A week passed without any more drama. Edgar went to school, came home and changed, and went to work in the store. He didn't drink, at least that I was aware of, and he was less surly and bad-tempered than usual. He seemed to be making a real effort.

Dwayne brought Laddie over a few times, and he and Edgar read comics or played video games. Sam hung out with Edgar at the store, and Michael watched the store while the pair of them went out for food. Star made a few meals at the house, enough so that anyone who wanted some could have it. I hunted three times that week to take the edge off, but I still had to steal myself not to breathe when Edgar was close. He smelled so fucking good, and I couldn't let him know that was bothering me.

Mrs Frog didn't call once to check on Edgar. I asked a couple of times and he said she hadn't been in touch. I wondered if she'd bother to come back—she didn't seem to give a shit about him. Saturday, I expected him to work in the store all day, but when I woke at dusk, something was different.

The scent of Edgar's blood filled my nostrils, my fangs were already pricking my lower lip, and my dick was rock hard. I could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady as he slept. Shit.

I opened my eyes. He lay curled against my side, his head on my shoulder. He was on top of the covers and fully dressed, whereas I was naked under a single sheet. That was the least of my concerns. His neck was inches from my mouth, and he smelled divine. My fangs lengthened and my mouth watered. I imagined turning my head, nuzzling his neck and breathing in deep, gently pressing my fangs into his soft skin and tasting his blood. What the fuck was he even doing in my room?

I carefully slid away from him, trying not to disturb him. If he woke and found me in the state I was currently in, he'd panic. I got out of the bed, snatched up a pair of underwear and put them on, then fled the room, heaving a sigh of relief as I made it to the bathroom without waking him. A freezing shower didn't help my situation at all. My arousal wasn't from having Edgar's body close to me, but from the scent of his blood. I needed to feed and that was the only thing that would make this feeling go away.

Edgar continued to sleep as I put on some clothes, then shot downstairs to find the jewelled bottle containing my blood. I didn't like to drink my own unless it was necessary, but on this occasion, it was vital. I gulped half the contents of the bottle, relieved when the immediate desperation lessened, and my dick softened. Then I went back upstairs. Edgar was awake, sitting up and looking awkward and embarrassed.

"Sorry." He stood up quickly. "I couldn't sleep. Nightmares, you know? I tried not to disturb you."

"Doesn't matter."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, I'm not mad. It's just difficult waking up and finding a human next to you when you're hungry."

"Shit. I'm sorry." He took a step away from me. "I didn't think about that."

I grinned. "I'm fine, don't worry. Maybe don't make a habit of that, though."

He went to the bathroom and I left him alone to get changed. Thirty minutes later, he went to the store. I went hunting and gorged myself to get the scent of him out of my head. Then I found someone to fuck.

I kept Leo around for a few months. He knew what I was, and he was wary, but I swore I wouldn't bite. I never brought him to the house, because I didn't think it appropriate for me to be fucking there in case Edgar showed up while I was at it. During that time, he seemed to be better and I didn't want to do anything that would set him back. He went to school and even did homework. His grades were reasonable, he didn't seem to be getting in trouble, and he didn't report nightmares or any other worries.

I never smelled drink on him, but maybe he was just clever. Michael told me a few times that Sam had seen him with a bottle of something, but I never caught him. Not until the day after I decided to get rid of Leo because like others before him, he was getting too clingy. I wanted someone I could be with long-term, but he wasn't that person. I couldn't pinpoint what it was about him that wasn't suitable. He was attractive and sexy, he smelled delicious, he made me laugh and he was amazing in bed, but I wasn't tempted to try to change him and keep him with me. There was just something missing.

Dwayne was in the same boat. He'd had a few brief relationships with women in the hopes that he'd find someone to keep with him, but none of them had made the grade. Perhaps we were both just too fussy.

I got back to the house before dawn on Sunday and found Edgar watching TV, with a litter of beer bottles around him. He looked up blearily and sighed. "I know what you're going to say."

"What are you doing?" I frowned.

"What's it look like? I'm allowed. It's my birthday."

"What?" I thought for a second. It couldn't have been a year, could it? A year since I killed the uncle? A year since I'd taken him under my wing and looked out for him as best I could.

"I'm seventeen today." Edgar hiccupped, then laughed hollowly. "I'm celebrating."

