Winter in Richardson feels like an extension of fall. Leaves wither and drop into piles of brown decay, but the weather is mild and sunny—a small blessing.

For Christmas, Jared’s parents gift him with a new cell phone (his old one worked better as a paperweight), sneakers, and a box filled with UTCW gear: t-shirt, track pants, and notebooks. They smile, Jared smiles—everyone attempting to make the best of a bad situation. He’s grateful when they finally move on to cooking their traditional family dinner.

There’s no sign of Jensen, no clues leading Jared to believe his shadow’s been lurking close by. At first, he’s relieved. Life’s hard enough without a vampire haunting his steps. Jared assumes Ackles left town again while ignoring the twinge in his stomach. He doesn’t hide, sits outside on overcast afternoons, and hangs around Crowne’s waiting for Chad, but Jensen never shows.

Chad insists on hanging out for New Year’s Eve, and since Jared flat-out refuses to go to a club, they settle on a party at Katie Cassidy’s house.

Katie’s reputation pens her as the wild-child of Richardson High School. She’s the only child of Nathan and Carmen Cassidy, the top of the town’s rotting social ladder—a precarious position if there ever was one. With a full docket of engagements and commitments, the Cassidys are constantly leaving Katie with an empty house and a full liquor cabinet, making her the best friend of every eager-to-party student in town.

The first floor is at capacity when Jared and Chad arrive, but less than half of the faces are familiar. Probably college students tolerating a high school party for free beer and hot jailbait action. Jared’s over the scene five minutes after they walk in, but Chad drags him deeper into the close press of bodies. They find Katie on the glassed-in patio, blond waves swinging as she mixes cocktails so sweet, they’d kill a hummingbird.

“Jare! Chad!” she shouts as she spies them. “Happy New Year, bitches! Why don’t you have drinks?” Katie presses two unopened, barely cold beers into their hands. “Get with the program, boys!”

Despite his misgivings, Jared begins to enjoy himself. He leaves Chad with Katie and finds a few of his former RHS soccer teammates—now UTCW students—and spends nearly an hour catching up with them as he nurses the same stale beer. No telling what state Chad will be in later, and someone will need to drive Chad’s car home.

Jared circles back to the patio just before midnight. A few seconds later, as the New Year begins, he’s kissing Katie. She slips her Bacardi-slick tongue into his mouth, flicks it behind his teeth, and pulls away laughing. She turns and gives Chad the same treatment, only his hands hold her close, extending the moment. It’s not the worst way to welcome a new year, but Jared finds himself wishing for a change of scenery.

The party’s far from over. Half the guests have gone, but the noise and intensity spikes, those remaining have no intention of quitting before dawn.

“I can’t believe your parents are cool with this,” Chad yells to be heard over the beat. “If I did this, mine would ship me off to Siberia!”

Katie laughs, her lips stained red. “Alex always wants me to have a good time while my parents are gone!”

Jared pulse grinds to a halt.

Chad, too, has stilled. “Alex. As in Alex Sterling?”

Katie doesn’t need to confirm it; the ‘duh’ is all over her face. “Yeah, he’s like my dad’s business partner. He takes care of everything for me, even”—she stage whispers—“the drinks. And my parents never care. It’s cool!”

Stunned, they watch Katie dance into the next room. Given their wealth, connections, and unusually frequent trips, Jared suspected that Katie’s family was under someone’s protection because, unlike Jared’s family, the Cassidys weren’t long-time residents. They’d moved to Richardson six years ago and gained standing quickly; that kind of influence usually came at an obscene price.

Contracts with vampires are bad enough. To discover that it’s Alex Sterling behind the Cassidys’ movements—that knowing adults would hand their underage daughter over to a thing so depraved—chills Jared down to his marrow. Business partners…yeah right. The only business Alex has with humans is the type involving blood. In Jared’s mind, no amount of power or protection is worth paying that cost. Suddenly Jared no longer sees Katie as someone to be envied; he pities her.

Soon it’s two a.m. and the glass of the front window is cool against Jared’s forehead. He needs to dig Chad out from under the pile of drowsy, barely coherent partiers, but he can’t bring himself to move. Might be smarter to stay put anyway, carve out enough space for his six-plus feet of arms and legs on a loveseat rather than venture out, but Katie’s house no longer feels safe.

