The bottom fell out of my world. I knew he'd wormed his way into my heart, I just hadn't wanted to admit it. He'd been too young and too hurt, and I'd kept my distance. I'd tried not to breathe, tried not to think about how much I wanted to taste him, and later, how much I wanted to kiss him. But somehow in the past two years, I'd fallen for the bad-tempered, sarcastic little bastard. Now he would be half-vampire and no matter how it happened, he would blame me. He would probably hate me. And he would become something he despised. It didn't matter that he was fucked up, drinking, probably poking around the house trying to find a hidden bottle to drown his thoughts and accidentally getting that fucking bottle I should have hidden better. It was still my fault. It was all my fault.

"David?" Dwayne gripped my shoulder and shook me. "Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay? This is my fault. I should have taken better care of him. I should have kept him safe from this."

"You did everything you could. You didn't have to take him in. He doesn't belong with us, David. You changed your whole life to help him."

"Yeah, well maybe he'd have been better off without me. His life was shit but look at it now. He'll hate himself."

"Maybe, but you're still here. You do know how he feels about you, don't you?"

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you noticed the way he looks at you? Not at first, granted. But the last, maybe six or eight months? He looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass. He's smitten."

"Don't be stupid, Dwayne," I growled, denying it even as I recalled the occasional looks of longing he'd given me, and his words on his seventeenth birthday when I told him my comforting hug didn't mean anything. "Something else I can't have."

"I'm not. Star noticed, too. The others aren't usually around enough, or aware enough to pick up on it. Edgar wants you, David. Trust me. And if he can fall for a vampire, maybe he can accept being one, too."

"Jesus fucking Christ," I muttered, alarmed and excited at the same time. I knew he was right, but I couldn't quite imagine anything other than Edgar hating me.

"He needs you." He gestured at the lounge room door. "He's out of it now, but it won't be long before it hits. I'm sorry I didn't get here earlier, but he'd already got stuck into it."

"It's not your fault." I left him and went to Edgar. He was wandering aimlessly around the room in circles, head tipped back as he stared at the ceiling, bare feet finding their way around without once bumping into the furniture. "Edgar?"

He tilted his head forward and his eyes rolled, out of focus for a moment before they met mine. "I've been drinking. Sorry." He giggled. "I feel weird."

"Shit, Edgar. What have you done?" I went to him and slid my arms around him as his knees buckled. He gripped my shoulders, then slid his arms up around my neck. Suddenly his body was pressed against mine, his warmth seeping through his clothes and mine to touch my skin. His heart thundered in his chest and the scent of his blood filled my nostrils, making my mouth water. I breathed in, unable to stop myself. My fangs lengthened and I turned my face away, agonised. I couldn't do this now—maybe not ever when he realised what he was and ran away from me, which he was bound to do. "Edgar, come and sit down. I have to talk to you."

"What about?" He looked up, his gorgeous brown eyes completely trusting.

"Come here." I backed towards the sofa, taking him with me. He was still in my arms, and I didn't push him away this time. Instead, I sank down on the cushions and pulled him onto my lap. He curled his legs up, still holding onto my neck, and rested his head on his bicep, so close to me I could feel soft puffs of air from his nose on my cheek as he breathed. I tightened my arms around him.

"Aren't you mad?" he murmured.

"No, I'm not mad." I squeezed my eyes shut, hating that I had to say what I was about to say. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"You are now."

"But I wasn't a little while ago when you picked up that bottle."

"I'm sorry. Sometimes it just makes me feel better. Well, not better, but, you know, I don't think."

"Isn't the shrink helping?"

"Yes, but—never mind. Sometimes, I just want to forget about shit." He was sobering, thinking properly. Now was the time.

"Edgar, the bottle you drank from tonight didn't have alcohol in it."

"Why do I feel so weird, then?"

"It was… my blood," I choked. "Fuck, Edgar, I'm sorry. I thought it was hidden well enough. I didn't realise you were still having such a tough time. I never wanted this to happen." I held him tighter still, sure that it would be the only chance I got. I pressed my face into his neck and took a long shuddering breath. He smelled so good; felt so good. I ran my hand down his back, then up under his hair to his neck.

"What are you telling me?" he asked slowly.

"You've done your research. You know what it means."

"So, I'm… like Michael and Laddie and Star?"

"Yes." Reluctantly, I loosened my grip and looked up. His eyes were glazed over, unfocused, looking through me rather than at me. His nails dug into my shoulder and his body began to tremble.

I expected him to leap up, yell and scream and curse, maybe hit me, but he didn't do any of that. He slid off my lap and stood up, ran a hand through his hair. "Shit," he said. Then he walked slowly out of the room and went upstairs.

"David?" Dwayne appeared in the doorway.

"You heard, I'm sure." I got up.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Maybe he'll be okay when he gets used to it."

"I've never seen him like this. You know what he's like. Foul-mouthed, rude, bad-tempered. This isn't like him."

"It's probably shock. Maybe leave him alone to think about it for a while. I'll stay." Dwayne went to sit down and switched on the TV.

I hovered, not knowing what to do with myself. I didn't want to let Edgar out of my sight for too long. I was terrified something awful would happen, but I didn't want to crowd him either, while he tried to get his head around what I'd told him.

