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His sight was sharper, his reflexes faster, his muscles stronger. Presently a hand had clapped him on
the back and Matt's voice had rung in his ears:
"Congratulations! Welcome to the team!"
Looking into that honest, smiling face, Stefan had been overcome with shame. If you knew what I
was, you wouldn't smile at me, he'd thought grimly. I've won this competition of yours by deception.
And the girl you love – you do love her, don't you? – is in my thoughts right now.
And she had remained in his thoughts despite all his efforts to banish her that afternoon. He had
wandered to the graveyard blindly, pulled from the woods by a force he did not understand. Once
there he had watched her, fighting himself, fighting the need, until the surge of Power had sent her and
her friends running. And then he'd come home – but only after feeding. After losing control of himself.
He couldn't remember exactly how it had happened, how he'd let it happen. That flare of Power had
started it, awakening things inside him best left sleeping. The hunting need. The craving for the chase,
for the smell of fear and the savage triumph of the kill. It had been years – centuries – since he'd felt
the need with such force. His veins had begun burning like fire. And all his thoughts had turned red:
he could think of nothing else but the hot coppery taste, the primal vibrancy, of blood.
With that excitement still raging through him, he'd taken a step or two after the girls. What might
have happened if he hadn't scented the old man was better not thought about. But as he reached the end
of the bridge, his nostrils had flared at the sharp, distinctive odor of human flesh.
Human blood. The ultimate elixir, the forbidden wine. More intoxicating than any liquor, the
steaming essence of life itself. And he was so tired of fighting the need.
There had been a movement on the bank under the bridge, as a pile of old rags stirred. And the next
instant, Stefan had landed gracefully, catlike, beside it. His hand shot out and pulled the rags away,
exposing a wizened, blinking face atop a scrawny neck. His lips drew back.
And then there was no sound but the feeding.
Now, as he stumbled up the main staircase of the boarding house, he tried not to think about it, and
not to think about her – about the girl who tempted him with her warmth, her life. She had been the
one he truly desired, but he must put a stop to that, he must kill any such thoughts before they were
started from now on. For his sake, and for her own. He was her worst nightmare come true, and she
didn't even know it.
"Who's there? Is that you, boy?" a cracked voice called sharply. One of the second-story doors
opened, and a gray head poked out.
"Yes, signora – Mrs. Flowers. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."
"Ah, it takes more than a creaky floorboard to disturb me. You locked the door behind you?"
"Yes, signora. You're… safe."
"That's right. We need to be safe here. You never know what might be out there in those woods, do
you?" He looked quickly at the smiling little face surrounded by wisps of gray hair, the bright darting
eyes. Was there a secret hidden in them?
"Good night, signora."
"Good night, boy." She shut the door.
In his own room he fell onto the bed and lay staring up at the low, slanting ceiling.
Usually he rested uneasily at night; it was not his natural sleeping time. But tonight he was tired. It
took so much energy to face the sunlight, and the heavy meal only contributed to his lethargy. Soon,