"I'm so sorry. Why didn't you say anything?" I sat beside him and took the bottle out of his hand.

"Why, so you could throw me a party? Get me to blow out the candles and make a wish?"

"What would you wish for?"

"I don't know. Something I can't have, probably. That's usually the case."

"Do you know what you want?" I made the mistake of breathing in, and his blood sent my senses into a whirl of excitement. I squashed it down and stopped breathing.

"Let's see. Memory loss would be good. Maybe finding somebody who doesn't hate me as much as I do myself. A family who actually cared two hoots whether I'm alive or dead might be nice, but maybe that's just being greedy."

"Have you heard from your mother?" I asked. She'd never come back or contacted him, as far as I knew.

"Yeah. She sold the store and the apartment. The new owners are taking it over next week."

"Christ, Edgar, I'm sorry." I slid my arm around his shoulders and gave him a sideways hug.

He pulled away. "Don't touch me."

"I didn't mean anything by it, you know that," I said quietly.

"Exactly. Something else I can't have." He snatched the bottle out of my hand, tipped it up, and drained the contents in big gulps.

I sat there, stunned, listening to his rapid heartbeat and the beer trickling down his gut. I'd never have thought he would think about me like that, but maybe it made sense. He trusted me. He knew I wouldn't hurt him, and he knew I understood everything he'd been through and felt and thought. Maybe I'd made a huge mistake and let him get too close.

"I shouldn't have said that." He tossed the empty bottle onto the floor and reached for another.

"You won't even remember this conversation in a few hours," I grunted.

"I fucking hope not." Edgar flushed and opened the bottle. I tried to take it from him, but he jabbed me hard in the ribs with his elbow, then upended it and began to drink it, long slow gulps without stopping.

I didn't try to take it away from him again. My imagination was running wild. What if he was a year older? Would I want him like that? I'd already avoided thinking along those lines before, and here I was again thinking exactly that. He wasn't a child anymore, not really. I wouldn't do anything with a seventeen-year-old, but it didn't stop me imagining what it would be like to kiss his thin lips, run my fingers through his soft hair which he'd been growing out for the past few months, stroke my hands over his body, that I'd never seen one inch of except for his arms on the occasions when he wore a T-shirt with no shirt over the top. I shut down my thoughts. He wasn't for me. Especially when he was still such a mess. Not forgetting the fact that I couldn't be with a human long-term, and he hated my kind.

Edgar reached for another bottle, the last one, by the look of it. He glanced at me, as if daring me to stop him, and pried off the cap.

"You need to sober up," I said half-heartedly.

"I need you to leave me alone. You could always join me. Maybe if you had a few, you wouldn't nag so much."

"Vampires can't drink."

"Why not?"

"Because alcohol doesn't affect us, so it's pointless. And expensive. Where did you get this stuff from?"

"I paid someone to buy it for me. If my fucking mother's gonna sell my home out from under me, she's not getting another cent of what I make from the comics."

I didn't say anything else. I figured I would just take care of him when he passed out and worry about it the next day. He would feel like shit and probably be embarrassed. I wouldn't achieve anything by forcing him to stop when he'd already drunk—I counted—seven bottles.

The last bottle fell to the floor, spilling the remains of its contents, and Edgar slumped onto the couch cushions. Within minutes he was snoring softly. I doubted he'd wake for hours. I left him there while I collected a large glass of water and a bucket and put them in his room beside the bed, then turned back the covers. I went back downstairs and carefully gathered him up into my arms. He grunted softly and clumsily lifted one arm to wrap it around my neck. His hair brushed my cheek, and he turned his face towards me, warm breath fanning my skin.

For a moment I couldn't stop myself tucking my face into his hair and breathing in the scent of him. Beneath the smell of beer, his blood was sweet and strong, taunting me. We were in the same boat really. He'd listed all the things he couldn't have, and this was something I couldn't have. I would never bite him, but hell, how I wanted to. I could imagine what he'd taste like—warm, coppery, sweet, like nectar.

"Get a grip, David," I muttered as I jerked my head up. "Jesus Christ." My fangs were out and if I'd let my imagination stretch a little more, Edgar would have been in real danger. I made my way up the stairs and lowered him onto the bed. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. I paused for a moment, then unlaced his boots and took them off, before I pulled the covers over him. Then I left him and closed the door behind me. In minutes, I'd fled the house and was hunting down my next meal.