Jared’s gaze skips from car to car out on the street, tells himself he’s not looking for anyone in the darkness. Maybe that’s why it takes him a second to place the sedan parked just up the block, paint reflecting the clear midnight above. Too nice to belong to any of the coeds currently sprawled throughout Katie’s house. Must be a coincidence, though; Jensen’s not the only fang in town with a slick set of wheels. Of course, if it’s not Jensen, none of the other possibilities make Jared feel any better. He wipes away the fog his breath leaves on the window, keeps the car in his sights. Nearly trips over his own feet when the sedan’s headlights are turned on, a halogen glow beamed straight across the yard into Jared’s window.

A full minute passes before the car pulls away and Jared’s view fades back into darkness.

“We need to get out of here.”

The heart-shock of hearing Chad’s voice behind him has Jared clinging to the heavy drapes.

“Dude, whoa.”

“Don’t sneak up on me,” Jared says once his voice comes out of hiding.

“Sorry. What the hell were you looking at?”

Jared glances at the empty space on the street. “Nothing. So, why do we need to leave?”

Chad scratches the back of his neck. His collar is half-popped, the top three buttons undone. “Um, I kinda passed out next to Amber, and when her boyfriend woke us up, her hand was over my chest. Guess he thought we were hooking up or something.” Chad looks behind him. “I think they’re sort of fighting right now? But we should definitely go before they stop.”

Only Chad, Jared thinks. But he agrees on the ‘going’ part. “Can I just crash at your place? It’s closer.” Which is true, and Jared figures that spending the night in a house protected by Grayson instead of one under Sterling’s control is the lesser of two mega-evils.

Chad shrugs. “I told my mom we’d be coming back at some point anyway. Bet she’ll have all the lights on and everything.”

The trip to Chad’s is five minutes of knuckle-clenched silence. Jared finds it hard to breathe around the beating heart lodged in his throat. He’s waiting for crystal-blue headlights to cut across the road and pursue them, but nothing interrupts the metronome-flashes of streetlights along the way. When they pull into the garage under the Murray’s building, they both sigh, but neither lets go of sobering vigilance until they’re upstairs in Chad’s living room.

