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pulled the jeans on, not bothering to look for more. The jeans hung, just barely staying around my hips. The sweater had been nearly too tight, but now it draped my frame. No time to think. Shoes. I needed shoes and I could walk out of here and into the night. Something told me not to call out, not to stay. A voice  in my head, not my
    own.   Connor .

    A sound caught my attention, a rustling from the direction of the door at the far end of the room. A heartbeat later, the door
    swung open.
    A man stood outlined in a halo of light. Once he stepped inside, I could see that he looked something like an angel. Blond curls, structured cheekbones. I met his gaze as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. I didn’t know how I could so clearly make out the colour of his eyes through the dark, but they shone amber, warm as candlelight diffused through a glass of Irish whiskey.
    He held a clipboard, his arms crossed over his white coat,
    which reminded me of folded wings.
    “Luke.” He held out his hand and smiled, straight white  teeth, no fangs. Another good sign. Not that Connor had  appeared to have fangs until he’d been about to bite. “Luke  Jameson.”

    17

    “Doctor Jameson?” I asked, hesitant, as I placed my hand in
    his soft, warm grip.
    He nodded. “I’d prefer that you call me Luke, but whatever makes you comfortable. The whole suite –” he gestured around us “  –  was designed for your comfort. I’d prefer you thought of it as home.”

    “I’d like to go home.” To my real home. Not that my
    shoebox apartment had ever felt much like home.
    “Why don’t we have a seat? We’ve a lot to discuss.” He  opened the door adjacent to the one he’d come in, the one I’d  assumed was a closet but turned out to be a sitting room. I  followed him into the light, to an overstuffed lavender sofa in  front of a brick hearth with a walnut mantel. A pastel rug  covered a  bare wood floor. Heavy curtains covered a back wall.  Windows? He settled on the ottoman of the chair that matched  the sofa, set the clipboard on a side table, picked up a remote  control and lit the gas-fuelled fireplace.
    “Very cosy,” I said to break the  silence. I curled up in the
    corner of the couch.
    “I’m glad you like it.” He leaned forwards. “It is your home
    now.”
    A prickle of foreboding ran up my spine. I narrowed my eyes. “Is that a threat? Are you saying I don’t have the freedom to leave?”

    I struggled to hear Connor’s voice in my head, but there was
    no sign of him.
    Luke sighed and tented his fingers, elbows resting on the knees of his long slender legs. “It’s not that complicated, but it may be hard to get used to at first. You’ve been given a virus.”

    18

    “A virus?” I stood quickly, but didn’t miss that his gaze  lingered on my braless breasts  bouncing under my sweater. He  cleared his throat. I crossed my arms and sat down again.
    “Vampirism is caused by a virus,” he said, meeting my gaze  again, warmth in his amber eyes. “Infectious. Passed through  body fluids.”
    “Blood.” I felt it rush to my cheeks at the memory of  drinking from Connor. “I’m infected.”
    “It’s more than vampirism. There’s also hypertelomerase at  work, the excess production of a hormone  that halts the ageing  process. It’s not a death sentence. We’re working to find a  cure.”
    “So it’s more of an eternal-life sentence?” I smiled so that
    he could see that I was joking. I tried to relax.
    “It’s true that the bearers of the virus don’t seem to  die from  natural causes. The body ceases to age. That’s not a bad thing.  In fact, it’s one of the properties of the virus that we’re fighting  to preserve.”
    “But there are properties you would rather eliminate?” I
    raised a brow. “The blood-sucking?”
    His  turn to stand. He began pacing in front of the fireplace.  “I don’t think it’s fair for some of us to spread our