I  pulled into my driveway at 4:30 in the morning. I was still feeling vaguely ill after eating real food, but I was immensely cheered by my mom’s rah-rah-be-the-best-vamp-you-can-be speech. It had been a long night, but a productive one, and I was ready to drink a gallon of water—not that it would help my thirst—and go to bed.

There was a strange car parked in my driveway, a white Taurus. Sighing, I parked on the street and, as I walked up my driveway, I peeked inside the car and saw the bubble light. Cop. And when I entered my house (lugging the Ant’s ball gown and my shoes), I could smell Detective Nick Berry’s clean, distinctive scent. Which, by the way, I’d never been able to do before. Whenever I saw him at the station, all I could smell were stale croissants (the doughnut thing is a myth) and old coffee.

He hurried out of my kitchen—what had he been doing, making himself a snack?—and stopped dead when he saw me. His jaw sagged and he made a motion toward the gun in his shoulder holster.

“Oh, that’s nice,” I snapped, slamming the door behind me and dropping the ball gown. “Don’t you dare pull a gun on me in my own house. And where’s your warrant?”

“I didn’t need one, seeing as how you’re dead. Also, you didn’t lock your front door again.”

“I had a few other things on my mind when I left,” I grumbled. “Boy, Jessica just couldn’t wait to tell you, could she?” I’d strangle her the next time I saw her. I said my undeath wasn’t a secret, but I didn’t mean she should run to the cops first thing. Her matchmaking was going to be the end of me. Well, probably not. “That jerk…friends are the quintessential mixed blessing.”

He was staring at me like a dog zooming in on a pork chop. “I didn’t believe her—figured it was a rotten joke—but promised her I’d check it out.”

“The fact that her family owns two thirds of the state probably didn’t figure into your decision,” I said dryly.

“The chief had me put it pretty high on my list,” Nick admitted. He blinked rapidly. “I can’t believe I’m discussing this with a dead girl.”

“You can’t?”

“Did you know it’s against the law to fake your own death? The D.A.’s gonna be pissed.”

“Believe it or not, Nick, that is the least of my problems right now. And I didn’t fake anything.”

He’d been gaping at me while we talked, and as I kicked off my tennis shoes he crossed the room. To my complete astonishment, he pulled me into his arms like a hero in a romance novel.

“Eh? Leggo.”

“God,” he said, staring into my eyes. We were exactly the same height, so it was a little unnerving. His eyes were light blue, with gold flecks. His pupils were huge. I could see myself staring in them, mouth hanging open. “You’re so beautiful.”

I was frozen with amazement. Nick had touched me a few times—mostly to shake my hand, and once our fingers brushed when he handed me a Milky Way—but he’d always been cool, pleasant, and nice. Nice Guy nice. I had sensed zero interest, which is why I’d never pursued him, and why Jessica’s hints and intimations were so annoying. But now—

“God,” he said again, and kissed me. Except it was more like he was trying to swallow me. His tongue jumped into my mouth—at least that’s what it felt like—and suddenly I was breathing his breath. This was startling, but not unpleasant. Then: “Ow!” He jerked back and touched his lower lip, where a tiny drop of blood welled. “You bit me.”

“Sorry—you thtartled me. I mean, you took me by thur-prithe. Oh, thit.” I could not look away from that tiny little crimson drop. It gleamed. It beckoned. It begged to be tasted. “Nick, you thould go. Right now.”

“But you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and kissed me again, more gently. I tasted his blood, and that was that. Had I thought I was thirsty before? The strongest, most compelling craving I had ever known completely took me over.

I kissed him back and sucked on his lower lip, which was plump and tasty. Mmmm, the better to eat you with, my dear! Then he was tearing at my clothes like a horny teenager. I heard the “clunk” of his holster hitting the floor, prayed his gun wouldn’t misfire, heard the jingle of the coins in his pockets as his slacks hit the floor in a polyester puddle, heard the riiiiiiip that meant I’d need to buy a new T-shirt. I had no idea what had happened to my leggings. He could have eaten them for all I would have noticed.

I tore my mouth from his, jerked his face to the side, and bit him on the side of the neck. I wasn’t remotely horrified. There was no reticence at all, no maidenly shrinking at the thought of drinking his blood like it was a cranberry spritzer. I couldn’t wait. I wouldn’t wait.

I’d been prepared to really bite down, but my fangs slid through his skin like a laser scalpel, and then his blood was flooding my mouth. My knees buckled as my body truly came alive for the first time since that Aztek knocked me into a tree. Everything was suddenly loud and bright and vivid; Nick’s heartbeat thundered in my ears and the dim lighting in the room seemed more like a stadium lit up at night. I could smell his lust—like crisp shavings of cedar.

Nick had gone rigid in my fiendish embrace, but given the firm length I could feel against my belly, he didn’t seem to find this objectionable at all. Thank God, because I couldn’t stop. He was fumbling at his tidy whities, but couldn’t seem to get them pulled down—he’d try and then he’d squirm and shudder against me.

Now, I can count the number of sexual partners I’ve had on one hand. Okay, on three fingers. Madame Slut I was not. And with every one, as with most women, it took time and manipulation to make me come. Not to mention I had to be naked! That whole three strokes and it’s time to ride the orgasm train thing is a pure myth, and I feel sorry for women who believe it and then think there’s something wrong with them when they need more than a slap and tickle to get off.

That said, when Nick groaned and shuddered against me while his blood was in my mouth, I was instantly jolted into orgasm, and his dick wasn’t anywhere near me. It was still swaddled in his cotton Jockeys, and I still had my Friday underpants on (yech! I was pretty sure it was Tuesday).