So begins another year in Richardson.

~~~

Eighteen tiny, flickering flames stand between Jared and adulthood. In towns across the country, turning eighteen means buying a pack of cigarettes (hopefully only once) and feeling less skeevy about downloading porn (unless your name is Chad Murray). In Richardson, these white and blue striped candles with drops of wax running down their skinny columns are all that’s left between Jared and an entire population of vampires. He quickly blows them out before his mom’s smile can fall any further.

The candles don’t really matter; with or without them, Jared’s no longer underage.

“I hope your wish was a good one,” his mom says as his dad cuts generous slices of chocolate cake. He laughs, but doesn’t explain the futility of wishing.

Despite Jared’s sour mood, his birthday takes a turn towards epic when his dad leads him out to the driveway after dessert. There, gleaming black and triumphing over the night, is a car straight out of Jared’s fantasies.

“Holy shit.”

His dad laughs. “I thought you’d say something like that.”

“Dad—this. Oh my god! Seriously?”

“Happy Birthday,” his dad says, slapping him on the back.

Jared can’t take his eyes off of the beautiful example of Americana in front of him, a near-fully restored Chevy Impala. “But I thought this was Doug’s project.”

“He obviously bought it in the first place,” his dad says, referring to his old friend and weekend mechanic, “but when I saw how much you loved helping him with it, putting in all that work, I knew it really belonged to you. And Doug agreed with me when I made him an offer.”

The Impala triggers a wash of memories: Jared helping Doug with the easy jobs and hauling equipment like a grunt. He’d never minded, soaking up everything Doug taught him. Jared remembers spending one or two afternoons a week with Doug’s family before high school began taking its toll, but he never forgot about her. On the rare occasions when he could make time over the last two years, working on the car had been an escape of sorts.

Jared spends an hour sitting in the Impala, senses overwhelmed with the touch, smell, and feel of her. He wants to take it out, but he’s only been eighteen for a few hours—no sense dangling himself like a worm on a hook.

“I think I’m in love.”

Jared jerks hard, flailing out and hitting the horn. Outside the passenger window, Jensen Ackles is smirking.

“Dammit!” Jared curses, heart thumping against his ribs. “Why the hell do people keep sneaking up on me?”

Jensen looks affronted. “I never sneak around. Maybe you’re hard of hearing.”

“Sure, yeah.” Jared takes deep breaths to quell his panic. His head feels empty, like a black hole from which no coherent thought can be drawn.

Jensen doesn’t seem to notice.

“I had a Firebird back in ’68,” he says, leaning through the open window, “and I got a kick out of that car, but the Impala was something to see.” Pale fingers dance across black paint. “They don’t make cars like this anymore. Shame,” he adds wistfully.

“I didn’t know you liked cars.”

“Life was certainly less convenient before the invention of automobiles.” Jensen smiles, his stab at humor a shallow one reminding Jared that Jensen’s been around for a very long time. “But there are cars, and there are cars. I appreciate the distinction.”

“I helped build this one,” Jared tells Jensen, letting his hands shape around the steering wheel. “They guy who bought it let me research parts with him, never cared how many questions I asked.”

“A lot, I’m guessing,” Jensen says softly. “You’ve always seemed extra curious.”

“Never in a million years did I think my parents would give me this,” Jared says, dropping his hands to the bench seat. Cool leather, supple but unyielding—Jared wonders how Jensen’s skin might feel in comparison. “If anything, I figured I’d end up driving my mom’s van until I could afford something decent.”

“Minivans,” Jensen snorts. “Humanity was better off without them.”

The vampire listens patiently from the window while Jared gives him a verbal tour of the Impala, mixing in a selection of stories from the afternoons he spent rebuilding her. Jensen never moves, unaffected by the cold while Jared’s breath fogs in front of his lips. It feels good to talk about the car—his car, holy shit—with someone who’s attentive, interested. His dad didn’t always have the patience and his mom’s eyes glazed over quickly. But Jensen questions, smiles at Jared’s quiet enthusiasm, and nods to show he’s following.

“I’m glad you’ve had such a memorable birthday,” Jensen eventually says.

Jared locks up at the reminder. He’d honestly forgotten.

“Yeah, uh, it’s been great.”

“I have to confess,” Jensen begins, and fear’s icy fingers tickle Jared’s throat, “I knew you’d be getting the Impala tonight.”

“What?”

Jensen looks up and his green eyes are backlit, vibrant. Utterly unnatural, and yet his expression is hesitant, almost sheepish, which gives new meaning to the phrase ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing.’

“Your father told several people. Word traveled,” Jensen explains. He reaches into his jacket, retrieves a thick, business-sized envelope, and hands it across the seat. “Happy birthday, Jared.”

Jared takes it carefully, as if the envelope has jaws, while Jensen stands passively beside the Impala. It could contain anything: information, threats, a protection contract he’ll be forced to sign under duress. Maybe Jensen came here to extort his compliance by endangering his parents.

“Jared?”

“Sorry, I was just, um…” He tears open the unmarked envelope and pulls out a slip of paper. One of many, actually. Jared looks up, confused by the grin on that marble face.

“You can’t trust this car to the auto-washer at the gas station,” Jensen says. “Hoopes, the owner of the hand-wash on Mesa, will take good care of your baby.”

Jared blinks. He’s holding a lifetime’s worth of vouchers for free car washes. There’s nothing to do but laugh, not a small part in relief, which Jensen appears to find totally appropriate.

“I know the last thing you want to do is get out of your car,” Jensen says when Jared’s wiping the last laughter-tears from under his eyes, “but you should head inside. It’s late, and your parents have been watching us from the window for the last forty minutes.”

“Shit! Really?”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I should go, too, but I’ll wait until you’re inside.”

Courtesy, or something more poignant, prompts Jared to say, “Thank you, Jensen. These’ll be great,” he adds, fanning the trove of certificates.

The vampire smiles in lieu of saying anything else. He steps away, lingers until Jared’s heading for the garage door. Then he’s gone. Jared walks into the house where his parents give him thirty seconds of peace before the questions roll out.

A few minutes before his birthday expires, Jared stares up at his bedroom ceiling, wondering about the wish he never made. Five minutes until midnight—Jared could silently wish for a guy to materialize in his life. A regular guy, not someone with solarphobia. But he’ll have lucky green eyes and a smile for Jared that’s different from those he gives out randomly. He’ll love the Impala and happily occupy the other end of her bench seat whenever Jared takes her out on a long drive. No doubt he’ll make Jared laugh, drop everything for him, and make him feel as if his skin’s on fire. In a good way.

Jares stops himself before the wish is uttered. It’s pointless; no one like that exists in Richardson. The guy in his mind might be wearing Jensen’s face right now, but the rest is all wrong. Midnight comes, goes, and Jared’s asleep soon after. What he dreams about will remain his secret.

