He continued to meet my gaze for several more seconds, and I could feel the cool breath of the night air and the caress of the nearly full moon on the exposed skin of my breast and shoulder and back. Very deliberately, Loren moved even closer to me, hold­ing my upper arm while he looked at the back of my shoulder.

"It's incredible." His voice was so low it was almost a whisper. I felt his fingertip lightly trace the labyrinthlike spiral pattern that was, except for the exotic-looking runes interspersed around the spirals, much like my facial Mark. "I've never seen anything like this. It's as if you're an ancient priestess who has materialized in our time. How blessed we are to have you, Zoey Redbird."

He said my name like a prayer. His voice mixed with his touch made me shiver as goose bumps lifted on my skin.

"I'm sorry. You must be cold." Gently, but quickly, Loren pulled up my tank strap and my jacket.

"I wasn't shivering because I was cold." I heard myself say the words, and couldn't decide if I should be proud of myself or shocked at my boldness.

"Cream and silk as one

How I long to taste and touch

The moon watches us."

His eyes never left mine as he recited the poem. His voice, which was usually so practiced, so perfect, had gone all deep and rough, like he was having a hard time speaking. As if his voice had the ability to heat me, I was so flushed that I could feel my blood pounding fiery rivers through my body. My thighs tingled and it was hard to catch my breath. If he kisses me I might explode. The thought shocked me into speaking. "Did you write that just now?" This time my voice sounded as breathless as I felt.

He shook his head slightly, a smile barely touching his lips. "No. It was written centuries ago by an ancient Japanese poet about how his lover looked naked under the full moon."

"It's beautiful," I said.

"You're beautiful," he said, and cupped my cheek in his hand. "And tonight you have been my inspiration. Thank you."

I could feel myself leaning into him, and I swear his body re­sponded. I may not be highly experienced. And, hell yes, I'm still a virgin. But I'm not an utter moron (most of the time). I know when a guy is into me. And this guy—for that moment—was def­initely into me. I covered his hand with my own, and forgetting about everything, including Erik and the fact that Loren was an adult vamp and I was a fledgling, I willed him to kiss me, willed him to touch me more. We stared at each other. We were both breathing hard. Then, within the space of an instant, his eyes flickered and changed from dark and intimate to dark and dis­tant. He dropped his hand from my face and moved a step back. I felt his withdrawal like an icy wind.

"It was nice to see you, Zoey. And thanks again for allowing me to look at your Mark." His smile was polite and proper. He gave me a little nod that was almost a formal bow, and then he walked away.

I didn't know whether I should scream in frustration, cry in embarrassment, or growl and be pissed. Frowning and muttering to myself, I ignored the fact that my hands were shaking and marched back to the dorm. This was definitely an I-need-my-best-friend emergency.

Still mumbling to myself about men and mixed messages, I en­tered the front room of the dorm and wasn't surprised to see Ste­vie Rae and the Twins clustered together watching one of the TVs. Clearly, they'd been waiting for me. I felt an incredible wash of relief. I didn't want the whole world (translation—the Twins and/or Damien) to know what had just happened, but I was go­ing to tell Stevie Rae every single, tiny, juicy detail about Loren—and let her help me figure out what the hell all of it meant.

"Uh, Stevie Rae, I'm clueless about our, uh, Soc paper that's due Monday. Maybe you could help me with it. I mean, it won't take too long and—" I started, but Stevie Rae interrupted me without taking her eyes from the TV.

"Wait, Z, come here. You gotta see this." She motioned me over to the TV. The Twins' eyes were glued to the screen, too.

I frowned when I noticed how tense they all looked, causing the subject of Loren to (temporarily) slide from my mind. "What's going on?" They were watching a rebroadcast of the local Fox 23 evening news. Chera Kimiko, the anchor, was talking and some familiar pictures of Woodward Park were flashing on the screen. "It's hard to believe that Chera isn't a vamp. She is abnormally gorgeous," I said automatically.

"Shush and listen to what she's saying," Stevie Rae said.

Continuing to be surprised by how weird they were acting, I shushed and listened.

"So, to repeat our lead story tonight—the search continues for Union High School teenager Chris Ford. The seventeen-year-old disappeared yesterday after football practice."The picture on the screen was a shot of Chris in his football uniform. I let out a little yelp as the name and face registered.

"Hey—I know him!"

"That's why I called you over here," Stevie Rae said.

"Search parties are combing the area around Utica Square and Woodward Park, which is where he was last seen."

"That's really close to here," I said.

"Shush!" Shaunee said.

"We know!" Erin said.

"So far there are no leads as to why he was in the Woodward Park area. Chris's mother said she didn't even know her son knew the way to Woodward Park, she's never known him to go there be­fore. Mrs. Ford also said that she expected him home right after football practice. He has now been missing for more than twenty-four hours. If anyone has any information that might help the po­lice locate Chris, please call Crime Stoppers. You may remain anonymous."

Chera went on to another story and everyone unfroze. "So, you know him?" Shaunee asked.

"Yeah, but not real well. I mean, he's one of Union's star run­ning backs and when I was kinda sorta dating Heath—you guys know he's Broken Arrow's quarterback?"

They nodded impatiently.

"Well, he used to drag me to parties with him, and all the foot­ball jocks knew each other, so Chris and his cousin Jon were at a bunch of them. Rumor has it they've graduated from getting trashed on cheap beer to getting trashed on cheap beer while they pass around nasty joints." I looked at Shaunee, who had been showing an unusual amount of interest in the newscast. "And be­fore you ask, yes, he is as cute in real life as he was in his picture."

"Damn shame when something bad happens to a cute brother," Shaunee said, shaking her head sadly.

"Damn shame when something happens to any cute guy—no matter what color, Twin," Erin said. "We shouldn't discriminate. Cuteness is cuteness."

"You're right, as usual, Twin."

"I don't like marijuana," Stevie Rae piped in. "It smells bad. I tried it once and it made me cough my head off and burned my throat. Plus I got some of the weed in my mouth. It was just nasty."

"We don't do ugly," Shaunee said.

"Yeah, and pot's ugly. Plus it makes you eat for no good reason. It's a shame the hottie football players are into that," Erin said.

"Makes them less hottie," Shaunee said.

"Okay, hottie-ness and pot are not really the point," I said. "I have a bad feeling about this whole disappearance thing."

"Oh, no," Stevie Rae said.

"Well shit," Shaunee said.

"I really hate it when she gets one of those feelings," Erin said.

All any of us could talk about was Chris's disappearance and how bizarre it was that he had last been seen so close to the House of Night. In comparison to a kid being missing, my little drama-trauma with Loren seemed insignificant. I mean, I still wanted to tell at least Stevie Rae about it, but I couldn't seem to concentrate enough on anything but the sucking black feeling that had filled me since I'd seen the news.