“Excuse our mess,” he said with an apologetic smile. His gaze flitted to the hall. A Marilyn Manson song blasted at full volume behind one of the closed doors. “Turn it down, Ziggy!”

The music dropped a few decibels. Nathan and I stood awkwardly by the door for a moment. I suspected he was as uncomfortable as I was.

“Kids,” I said with a shrug, looking in the direction of what I assumed was Ziggy’s room.

“Let me take your coat.”

I watched Nathan’s face as he helped me out of the garment. He looked awfully young, in my opinion, to have a son Ziggy’s age. But then, for all I knew, Nathan could be hundreds of years old.

After he’d hung my coat on a hook by the door, he seemed to suddenly animate. “Have you fed?” He started for the kitchen and motioned for me to follow. “I’ve got some A pos.”

I lingered in the doorway and watched as he retrieved a plastic collection bag of blood from his refrigerator. Then he lifted a teakettle from the dish rack next to the sink and ripped the top of the bag with his teeth as though he were opening a bag of chips. Snapping on the burner of the gas stove, he emptied the blood into the teakettle and set it over the flame.

The process seemed so natural that I had to remind myself normal men didn’t keep blood in their refrigerators. Of course, most normal men didn’t own teakettles, either.

“You’re not going to drink that, are you?” Med school warnings of blood-borne pathogens flashed through my mind.

Though he didn’t look at me, I saw amusement on his face. “Yeah, you want some?”

“No!” My stomach constricted. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“Do you know how dangerous I am if I don’t drink it?” He leaned against the counter and wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. For the first time, I noticed how truly tall he was.

According to my driver’s license, I stood five foot eight, and though my hospital stay had stripped some pounds from my frame, I was no wilting flower of a woman. Still, Nathan looked like he could easily rip me into pieces with his bare hands if he got the inclination.

But his voice held a note of sadness. His eyes met mine briefly, but before I could understand the pained look in them, he turned away.

“I’m sorry. You haven’t had anyone explain all this to you. Blood-drinking is just one of the realities of being a vampire. You’ve got to do it sometime, and there’s no time like the present.” His voice was hoarse. “Besides, if you hold out too long, you’ll snap and do something…regrettable.”

“I’ll take my chances.” The kettle had begun to give off a warm, metallic smell. To my horror, my stomach actually rumbled. “So, am I going to live forever?”

“Why is that the first thing everyone asks?” he mused. “No, you probably won’t live forever.”