~~~

The Impala makes Jared’s life easier. No more bumming rides from Chad—no more sitting around at Crowne’s like a loner. There’s no need to rely on someone else (or his parents) for the basics of getting around, and that small amount of freedom brightens his days.

But there’s a phantom presence in the care. Every time the ignition rumbles through him, Jared thinks about Jensen. He holds their conversation on the night of his birthday apart in his mind like a snowglobe, the scene protected from the emotions around it. Jared imagines meeting up with the vampire (or, more realistically, being sneaked up on) and telling him how the Impala’s running. But like most vampires, Jensen’s not exactly out and about all the time; when he doesn’t want to be seen, he won’t be.

A week goes by without word from Jensen, then two. Jared regrets not asking where Ackles disappeared to over the holidays. Or, more relevant, what brought him back. At the time, Jared was happy to keep that sort of discussion under the table. Now he feels adrift, casting out but unable to pull himself in any specific direction.

Just as he’s getting used to Jensen’s absence (and trying to see it as a positive), however, his handsome shadow resurfaces in an unexpected place.

Three weeks after his birthday, Jared’s sitting outside at Sonic, the Impala’s grille shining in his periphery. The sun’s gone down, but the air’s warm for early spring and it’s quiet under the artificial lights. A few of his friends have driven through, but Jared stays put with his chili fries, toaster burger, and milkshake while attempting to finish his German homework.

“And people have problems with what I eat.”

Jared fails to cover his flinch.

“I know I made noise this time,” Jensen says as he sits down across the table. “You just weren’t paying attention to your surroundings.” The vampire seems out of place against Sonic’s gaudy, fluorescent backdrop, the fine cut of his suit (sans tie and with the top two buttons undone down his sky-blue shirt) probably irreparably harmed by the grated metal bench he’s occupying.

“What’s wrong with my dinner?” Jared asks, hurriedly pulling his papers together.

Jensen frowns. “No part of that came naturally from a plant or animal.”

Yeah, Jared’s aware. “But it tastes pretty good.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

The lapse stretches into minutes of easy silence. Jensen draws pages from Jared’s pile of assignments and reads them over. Jared wouldn’t be surprised if Jensen’s fluent in German given the intensity of his perusal and the approval lifting the corners of his mouth when he slides the papers back.

“Where have you been?” Jared asks before his curiosity can be smothered.

“Since the night of your birthday, you mean,” Jensen states. “There were things Albert needed me to see to, and I found myself keeping strange hours. Why?” he asks, attempting to leer. “Have you missed me?”

Jared skips over the question. “What about over Christmas? I didn’t see you for a couple months.” The vampire won’t meet his eyes, causing Jared to speculate. Out loud. “Richardson’s not that big, and you said yourself, you’re not a homebody. No way you developed a sudden case of agoraphobia.” He sees Jensen crack a smile. “So I’m guessing you left town.”

“Someone…suggested I get out of Richardson for a while,” Jensen confirms, cherry-picking his words.

“Someone?’’

“A friend.”

There’s a word he’s never heard Jensen use. (Jared figured Jensen collected groupies and lackeys in place of friends.)

“What for?”

“Perspective.”

Jared’s snort turns into a laugh. Jensen glances over, eyebrow cocked sternly. “You sound like such a cliché right now,” Jared explains. “You left for perspective? Come on, Jensen. Perspective on what? Being the prince of a crappy town in Bumfuck County, Texas?”

“Human behavior,” Jensen says.

The gears are grinding in Jared’s mind, nothing coming together smoothly. “Now that’s creepy. You don’t see me trying to understand things that are below me on the food chain.”

“Jared—”

“And clearly you didn’t learn much because you’re still trying to talk to me like all of this is normal.”

Jensen tries again. “Jared, I didn’t want to talk about this,” he admits, and once he says it, Jared realizes he feels the same way. “But you asked and I was trying to be honest.”

“More like vague,” Jared drawls, leaning away from the table and cracking his spine. Jensen studies him, and Jared tries not to fidget. “Got any more trips planned?”