Ten minutes passed before the screaming started, and Dwayne and I both literally flew out of the room and up the stairs at the same time. The screams, and the strong scent of blood, came from the bathroom. Glass shattered and fell on the floor, objects crashed around the room, and Edgar howled like a banshee. I opened the door, dreading what I would find.

Edgar spun around to face me, and I took in the scene in front of me in a second. He had blood all over him—both his wrists cut open and dripping, splatters on the floor, his clothes, his face. A bloody razor blade lay in the sink along with broken shards from the mirror. His bare feet were cut and bleeding from the glass on the floor. But the wounds were already starting to heal.

"What the fuck have you done to me?" he cried. "Look at me!" He held up both hands, showing me the cuts which were slowly closing up.

"Oh, Edgar," I groaned. "You can't die. Not like that."

"Then how? I have to stake myself?" His face paled and his hands fell to his sides. "I don't know why I'm asking. I know the answer. I have to live like this."

I stepped towards him, expecting him to back away, but he stood there, gazing at me helplessly, silently asking me to do something. There was nothing I could do, except try to help him deal with it.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I should have taken better care of you. I should have hidden it better. Like in my room."

"It's not your fault. I'm fucked up—self-destructing." He hung his head and began to cry silently, tears tracking through the blood on his face and dripping onto his shirt.

The smell of it didn't even arouse me like it usually did—I was too distraught and racked with guilt. Watching him so lost and hurt made me want to burst into tears along with him. Instead, I swallowed the lump in my throat and pulled him into my arms.

I lost track of time. We stood there in the bathroom, clinging to each other, surrounded by blood and broken glass. Edgar's wrists and feet healed completely, and his tears dried. I didn't want to let go of him, but eventually, I pried myself off him. "You need to get in the shower," I murmured.

"Yeah."

"Be careful you don't cut your feet again. I'll clear up the glass." I left him alone while I fetched a brush and a bucket. Dwayne was outside the door, waiting to see if he were needed.

"Are you all right?"

"Not really." I sniffed and tears I didn't know had filled my eyes rolled down my face.

"I'm sorry."

"You should go," I told him. "We'll be okay."

"We'll be at the cavern if you need us." Dwayne left, and I went back upstairs to clean up the glass.

The shower was running, and I hesitated outside the door. "Edgar? It is okay if I come in?"

"Yeah."

I slipped into the room and avoided looking at the vaguely opaque shower door as I crouched to sweep up the glass, then cleared the remainder out of the sink. I wiped up the blood, too, and removed the remains of the mirror from the wall. There was no point in keeping it there now. Edgar had used it so he could shave and whatever else, but he wouldn't be able to see himself any longer; nor would he need to shave.

I took my time downstairs, but he didn't emerge, and eventually I went back to the bathroom. "You gonna come out and talk to me?"

The water stopped and a moment later he emerged with a towel around his waist, droplets of water running out of his hair and over his chest. The scent of his blood, still half human, was as strong as ever, and the sight and smell of him combined was enough to send me into an instant frenzy of excitement. I squashed it as well as I could, but I had to shove my hands into my pockets to disguise my erection.

"You need to shower too," Edgar said. "My blood's on you."

I looked down at myself. My white shirt had droplets of blood soaked into it from where I'd held him against me. "Yeah, I'll just be a minute."

It took me seconds to remove my shirt and wash my face and upper body in the sink. I could feel Edgar's gaze on me the whole time, burning into my skin. He must have been able to see how turned on I was, as I couldn't hide it with my hands busy washing myself. He didn't move a muscle or say anything, but he continued to stare until I turned to face him. He appeared to be fixated with my chest.

"What is it?" I ran a hand over my chest awkwardly, wondering if he liked what he saw, or was just uncomfortable. He didn't seem uncomfortable, only curious.

"Your nipple is pierced."

"Oh! Yeah. I'll put a shirt on."

"Did it hurt?"

"No. I had it done after I changed."

"Can you feel pain at all?"

"Yes, but it takes a lot. Fire and the sun hurt like a bastard. Holy water is like acid. But you could stab a knife through my hand and I'd barely feel it."

Edgar nodded. "Makes sense. My wrists don't hurt." He held one up and peered at it. Nothing remained of the cut other than a vivid red line, which would have vanished by the morning. "I don't want to be this."

"I know that. I would give anything to have got back sooner. I never meant for you to find it. I never would have tried to change you. Ever. Maybe it would have been better if I hadn't interfered two years ago."

"Don't say that!" Edgar growled, sounding like his old self. "If you hadn't interfered, as you put it, I'd be dead. Don't you know that? I'd have done the same thing Alan did! And since then—I don't know what I would have done without you."

The thought of him hanging himself like Alan or slashing his wrists when he was human and wouldn't heal, horrified me. I wanted to grab him in my arms again and never let go, but I kept my distance. He had nothing on but a towel, and I was wary of making him nervous. But then he slumped suddenly, sitting down on the lid of the toilet. He dropped his head into his hands, his heartbeat slow and sluggish. He needed both blood and food, his energy sapped by healing himself so fast, and by the usual effects of the half change.

I put my hands under his arms and pulled him onto his feet, supporting him when he didn't seem to have the strength to stand. The food part would be easy—there was leftover pasta in the refrigerator that Star had made. I wasn't so sure how easy it would be to get him to take blood.