It was a shallow orgasm, the kind you get when you’re diddling with yourself and squeeze your knees together at just the right moment, but a come is a come (I should stitch that on a sampler sometime). Drinking blood had made everything more there, all sensations were more intense and opened a vein of sensuality I never dreamed existed.

His broad swimmer’s chest was pressed up against mine hard enough to flatten my breasts. He was sweating and panting, and I abruptly realized I didn’t need to drink anymore. My thirst was gone and I felt better than I ever had. I felt like jumping over the house. Maybe I even could.

I stopped drinking and pulled back, licking the bite mark to get the last few drops. Nick clutched me with both hands while he fought to keep his feet; his eyes were rolling and there were beads of sweat on his upper lip. I could still hear his heartbeat hammering in my ears—it sounded like his pulse was about one-sixty. I was shocked—I could have run (and won) a marathon, and poor Nick looked half dead.

“Oh, Jesus—”

“Don’t,” he whispered against my neck.

“Nick, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Don’t stop,” he managed. “Do more. Bite me. Again.”

The full impact of his request hit me, and in my horror I nearly dropped him. I suddenly remembered the church janitor…

(you’re pretty)

…and the minister…

(a beautiful stranger)

…and how odd they’d seemed; odd but, as I was having such a strange night myself, I’d shrugged off their reactions. Now here was Nick, a perfectly pleasant man who had showed no interest in me except as a witness, Nick with his clothes in ruins and blood on his throat, Nick who wanted me to bite him again. Again!

Not only could I live through car crashes and electrocution, not only could I toss grown men like they were magazines, but I could make men want me. Me! I mean, I was cute in high school, and carefully maintained my cuteness as an adult, but the boys certainly never fell all over themselves trying to be with me. They did that to Jessica, usually after they got a look at her checkbook.

But now…now they looked at me and wanted me, didn’t care if I drained them dry as long as they could hold onto me while I did it.

I got ready to yowl with horror and frustration, when I got a grip (you’ve overreacted enough the last two days) and instead picked Nick up and carried him to my room like he was a blond male Scarlett and I was an undead Rhett.

“SO it’s true.”

“What is, Nick?”

“Vampires.”

“Yes. It’s true. I’m really, really sorry.” I threw my arm over my eyes. I couldn’t look at him. Now that I had satiated my evil thirst, I was thoroughly embarrassed. Talk about your first date faux pas!

He propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at me. I knew this because I peeked. We’d been lying in bed, side by side, for about five minutes, in silence. I was both relieved and frightened when he started talking.

“Don’t be sorry. That was the best of my life. I mean, not that we actually…never mind. Did you—” He paused. “Did you get enough to…um…eat?”

I winced. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.” And now, the incredible awkwardness that happens between two acquaintances who got too intimate too soon and now have to chat. “Uh…are you okay?”

He touched his neck. I was amazed to see the bite mark was almost entirely healed. “It hardly even hurts.” Then he blushed like a kid. It was really charming—weird to see it perfectly in the dark, but charming. “And I came in my pants. Haven’t done that since—”

“Last week?” I asked brightly.

“Very funny.” He was still feeling his neck. “This is amazing. I can’t even feel where you bit me!”

“Like a dog, I apparently have an enzyme in my saliva that speeds up healing.”

He burst out laughing. Oh, thank goodness. Then he was rolling over on top of me and nibbling my throat. “Time for another drink?” he asked, and the naked eagerness in his voice made my heart lurch.

“No.” I pushed him, but he immediately settled back on top of me. “Absolutely not.”

“I don’t mind—”

“Dammit! You do, I bet, way down deep inside you, you probably mind plenty. Nick, I bit you! I drank your blood and I didn’t even ask.”

“You never have to ask,” he said quietly. “Besides, I wanted you to. I was grabbing onto you just as much as you were grabbing onto me. You didn’t have much choice, the way I see it.”

I snorted. “You couldn’t have hurt me and you sure as shit can’t force me. I think you’re having trouble figuring out who the victim is here.” Did vampirism encourage Stockholm syndrome?

He was still lying on top of me and I could feel his groin pressing against mine; he was throbbing and hard as a pipe. Amazing! The guy had to be in his forties. “I don’t feel like a victim. Come on,” he coaxed. “Let me in…and I’ll let you in.”

“No no no. Never again, Detective Barry, absolutely not. It’d be like rape. It is rape. Also, you have to go home and take a shower. Seriously.”

He laughed at me, but stopped when I asked, “How’d you feel about me before I died?”

“Uh…I thought you were great. Really cute. I mean, beautiful.”

“Ever want to slam me up against a wall and try to screw the bejeezus out of me while I drank your blood?”

“Uh…”

“Exactly. But you’re ready for all that now, suddenly. You don’t even mind if I drink your blood while we grope. Hello? This is not normal behavior. It’s not me you want. It’s—it’s whatever makes me a vampire. A supernatural gift or whatever—but it’s not me. It’s my undead pheromones. And that’s why we’re done.”

He protested, but I turned a deaf ear, helped him reholster his gun, so to speak, reassembled his clothes, and pushed him out my front door. Even so, he hammered on it for fifteen minutes, begging to be let back in.

I fled to my bedroom and put a pillow over my head, but I could still hear him for a long time.

In the movies, vampires are always these all-powerful jerks who use people like Kleenex. Now I could see why. A clean-cut boy next door who lets you drink his blood, then begs for more of the same, will let you do anything.

Anything at all.