I worked for an hour, but didn’t get much done. Turned out it was tough to write about vampires when one was suddenly living amongst them. My mind kept fleeing back to the scene at the nightclub. But strangely it wasn’t the attack itself that kept niggling at my brain. But rather the moments just before—when I was dancing with Logan.

Or more specifically when I was kissing Logan.

You cannot tell me that was not the most thrilling night of your life, that pesky voice inside me nagged again.

Oh God. I groaned, leaning back in my chair. I had to stop. Now. Since clearly I was already suffering from Stockholm Syndrome my first day of being kidnapped against my will. I mean, it had to be that, right? There’s no other way I’d be interested in a guy like that—never mind a vampire who had literally abducted me.

Saved my life.

I gave up. Rose from my seat. Headed out of my room to explore the rest of the house. As I passed room after opulent room, I became more and more impressed. The place was huge. And all of it as well appointed as my bedroom. Not in the over-the-top Victorian décor way the club had been. But simple and elegant. There was even a small theater and a game room with pool tables and video games from the 1980s. I had to admit, if I had to be stuck somewhere, it might as well be here.

It took me a bit, but I finally found the dining room. One place setting had been set up on the table. Fine china and real looking silver. A glass half filled with wine. I thought back to my mismatched sets of forks and spoons at home. Then again, I supposed vampires had all the time in the universe to accumulate the world’s luxuries. And I suddenly wondered how old Logan actually was. In the movies and books vampires were always super old. Like thousands of years. Which always struck me as a little creepy. Especially when they’d give their hearts to teenage girls.

“How did the writing go?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin as the voice shivered down my back. I whirled around to find Logan standing there behind me. I hadn’t heard him approach. Another vampire thing, I guessed.

“Um, fine,” I stammered. I never liked to talk about my work in progress. It felt invasive. Like someone catching me only half-dressed. I glanced at the table. “So, about that pizza…”

He frowned. “I threw that away. You didn’t seem interested.”

My stomach growled angrily. Thanks a lot, it seemed to be saying. I sighed. “I don’t suppose you have anything else to eat, do you?” After all, my visit was impromptu, to say the least. And I was guessing vampires didn’t regularly hit the grocery store. Maybe he could call the pizza guy back? I could eat an entire pie at this point.

Logan gestured to the table, then walked over to the chair in front of the place setting, pulling it out. I sat down and he pushed it back in. Then he grabbed a napkin off the table and placed it in my lap with a flourish.

“What fine service,” I couldn’t help but quip.

A smile played at the corner of his mouth and I knew that my comment had pleased him. He walked out of the room, returning a moment later with a silver platter in his hands. He removed my plate and set the platter in front of me. Then he lifted the lid.

My mouth watered as the food was revealed. Roast chicken, swaddled in a medley of mini potatoes and colorful vegetables. Yes! Way better than some greasy old pizza. I had to force myself not to bury my face in the food I was so hungry. Instead, I casually picked up my fork.

“So, I assume you don’t eat?” I asked, after taking my first bite and swallowing. The food was slightly cold, but extremely tasty. I grabbed the salt and sprinkled a little on top. Then I took a sip of the wine which turned out to be a very delicious petit Syrah.

“I can if necessary,” he replied, sitting down next to me. Far too close for my liking. “But it makes me very sick to my stomach. I much prefer a liquid diet,” he added, his mouth quirking.

“Right,” I said, giving a brittle laugh. “So where is your paid blood donor then?”

He gave me a hard look. “Um, we’re in hiding, remember? Not that I don’t trust her to keep our secret. She’s extremely loyal. But at the same time I wouldn’t want to put her in a compromising situation. If they were to question her, I wouldn’t want her to be forced to lie. Better she not know where I am for the moment.”

“But how are you going to get your blood?” I blurted out. Then I bit my lower lip. “Not from me, I hope!”

He laughed. A deep, rich laugh. Then he reached over, brushing a lock of hair from my face. His touch sent chills spiraling to my toes and I could feel heat stain my cheeks. Damn it, why did this guy have such a hold on me? He barely touched me and I was completely on fire. More compulsion, perhaps? Cause this couldn’t all be of my own free will.

“Trust me, sweetheart, your blood is safe,” he assured me. “I can go a few days without drinking. It’s not ideal, but it’s not terrible either.”