“Not right now, no,” Jensen says. “The one was enough.”

“Oh, okay.”

This time, the silence unfolds uncomfortably. Jared picks at his food, no longer hungry, while Jensen casually looks around, ignoring one or two apprehensive stares aimed in his direction. The rest of the carhops and customers ignore them.

“Need help with your homework?” Jensen asks. “Ich spreche fließend Deutsch.”

“Nein,” Jared sighs, but Jensen grabs the closest sheet of paper before he can shove everything back into his bag.

Turns out Jensen is fluent (he spent most of the 19th century in Europe, and may or may not have been impersonating royalty for most of it), and after one more milkshake, Jared’s left with a flawless essay. He’ll have to throw in a few mistakes before Monday so his teacher won’t question why one of his B students is turning in A+ work, but he thanks Jensen and earns a clear, genuine smile.

They talk about the Impala and, like they did on Jared’s birthday, steer wide around contentious topics. Questions pile up like a multi-car wreck, but Jared sets them aside. This is better. Normal is better because it’s so rare. Too many conversations leave Jared’s guts in knots, but when Jensen acts this way, the only things Jared needs to worry about are the pleasant dreams he’ll be having regardless of whether he welcomes them or not, inevitably followed by awkward pre-alarm hard-ons.

Jensen makes sure Jared’s on his way home before it gets too late (only after Jared tries multiple times to get Jensen to drink a blue-raspberry Sprite), and as Jared drives away, he catches Jensen wave once in the rearview mirror. Jared’s kind of surprised to find himself grinning.

~~~

“This is a bad idea.”

“What?”

“This is a terrible idea!” Jared’s forced to shout in order for Chad to hear him. “I told my parents I was staying at your house!”

“Staying with me,” Chad yells back, “so you go where I go. We’re seriously fine! Grayson owns this place.”

This ‘place’ being Descent, one of the clubs bordering the UTCW campus. Saturday night and it’s packed, throbbing bass wall-to-wall—an exhibition of skin, sweat, and no-holds-barred behavior. Jared’s shirt is sticking to the back of his neck; if he’s already overheated, there’s no way he won’t sweat through his layers in a matter of minutes.

“C’mon!” Chad slaps Jared on the shoulder. “Let’s find Katie.”

Heading down onto the massive dance floor is the last thing Jared wants to do. At least he can see from up here on the main club floor, watch the rippling ocean of bodies rather than drowning in it. Jared’s danced in front of his mirror often enough to know that he’s doing the club a favor by staying where he is.

“You go,” he tells Chad. “I want to grab some water.”

“Be less fun, I dare you!” Chad shouts, already trying to pick out Katie from the crowd. He’d begged Jared to come along tonight—claimed he was this close to sealing the deal with the bubbly blonde, and that it was Jared’s duty as his best friend to play wingman “Come find us when you’re ready to flaunt your ass instead of sitting on it!”

Jared already regrets not staying in the Impala.

It’s hard to tell what Descent would look like without the blinding strobes, neon swirls of light, vibrating surfaces. Probably like any mysteriously stained, non-descript room with chips in the paint and dented metal all over the place. But in the dark, shadows grow and tempt the unsuspecting. This club may not have the same kind of reputation as Lash, Jared would rather stay as far away as possible.

Jared buys a bottle of water, double-checks that it hasn’t been tampered with (you never know). The bartender serving him seems familiar—dark, styled hair, cool blue eyes, lean frame—but it takes Jared a few gulps to place him. Mike? No. Mitch? Something less common…Misha? That’s it, Misha Collins. Older than Jared, he showed up in Richardson when he was a teenager, but he must be out of college now. Jared remembers Misha working in his parents’ computer store during one hot, hazy summer.

Misha sets another bottle of water on the bar, and Jared realizes he’s drained the first. “Take it easy,” Misha says, voice pitched to carry across the bar without screaming, “or I’m gonna have to cut you off after the next one.” He waves away Jared’s money, so he leaves it as a tip, watching Misha sort through another wave of called-out orders.

Jared scans the bar, the area around him devoid of familiar faces. Two-thirds are coeds gearing up for massive hangovers while the rest are a combination of townies, adults letting loose while trying to recreate their glory days, and a scattered handful of well-dressed customers enjoying top shelf liquor while ignoring the chaos around them. Jared’s stomach seizes each time he catches a dazed stare—too muted and glassed over to come from alcohol.

