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“Thirty.” His birthday had been a few weeks ago as a matter of fact.

“How old were you when you were turned?”

Carver hesitated. He didn’t see the harm in answering. “Twenty-five.”

Dante frowned. “Five years?”

Nodding, Carver prayed silently that Dante wouldn’t put together what happened five years ago. Humans might have forgotten about that night but there was no way Dante had. The only thing that Carver and his friends knew for sure was that Dante was the only one powerful enough to make that night seem like it had never happened.

“Where is your sire?” Dante demanded, the words ending in a growl.

Carver shuddered as the scent like a blazing fire enveloped him.

“Shh,” Dante soothed. He ran his firm hand up and down Carver’s back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

How had Dante know that he’d scared Carver? It had to have something to do with the scents. Carver knew the scents were a thing! He’d tried to explain it to Owen and Kenny but they hadn’t understood. It wasn’t just the different aromas. It was the layers involved. Carver wished he knew what the damn scents meant. It was going to drive him crazy. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, no, my sweet, I’m not mad at you. I’m angry with the person that should be taking care of you. You are starving. I see and feel it,” Dante explained.

Taking care of him? No one took care of Carver but himself. Owen and Kenny tried. Carver never wanted to take advantage of his friends or hurt them. “I take care of myself.”

“Do you?” Dante looked up again, staring across the room before returning his gaze to Carver. “What about the person who turned you?”

The question asked so bluntly, unexpectedly, that Carver was thrust back into that night.

A loud terrified scream had Carver dropping the plastic bag that held the carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream. All around him chaos ensued and Carver couldn’t figure out what was happening.

The scream cut off abruptly, leaving Carver feeling cold, wondering what happened to the woman. People ran away from him. Toward him. Into the street. Into houses. Everyone was running but from what?

Movement caught his eyes and Carver ducked back as a man with long black hair and freaking red glowing eyes lunged for Carver from the shadows of the alley to his right.

Carver threw up an arm as the man reached for him, trying to block a blow that never came. The man just grabbed hold of Carver’s arm to drag him toward the alley. To the darkness.

He yelled for help, his voice joining those of others. Carver tried digging his heels into the cracked concrete of the sidewalk but this man was strong. Too strong. Was he on drugs? Would he try to rob Carver? Or hurt him?

The answer came immediately as the man threw Carver against the brick wall of the side of the closed store. Long deadly fangs flashed under a pale streetlight on the sidewalk before the man attacked.

Pain, sharp and piercing, stole Carver’s words.

Carver tried to bat the man away. Smacking and kicking whatever he could reach as he felt the blood begin to trail down his neck to his shoulder.

It hurt!

This man, this thing, was drinking from him. Stealing Carver’s blood. Taking Carver’s very lifeforce.

He wanted to scream, to beg, to cry, yet all Carver could do was cling to his attacker as he grew weak.

This wasn’t like the stories that Carver wrote for his fans. No, being drunk from was horrible. There was no gentle coaxing, romance, or any of the care that Carver put into his books.

“Come back to me, boy. Come on, baby. Open those beautiful green eyes.”

Blinking out of the memory, Carver froze, realizing that Dante was holding both his cheeks tight while speaking gently to him.

“It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. Don’t cry, my sweet.” Dante wiped the tears off Carver’s cheeks with his thumbs.

Carver hadn’t realized that he’d started to cry. The shaking. The panic that filled him. He was intimately familiar with those feelings. If he didn’t get control of himself, Carver was going to ruin everything. This wasn’t about what happened to him. Carver was supposed to be getting close to Dante. Revenge. Carver deserved to have his revenge once and for all.

“I’ve got you.” Dante lifted Carver and moved his stiff body until Carver was straddling his lap and Dante had pulled him close.