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His eyes light up. “So there will be a next time?”

So this is why he’s been hovering. Yes, having sex with someone for the first time is always a big step in any relationship, but now I can see what is truly bothering him. The fact that we did much more than just sex. The bites. Our declarations of love and devotion.

“Xander,” I press. He freezes under his name.

“I have told you this before and I will tell you again. I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere. I want to be with you. I want to live in Moonfell, in this house. And maybe, one day, I'll want to be like you.”

In a flash, Xander is by my side, cupping my cheek and tilting my head backwards so I can look up at him. His hair is a mess, like he’s been mushing it with his fingers all morning, but at least all the blood has been washed from his skin.

“You mean it? You want to be a vampire?” His hand shakes.

I open my mouth to reply when my voice is overpowered by a deep guttural roar of an engine.

Just like Xander’s motorbike, I can feel the vibrations of the engine dance through my chest. But then there’s another, and another, until there’s a deafening cacophony of revving motorbikes beyond the house.

Xander grits his teeth, his jaw ticking. Leaning down, he presses his lips to mine, his tongue dancing across mine and his leathery scent surrounding us. “My colony can be intense. If they get too much for you, let me know.”

I nod, feeling the way my heart stutters with anxiety. I’ve never met another vampire before, let alone multiple. Are they all like Xander? Kind? Gentle? Quiet?

“HELLOOO!!!” A rather high pitch voice explodes from the other side of the front door.

I guess not quiet then. But maybe friendly?

“Quit yelling, Harlan. You’ll bother the neighbors,” another voice grates. This one seems a little less than friendly.

“Because our motorbikes didn’t already do that?” A bored tone breaks the gap.

Xander gives me a final look before squeezing my shoulder and turning for the front door. Time freezes as he pulls it open, revealing four extremely different yet equally beautiful vampires.

A short one stands at the front of the group. His smile is sweet like honey and he looks younger than me. Maybe even a teenager. Behind him stands a burly mountain of a man. He’s larger than Xander and seems to suck the light from the room as his dark black eyes dance across the living room before finding me.

But it’s the ethereal godlike man with luscious white hair trailing down his chest that catches my attention the most. His skin is porcelain white, and he has pale lashes and light pink lips. He could be mistaken for a marble statue.

And then there’s the fourth vampire of the group who stands at the back. His hands sink deep into his hoodie pockets and his eyes never seem to focus on much at all. Instead of clear, blemish free skin like all the others, this man drags large dark circles under his eyes as well as a slightly unkept beard that needs a good oil and a cut.

Xander slowly turns to look at me. “Sweetheart, would you like to meet my family?”

“Family! Sweetheart!” The short man claps excitedly and speeds inside. His movements are so fast that even Xander doesn’t manage to capture him in time before he’s standing before me with a wide, toothy grin.

“I’m Harlan! And you are?” Harlan grasps my hands and shakes them a little too excitedly as his eyes gleam with happiness.

“I-I’m Noah. Nice to meet you, Harlan.” I can't stop my lips from tilting upwards. This vampire's energy is contagious.

Harlan coos at me, “Aren’t you the most gorgeous thing! Xander is lucky to have…” He pauses and sniffs in my direction before his eyes grow wide with surprise. “A MATE! EVERYONE! XANDER FOUND A MATE!”

“Say it, don't spray it, Harlan,” the vampire with white hair grumbles before treading past Xander and flops onto the couch with a bored sigh. “Hello, Noah. Nice to meet you.”

I giggle and so does Harlan. “You too?”

“That grumpy one is Ambrose. Just ignore his attitude.” Harlan fills in the blanks for me. I nod in thanks, only realizing now that he’s still holding my hand. His skin is silky soft and clearly unaged.

“Is it rude of me to ask if you’re a teenager?” I whisper.

The response is far from what I expect as Harlan bounces excitedly and squeals, “I’m only eighteen! But thank you for asking.”

Eighteen? Christ, that makes me, at twenty-four, feel old.

“Don’t buy into his innocent act.” The burly man steps over the threshold, and the wooden boards beneath him creak and groan. “Harlan is actually the oldest here. He’s 600.”