It’s while tracking one of those stumbling, starry-eyed fangbangers that Jared sees a man watching him from the far end of the packed bar. Tucked into the corner, his gaze is suspiciously focused and intense despite the glass of amber liquid he’s holding. His features are memorable: the pinpoint stare, brown hair long enough to tie back with a few strands brushing across his temples, and a strong-set jaw. Leather bracelets wrap his wrists, plaid shirt setting him apart from the coiffed, carefully-dressed clientele. (Even Jared had worn one of Chad’s nicer black sweaters over his t-shirt and pulled his nicest pair of boots out of the Impala.) But the man’s skin is pale, too much so for a guy who would be perfectly at home on a ranch…

“Shouldn’t you be dancing or making some epic, teenage mistakes?”

Jared turns away from the stranger and looks at Misha. “Not really in the mood tonight. I kinda came as a favor to someone.” He can sense that he’s still being watched and beckons to Misha. “Hey, who’s that guy at the end of the bar? Hard stare, looks like a cowboy.”

Misha isn’t subtle about checking. He looks, draws the man’s attention away from Jared with a smile and a nod. “Him? Trust me, kid. You don’t need to worry about him.”

Jared suspects Misha’s guarding the truth. He’s ninety percent sure that the man is a vampire, one he’s never seen before. The smart thing to do would be to find Chad and get out of here—too many threats and variables—but certain rules protect them in public and Jared does owe Chad a fun night out.

“If he’s bothering you, I’ll tell him to keep his eyes on his own paper.”

“It’s fine,” Jared says. “I should go find my friends anyway.”

Misha smiles. “Well then, get out of here. You’re taking up valuable real estate!”

He’s right. As soon as Jared turns around, a dozen people are pressing forward to claim his barstool. Twisting through the crowd, Jared feels only mildly violated, grateful to find an unoccupied stretch of railing where he can catch his breath.

In his jeans, his phone vibrates with an incoming text.

I hope Mr. Collins didn’t serve you anything strange.

Jared glances around. At the bar, Misha’s leaning towards the cowboy, but neither man has his phone out. Rechecking, Jared doesn’t recognize the phone number the message came from.

His phone vibrates in his hand. You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.

His pulse kicks up a notch, matching the bass being pumped throughout the club, and he’s got his phone locked in a grip so crushing, he’s surprised it’s still in one piece.

Less than a minute later, another text comes through.

There’s no reason to be nervous. I’m right behind you. Against the wall.

Jared’s mind can’t process the first part of that text; he’s fixated on the second. He tells himself to turn around, but his feet stall for time. Better to know, he thinks, and turns.

Jensen slips out of the shadows, spritely eyes capturing the neon green around him. While he has Jared’s attention, he brings his phone up and types a quick message. Jared’s phone shakes three seconds later.

At least I didn’t sneak up on you.

Jensen appears to be alone, but Jared checks around before approaching. “So, you came up with this idea and thought, ‘hey, this’ll be way less creepy.’”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Jensen asks, dropping his phone into his pocket. His dark jeans hug his legs intimately from knee to hip, and Jared’s almost ashamed of the way he studies the ridge and valley between Jensen’s legs when the lights wash over them, hoping the dizzying play of neon hides his red face.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I wasn’t until a few minutes ago,” Jensen tells him. The amusement in his voice flat-lines when he adds, “you shouldn’t be here by yourself.”

“I’m not,” Jared defends, “but Chad went to find Katie and I just wanted…wait.” He rewinds their conversation. “Did you show up here because of me? How did you know I was even here?”

“Does it matter?”

Jared isn’t going to let him evade the question. He brings his body closer, pushing Jensen further into the shadows.

“Yes.”

Jensen’s eyes widen as Jared shifts their position, something in his expression coming alive. “My friend noticed you at the bar by yourself. He called me—thought I might be interested in knowing you were here.”

Jared fights against the instinct to shirk away. “Why?” he asks for what feels like the one hundredth time since meeting Jensen. If the question affects him though, there are no signs.

