From nowhere, he produces a folding knife, the blade flashing a bright silver as he flips it open. Slicing the pad of his index finger, he then squeezes a bead of garnet-colored blood to the surface. At the time, the thought of making out with him just to heal my hurt elbow seemed preposterously inappropriate, but it’s not exactly like it’s somehow less erotic when he pushes his finger into my mouth, sliding it across my tongue, murmuring, “Suck on it, August.”

Nervous and trembling, I do as I’m commanded, blood issuing from the tiny wound with surprising ease. It tastes earthy and metallic, and it tingles as it slips down my throat. Everything tingles, all of a sudden. There’s a buzzing under my skin, that seemingly paranormal sense I’ve developed for detecting the proximity of vampires building to an ecstatic hum as this vampire becomes a part of me. And then my veins warm, electricity snapping—and I come fully alive, or so it feels, for the very first time.

“Oh.” I let Jude’s finger pop out of my mouth. The sky is brighter, the world more colorful, and for a moment I’m transfixed by a halo of fine mist gathered around the glow of a streetlamp. The particles slide and shimmer, a veil of white gold fluttering in the oncoming dusk. I can hear the distant rustle of underbrush, the flutter of wings pushing air overhead, my own heart thud-thud-thudding away.

“August?” Jude’s voice is deep and wonderful. “What do you feel?”

“Everything.” When I look him in the eyes, I’m terrified and fascinated at once. They glow, molten with brassy light, and I fall into them without trying. There’s a hidden depth that calls to me and I’m in it before I know what I’ve done.

He’s shirtless, standing above me, brown skin smooth over a frame packed with lean muscle. Candlelight flickers, carnal and rosy against exposed brick and dark curtains, and Jude licks his lips. No matter what happens, he says, reaching for his belt buckle, his fangs partly extended, tonight is about us.

I fall out of the vision, gasping, and realize Jude is holding me—one hand on my waist and the other on my cheek. My instinct is to fight him off, until I see how concerned he is. “August, what’s the matter? What happened?”

“Nothing!” I’m still breathing hard, still remembering the warm light and the muscles flexing in his shoulders. The memory of a desire that I haven’t even felt yet consumes me, and I shudder with pleasure. “It was…” There’s no way to safely complete this thought, so I shake my head. “It was nothing. I got scared.”