My mouth was dry. I said the first thing that came into my head, and it was a harsh husky whisper

just like his. “Chris . . . I’m not her.”

I meant, I’m not my mother. He looked startled just for a second, but his eyes never wavered. They

were direct and unblinking, and how could I ever have thought they were cold? Because now they

were blowtorch-blue. Eyes like that could burn wherever they touched you, and my heart crawled

up and lodged in my throat.

“No,” he agreed. “You’re not. She never caused me this agony.”

What could I say to that? The way he was looking at me was making my head feel funny. Was making all of me feel funny, and not just in that oh God I just almost died way.

Christophe leaned in. His mouth was mere centimeters from mine. “She never made me think I

would die of heart failure. She never, never made me fear for her this way.”

I swallowed audibly. My throat clicked. If I leaned back to get away from him, I might just topple

over on the operating table.

But I didn’t want to lean away. “Christophe . . .” His name died on my lips. All of me was suddenly

exquisitely sensitive, all my hairs standing up, and I was halfway to forgetting that I was covered in

sweat and dried blood.

His lips touched mine. I almost flinched, the shock was so intense. Then lightning hit me.

I mean, I’ve gotten carried away a couple times, usually with moderately cute city boys when I

knew I wasn’t going to be around for more than a week or two. This was nothing like sloppy openmouth puppy kisses in the library stacks, or a stolen half-hour of necking in the secluded part every

playground has for games. His tongue slid in, and it wasn’t like he was trying to stuff my mouth

with it. It was like he was inviting me.

It wasn’t like Graves, either, the comfort and the safety. This was . . .

Tingles ran through all of me, not just my teeth. I forgot the usual things that go through your head

when this happens—things like Oh God did I brush my teeth enough or I wish he wouldn’t breathe

like that or Someone might be coming. I forgot about being scared I might do it wrong.

I forgot about everything except the heat and light running through me. One of his fangs brushed

mine, a jolt scorched through us both, and I sank into him for a long long moment before breaking

away to get in a breath and discovering that, yeah, there was an outside world and it was hard and

cold and bright and smelled like blood and metal and pain.

Christophe kissed my cheek. He murmured something I didn’t quite hear. Every inch of me ran with

multicolored electricity.

Wow.