“If you say so,” I muttered, taking another bite, followed by a large slug of wine. The formerly delicious food was now tasting like cardboard in my mouth. I was too distracted by the vampire sitting next to me. Watching me with his intense eyes. He had changed from earlier; the tux was gone. He was now wearing slouchy dark blue jeans, paired with a tight black t-shirt that stretched over his clearly perfect abs. Whoever heard of a vampire in jeans and t-shirt? I thought. But there was no doubt he pulled off the look marvelously.

I took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Glanced over at Logan who was still watching me with hungry eyes.

“What?” I asked, squirming a little my seat.

“I was just noticing how beautiful you are,” he said simply.

I rolled my eyes. “And here I thought vampires had good eyesight. Was that another myth?”

To my surprise, he grabbed the chair. Jerked it around so I was suddenly facing him. As I gasped in surprise, he took my face in his cool, strong hands, forcing me to meet his eyes with my own. Such crazy eyes, I thought wildly, swirling with bits of blue and purple and green in a perfect storm. As if they couldn’t make up their minds what color they should be and had decided to fight it out.

“I have perfect eyesight,” he said. “And you are goddamned beautiful. Whether you like it or not.”

Holy crap. I didn’t know what to say.

He laughed, tracing my jawline with a long finger. And suddenly I found myself hungry for something that was entirely not food. As Logan’s hand dropped to my shoulder, skimming my collarbone, I felt myself begin to vibrate with want. With need. Against my better judgment I inched closer…

What are you doing? Stop this. Now!

My eyes flew open. I pushed backward in my chair with such force I almost knocked it over. Logan looked at me, a little dazed, as if he too had just awoken from a trance. I scrambled to my feet, backing away until I banged into the far wall of the dining room.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing to me,” I said, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear. “But I’m not going to fall for it.”

He cocked his head, looking genuinely confused. “What is it you think I’m doing to you?” he asked.

“Don’t act all innocent. I know you have that compulsion thing. You used it on me to get me to come with you in the first place.”

He nodded slowly. “We call it the vampire scent,” he said quietly. “And yes, I did use it on you at the gala. To get you to come. I’m sorry about that—it wasn’t very polite.”

“No. It wasn’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest, scowling at him.

“But,” he added. “I have not used it since. Any attraction you are feeling for me is all your own.” A smile played at his lips, making my anger intensify. He was so sure of himself, wasn’t he?

I glared at him. If looks could kill he would have been a puddle on the floor. He returned my look, as if daring me to try to take him on. At last I shook my head. Defeated.

“I need to use the restroom,” I spit out. A ridiculous statement at a time like this, but I couldn’t think of any more graceful way to bow out. And I couldn’t just stay here, caught in his penetrating gaze for a moment longer.

He nodded. Gestured to the hall. “Third door to the right.”

My face was burning now, as if on fire. I crossed the room. Stepped into the hall. Everything inside me told me to run, but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction. He loved it too much—this throwing me off balance. It amused him, even under our current dire circumstances. Which totally pissed me off.

I hardly think Miss Miller knows anything about vampires, he’d said at the book signing. Or men for that matter.

Shit. What was I doing? I was playing right into his hands. This was exactly what he wanted—what he’d asked for in the first place. For me to spend time with him, in his mansion. Was this whole thing just a ruse? Part of his elaborate show? Had the guy in the alleyway really tried to kill me? Or was the whole thing a setup by Logan? So he could roll in like a hero and save the day?

But you saw the guy go up in a puff of smoke, I reminded myself. That couldn’t have been faked.

I reached the bathroom, stepping inside. Slamming the door behind me and locking it tight. Then I leaned against the wall, panting, trying frantically to catch my breath. This was all so totally crazy. Much too crazy. My heart was beating a mile a minute and my breath was coming in short gasps. For a moment I just stood there. Then I dropped to my knees as an unwanted desire rose up inside of me. My eyes locked on the cabinet drawers.

Biting my lower lip, I reached out, opening each drawer with bated breath, a prayer on my lips that it would contain what I was looking for. What I so desperately needed. Scissors. A nail file. Tweezers. A blade. Something—anything to cause a wound. To give myself some relief.

It was disgusting. Believe me, I knew it. Even as I pawed through hairbrushes and toothpastes, like a druggie searching for that elusive crack rock they just know they dropped in the carpet. Back home I had managed to make my habit seem almost sophisticated. A fancy blade in an even fancier box. It was a ritual. A tradition. At least that’s what I liked to tell myself.