Jared’s brain leaps to more than one conclusion. He’s certain the man who’d been tracking him at the bar is the vamp who tipped Jensen off. And assuming that, it means Jared and Jensen’s encounters are no longer a secret. But the motives behind Jensen’s predacious behavior continue to elude him.

Maybe it’s time to switch tactics.

It’s been hard to miss the liquid warmth in Jensen’s eyes when he watches Jared, and Jared’s come to terms with his own attraction towards the Founder’s son. But the fact that he’s a fang has always been a serious roadblock. For the first time, Jared wants to ignore that—make things simple. Lean into Jensen for cool relief from the dense, humid air that fills the club.

Jared’s body interprets that hypothetical as a command; he moves towards Jensen. Driven by the beat, his hips sway unconsciously, the swing and roll drawing Jensen’s attention. His dark gaze drops, entranced, to Jared’s waist, one while incisor cutting into his bottom lip.

“Jared”—Jensen’s voice exhibits signs of strain—“we should go.”

But that’s not an option. The spell binding them would break and tonight may be the only time Jared’s capable of caving in to his subconscious to find answers. Pulse-pounding music in his ears, hormones wreaking havoc in his bloodstream, and Jensen’s magnetism…Jared’s having a hard time remembering he’s supposed to be fighting this.

Hesitant, scenting Jared’s unrest, Jensen frames Jared’s waist with his hands, fingers tightening as Jared leans in. They’re the exact same height—Jared hadn’t noticed before—and when he dips his head it leaves his mouth inches from Jensen’s bare throat, lips beginning to tingle. A little closer and he would be able to taste Jensen’s skin.

Except that Jensen suddenly pushes Jared away. Rejection feels like an icicle stabbed through his heart. Confused, he searches for answers in Jensen’s eyes, but finds cold obsidian in place of warm jade, Jensen’s focus drawn over Jared’s shoulder.

“So…” a heavy, female voice threatens to curl Jared’s spine, “this is the human who’s been rotting your fangs.”

Jared nearly trips, Jensen pulling him around to stand against the wall, grateful for the steadying hand on his arm. The woman facing them is severe in a number of ways, from her bold, precise makeup and rail-straight mahogany hair, to the cobalt blue fabric painted on her slender shoulders and non-existent hips. Jared recognizes Lyssa Sterling instantly, wishing he didn’t.

“My friends are none of your concern, Lyssa,” Jensen says. His stance has barely changed, only the steel in his eyes betraying his emotion.

“I was curious,” Lyssa says, strolling towards them. Customers slink out of her path. “I’ve barely seen you and when I heard the rumors about your young friend, I needed to check for myself. So much to see, isn’t there?” she adds, leering. “Do you have a name?”

Jared’s surprised his tongue still works. “I only give it out on a need-to-know basis.” Jensen squeezes his arm.

Lyssa sneers, eyes gleaming. It’s hard to tell what color they are under the rain of lights—all he sees is a red flash. “Charming. Has Jensen been taking care of you? Playing the perfect gentleman, I’d imagine.”

“Actually he’s been creepy and inconsiderate,” Jared says, no idea where the words come from—perhaps courage channeled through Jensen where they’re touching. Otherwise, facing one of the Sterlings would terrify him into silence.

“You’re a challenge,” she says, as if it’s just dawned on her. She focuses on Jensen. “I understand. Those are the most rewarding. It’s been a long time since anyone resisted you, hasn’t it, Jensen?”

Jensen’s ignores her taunts. “You want to waste time reminiscing? Go find someone else.”

Lyssa considers the crowd. “You expect me to entertain myself with Grayson’s flock? He’s all about money—no substance. Although, I think one of my brother’s supple young things is out there dancing. She may be underage, but then you wouldn’t begrudge me a taste of something so—”

“Stay away from Katie!”

Lyssa’s smile is deadlier than a cobra as she fixes her eyes on Jared. By now, Jensen’s grip is cutting off circulation below his elbow, preventing him from storming forward.

“Not just a pretty face then is he, Jensen?” Enduring Lyssa’s scrutiny feels like being raked over hot coals. “You know, you do look familiar,” she says. “Your family owns the computer store, right?”

Instead of fighting Jensen’s hold, Jared sinks into it.

“Play your games somewhere else, Lyssa. I’m sure Victor doesn’t want you at one of his clubs.”

“No one stopped me,” Lyssa says, keeping Jared in her sights. “I think I know who your parents are. Stubborn, independent…unclaimed. Offers have been made in the past, but…is that what this is about?” she muses, arching her neck. “Are you looking to make Jensen your Patron?”

