle or Portland.