We silently walked back to the car, where I found a club flyer beneath my windshield wiper. I lifted the wiper, scanned the sheet, which advertised Red, a club in River North. I got into the car, unlocked Mal's door, and stuffed the flyer into the glove box. Partying wasn't really on my agenda right now.

The ride back home was quiet as we both, I imagine, mulled over the night's events. I certainly did, especially the enigma of Ethan Sullivan. For the few seconds I hadn't known who he was, I'd been awed by his face and form, intrigued by his nearly tangible sense of power and determination.

Thinking he was pretty was one thing. Infinitely more disconcerting was the fact that after I discovered who he was - and even knowing what he'd taken from me - I could admit to a lingering attraction. His arrogance was irritating, but he was handsome, intelligent, and respected by his subjects. Ethan wore his power - his mantle of confident self-possession - as well as his designer clothes. But danger, I knew, lurked underneath that perfect facade. Ethan demanded complete and utter loyalty with no exceptions and, it seemed, had little willingness to compromise. He was skilled, strong, fast, limber, and confident enough to prove his mettle against an unknown opponent in front of a gallery of observers. And while he might have found me attractive - his flirting was proof enough of that - he wasn't thrilled about the attraction. Quite the opposite - he seemed as eager to be rid of me as I was of him.

For all that, I hadn't been able to banish the memory of my first glimpse of him. An after- image of green irises ghosted across my retinas when I closed my eyes, and I knew nothing would wipe away the visual. The impact had been that strong - like a crater furrowed into my psyche, leaving an empty space that a mortal man seemed unlikely to fill.

I muttered a curse when I realized the anatomical direction that line of thought was headed, and renewed my attention to Chicago's dark streets.

Mallory cleared her throat. "So that was Ethan."

I turned the Volvo down a side street as we neared home. "That was him."

"And you're thinking what?"

I shrugged, unsure how much I wanted to admit to my feelings, even to Mallory. "I should hate him, right? I mean, he did this to me. Changed everything. Took away everything."

Mallory stared out the car window. "You were due for a change, Merit. And he saved your life."

"He made me the walking undead."

"He said you aren't dead. It was just a genetic change. And there are benefits, whether you want to admit them or not."

Just a genetic change, she'd said, like it was a small, simple matter. "I have to drink blood," I reminded her. "Drink. Blood."

Mallory slid me an unpleasant glance. "At least be honest about it - you can drink whatever you want. You eat whatever you want, and you'll probably never gain an ounce on those mile-long legs. Blood's just a new" - she waved a hand in the air - "vitamin or something."

"Maybe," I allowed. "But I can't put toe one in the sun. I can't go to the beach, or drive around with the top down."

And then something incredibly disturbing occurred to me. "I can't go back to Wrigley, Mallory. No Cubs games on a warm Saturday afternoon."

"You're Irish way back. You get splotchy in the sun, and you haven't been to Wrigley in, what, two years? You'll watch the Cubbies from your bedroom television set, just like you always do."

"I can't go back to school. And my family hates me."