“I don’t want protection.”

“That’s the thing about Jensen,” Lyssa chides. “He’ll find a way to make you want it. Our founding son doesn’t craft deals for money or power—Jensen likes to be needed. The gentleman, the savior. The devil dressed as a prince. Is that the kind of Patron you want?” she asks, scenting blood in the water. “I could make you a much more attractive offer.”

“Enough!” Jensen’s voice booms, drowns out the music for a split-second. Everyone in the club pauses but easily shakes off the disturbance. Lyssa, however, looks stunned, like an animal jerked back at the end of its rope. That’s exactly what she is, Jared thinks. With the way Jensen acts around him, it’s been easy for Jared to forget that he’s powerful—the first son of Richardson. To other vampires, his status is near royalty. Far from being intimidated by Lyssa, Jensen’s reminding her of her place.

And Jared would fully appreciate all of that if he wasn’t replaying everything Lyssa implied. He has no reason to trust her, but the same holds true for Jensen. Tonight, Jared made it obvious he was physically attracted to Jensen—maybe that was part of the plan. Jensen could use Jared’s feelings to elicit a deal in his favor. Worse, he might expect Jared to act on his feelings in exchange for his safety. Or that of his parents. Lyssa hadn’t hesitated to bring them into the discussion, exposing another of Jared’s weaknesses.

Pressure builds behind Jared’s eyes. The lights, the music, the vampires—all crowding in to cause a massive headache.

“Jared?”

He looks up. Lyssa has vanished and Jensen in bringing his other hand up to Jared’s face. He flinches.

Jensen drops his hand. “Let’s go,” he says. For a moment, Jared allows himself to be steered away from the wall by Jensen’s hold on his arm. When he realizes…

“No, stop,” he says, jerking free. “I can’t leave.”

“I’m sure Lyssa’s still around—”

“And so are my friends.”

“They’ll be fine.”

“I’m Chad’s ride,” Jared insists, putting some distance between them. “If you don’t think it’s safe for me, what about Chad and Katie?”

Jensen sighs. “They’re both protected. You’re not.”

Jared freezes. Backed between the railing and a sticky cocktail table, he’s cornered with Jensen only steps away. “Is that what this is about?”

“Jared—”

“Did you come here to show me how vulnerable I am?” Jared scoffs, exasperated. “I can’t believe you, Jensen. Nice touch, though, getting Lyssa to threaten me right in front of you. That way you could step in and save my skin, get me to agree to anything, right?”

“Jared—”

“Stop saying my name!” he shouts, though it barely registers with the people around them. “God, Jensen. Just stop. I’m not interested in your Protection. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been taking care of myself for years, way before you started showing up everywhere I went.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do,” Jensen refutes.

“As soon as you heard I was here, by myself, you came running. I bet you saw it as the perfect chance to play out your little scenario.”

“I wanted to see you!” Jensen shouts, the façade finally cracking. He steps further into Jared’s space, but Jared is well beyond his tolerance for the night.

“You’ve seen me,” Jared cuts off anything else Jensen might say, “and now I’m leaving.”

“You said—”

“I’m getting Chad and we’re leaving.”

“Stay,” Jensen petitions. “Stay here for a little longer. I won’t bother you.”

“Sorry,” Jared says, “you don’t get to tell me what to do. You’re not my Patron, and I’m not your property.” With his frustration mounting, the rotating red lights seep into his vision. Everything around him is covered in it: the dancers, the bar, Jensen. Pale skin dyed crimson. Jared blinks but it’s all still there. “Goodbye, Jensen.”

The prickle between his shoulder blades means Jensen is watching him step out onto the dance floor where he finds Katie and Chad in the middle of an argument. It’s a small favor; their fight means Chad is more than ready to leave, ranting wildly about ‘mixed signals’ as he follows Jared to the parking lot. Jared barely listens, but the one-sided conversation distracts him all the way to Chad’s place.

Chad finally asks about Jared’s night when they’re bunked down—Chad in his bed and Jared contorting his limbs on the futon—but he can’t find the words. He mentions seeing Misha at the bar, but the name doesn’t mean anything to Chad. Beyond that, Jared lets Chad assume his night was as boring as predicted, no mention of the three vampires he’d crossed paths with.

He doubts Chad would believe him anyway.