Chapter 1

The thunder rattled the glass in the panes, but that wasn’t what woke me. It was the slide of the window sash.

I sat up, clutching my duvet to my chest, my heart doing a traitorous double-time against my ribs. My room was pitch black, lit only by the strobe-light flashes of the storm outside.

A silhouette crouched on my sill. Water dripped from his clothes, hitting my carpet with a heavy, rhythmic *tap-tap-tap*.

"Kieran?" I whispered.

He didn't answer. He unfolded himself from the window frame, standing to his full height. A flash of lightning illuminated his face. He was pale—not just fair, but drained of all color, like a marble statue left out in the rain. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, and his clothes were soaked through.

He had been missing for three days. My brother, Matt, had been out tearing up the town with search parties, terrified that Kieran had crashed his car or run away.

But he was here. He came to me.

"You're okay," I breathed, sliding my legs out of bed. The floorboards were cold, but the heat flushing through my cheeks made up for it. "Matt thinks you’re dead. Where have you been?"

I took a step toward him.

He moved.

It wasn't a walk. It was a blur. One second he was by the window, and the next, he was directly in front of me, crowding my personal space.

He smelled like the storm—ozone and wet earth. But underneath that, there was something else. Something sharp and metallic, like a handful of old pennies. Like fresh blood.

"Don't," he rasped.

His voice sounded like gravel grinding together. He reached out and grabbed my shoulders to stop me from coming closer.

I gasped. His hands weren't just cool; they were ice. It felt like being touched by something that had been dead for hours.

"Kieran, you're freezing," I said, my concern overriding the sudden spike of fear in my gut. I reached up to touch his face, to cup his cheek the way I had practiced in my mirror a thousand times.

He flinched away from my hand as if I were burning him.

"Matt is looking for you," he said, his eyes darting around the room. He seemed jittery, vibrating with a terrible, contained energy. "I shouldn't be here. I can't be here."

"Then why did you come?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Did you come to say goodbye?"

He looked at me then. His eyes were dark, the pupils blown so wide they swallowed the iris. He looked at me with an intensity that made my knees weak. I thought it was longing. I thought he was finally seeing me, not just as Matt’s little sister, but as Clara.

"I came because I couldn't stay away," he whispered.

He took a step forward, backing me up until my legs hit the edge of my mattress. I sat down heavily, and he followed, looming over me. He placed his hands on the headboard on either side of my face, caging me in.

"Kieran..."

He leaned down. His face was inches from my neck. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back, waiting for the kiss I had dreamed about since I was fourteen.

He inhaled. A long, shuddering breath that rattled in his chest.

"Your heart," he murmured against my skin. "It’s so loud, Clara."

"I know," I whispered, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I'm just... you're here."

"It’s giving me a headache," he said.

My eyes snapped open. The tone wasn't romantic. It was pained. Irritated. Like the thumping of my pulse was a drum he wanted to smash.

He shifted his grip. One of his icy hands moved from the headboard to my wrist. He squeezed. It wasn't a gentle hold; it was bruising. He was strong. Terrifyingly strong.

He lowered his mouth to the hollow of my throat. I felt his lips graze my skin—cold, firm. But then I felt something else. Something sharp dragging lightly against my pulse point.

I froze. The romantic haze evaporated, leaving only a cold, primal dread.

"Kieran," I choked out. "You're hurting me."

He didn't stop. He pressed his face harder into my neck, groaning low in his throat. It was a hungry sound. The sound a starving dog makes before it snaps.

"I could stop it," he whispered into my skin, his voice vibrating through my veins. "I could make it quiet. Just one tear. Just one taste."

He was going to kill me. The realization hit me with the force of the thunder outside. This wasn't Kieran. This was a thing that wore Kieran’s face.

I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by the sheer proximity of death, smelling the metallic tang on him, feeling the needle-prick of his teeth against my artery.

Suddenly, a car door slammed outside. Loud and heavy.

Kieran jerked back as if he’d been electrocuted.

He looked at the window, then back at me. His eyes were pitch black, voids where humanity used to be. His chest heaved, not with breath, but with the effort of restraint. He looked at my neck, then at my eyes, and the expression on his face shattered me. It was pure, unadulterated hunger.

"Matt's home," he hissed.

He backed away, moving with that same impossible, sickening speed. He was at the window in a blink.

"Kieran, wait—"

He paused on the sill, the lightning framing his silhouette. He looked like a monster. He looked like the boy I loved.

"Lock the window, Clara," he commanded, his voice rough with need. "Do not let me in again."

And then he was gone. Vanished into the rain and the dark.

I sat there on my bed, shaking, the cold dampness of the room seeping into my bones. I raised a trembling hand to my neck. It was wet where his mouth had been.

I heard my brother’s key turn in the front door downstairs. I knew I should get up. I knew I should lock the window.

But I didn't move. I just sat there in the dark, touching my own pulse, terrified by how much I wanted him to come back.