But any perceived glamour was gone now, all dignity stripped away as I wrapped my fingers around a small metal nail file, clutching it as if it were as precious as the Holy Grail. Not bothering to even shut the drawers, I climbed up onto the closed toilet seat, staring down at the piece of metal. Blood pounded in my ear. At the underside of my wrists. It was almost a rhythm, a song.

I glanced up at the bathroom door, tears streaming down my face. If only I could set the file down. If I could get up off this toilet seat. If I could walk away. Go out that door. Go back to dinner. Deal with things like a grown-up.

But in my heart I knew I was far too gone for that. I was too wound up. Too out of my element. I needed to get a handle on my emotions and this was the only way I knew how. And so, I sucked in a breath and determinedly dragged the file down my inner arm.

Of course a file isn’t like a blade. It doesn’t make that clean, perfect cut. I don’t want to gross you out by going into too much detail, but it took a few tries before I achieved the desired result. That ribbon of red, slashing across my skin, that feeling of relief flooding my brain. I leaned back against the toilet, drawing in a deep breath. Allowing the endorphins to rush through my bloodstream. To calm my nerves.

It was all going to be okay. It was going to be totally—

There was a knock on the door. My eyes flew open.

“Hannah?” Logan’s voice came from the other side. “Is everything all right? What’s going on in there?”

Shit. I glanced down at my arm. I’d gotten a little too enthusiastic and it was bleeding more than I’d meant it to. I grabbed a swath of toilet paper and dabbed up the excess.

“Nothing!” I cried, my heart beating madly all over again. So much for my fleeting moment of relief. I glanced over to the closed door, trying to remember if I had locked it. Could Logan smell the blood from the other side? Like the vampire at the club had? He hadn’t eaten—he had to be hungry. Would he be able to stop himself if he spotted the blood? “I just need a few more minutes,” I added.

I looked down at my arm again. The blood had easily soaked through the thin toilet paper, turning it a dark crimson color. I grabbed more off the roll, trying to make it clot. God, I shouldn’t have drunk that wine—it had probably thinned my blood, making it flow more freely.

The knock came again. Louder and more insistent this time. Then I saw the handle move, as if he was trying to turn it. Guess I had locked it after all.

“Open this door,” Logan commanded in a voice that bordered on angry now. “Or I will break it down.”

“Don’t you dare!” I cried. “I’m fine! Just give me some fucking privacy, will you?”

Shit, shit, shit.

I looked around, desperate for something to stop the bleeding. The toilet paper was not cutting it. And the towels were all white, of course. Pristine and probably expensive. I shook my head. Screw it. After what he’d put me through I deserved a towel at the very least.

And so I grabbed a hand towel and wrapped it around my arm, moments before the door splintered. Logan burst into the bathroom, looking around, sniffing the air suspiciously. His eyes dropped to my arm, his pupils dilating. I let out a small squeak of fear and backed up against the wall. But, of course, there was nowhere to go. He was blocking the only exit.

“I…cut myself,” I blurted out. “Stay away!”

He ignored me, stepping forward, invading my space. He grabbed my arm, unwrapping the towel. My heart beat furiously in my chest as I watched, trembling, wondering what he would do. My mind flashed back to the vampire outside the club again. How even the scent of my blood had practically driven him insane. And that had just been a small trickle…

For a moment, Logan just stared at the cut. Then, to my surprise, he gently lowered my arm. I watched as he walked over to the medicine cabinet and reached inside, pulling out a tube of Neosporin and a bandage. (Why hadn’t I thought to look in there?)

“Apply this and then dress the wound,” he said stiffly, handing both to me. “I can’t take you to a doctor right now if it gets infected.”

I stared at him, unable to speak. He wasn’t going to drain me dry? I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out. He gave me a grim look, then stalked out of the bathroom, closing the splintered door behind him.

I let out a breath of relief. My mind flooding with awe at the scene that had just taken place. He’d never even lost control. Not for a second. Woodenly, I rose to my feet, dabbed the Neosporin on my cut and bandaged it up. Then I looked at myself in the mirror.

No more cutting, I told my reflection, all bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks. I looked a mess. Completely zonked out of my skull. I looked down at my arm. At all the crisscrossed white scars—each one I had promised would be the last. Then my eyes went to the bandage and I firmed my resolve once more with feeling.

You’re stronger than this, I told myself. You don’t need to do this.

I glanced at the broken door. You have no choice, I added. Otherwise next time you may not be so lucky.