I laughed and said, “It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t so serious. The vampires I first met, the Grant family, are wonderful, but they won’t even acknowledge what they are. They always call it ‘a condition’ and pretend that they’re absolutely normal. When I first came into their lives, they were appalled. Well, I am something of a screwup.”

Wil stopped walking and turned to me. A lamp overhead illuminated his sexy, kohl-lined eyes. “Milagro, I don’t think you’re a screwup. What Graham said is true—we’ve all heard the stories, and I think you’re unbelievable.”

It was like a first date before I changed. One of those dates where there’s a lot of sexual tension and deliberately accidental touching and I was with some really hot guy, and my engine was revving, and the night was ours and we hadn’t fought over something stupid yet.

Wil wasn’t some depraved aristovamp and he wasn’t a workaholic whose parents hated me. He was just a lovely, lovely boy.

Putting his arms around me, Wil drew me to him. “Am I risking my life by doing this?”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” I said, teasing, but I was thinking, Goddamn Ian Ducharme can go to hell.

Wil’s kiss was firm and hungry. His touch was exciting because it was new. I kissed him back, but when his hand went under my sweater, I pushed it away and said, “You’re not going to bang me against the wall in an alley, Wilcox Spiggott.”

He grinned and said, “Bummer. That’s one of my specialities. Let’s go dancing.” He took my hand and pulled me forward until we reached the rear entrance of a building. Wil looked up and gave a wave. I followed his gaze to see a security camera directed toward us.

There was a loud click-click sound and then the huge steel door edged open. A massive bald man dressed in a dark suit said, “Evening, Mr. Spiggott. Who’s your friend?”

“Milagro from California and the Grant family. I vouch for her.”

The man nodded, opened the door for us, and said, “Good evening.”

“Hi,” I said.

Wil and I walked into a dingy hall.

“You don’t have to tell everyone who I am,” I whispered.

“But you’re a celebrity.”

“Only by virtue of not dying. That’s not much of an accomplishment.”

Wil led me through carved wooden doors to a luxurious lounge with a vast Oriental carpet, furniture covered in watered yellow silk, and dark green leather armchairs. Pale, elegant people were chatting over glasses of red drinks.

This civilized scene made me deeply regret rejecting a hookup in the alley. “There’s dancing here?”

“Downstairs.”