When I woke, it felt like I was wrapped in the dead-weight of a sleeping lover’s arms . . . but as I reached out and moved the top of the box I was lying in, I realized the truth.

I was in Jack’s coffin with him.

Dead, yes.

Lover, no.

I blinked. The room was dark, and the last thing I remembered was fighting in one of the backrooms at Vermillion with some other woman and the feel of a chain around my neck. I got out of the box and felt for the bruises that I knew I should have, if not from her, then on the top of my breast, where Jack’s newly changed boyfriend Paco had needed to feed—but I didn’t feel anything.

I got out of the coffin quickly and looked down at myself.

What time was it?

What day was it?

Was I still . . . me?

Or had Jack granted me my wish to be changed into a vampire at long last?

I stumbled down the hall, half-running for the bathroom, catching myself in front of the sink. I was in one of Jack’s T-shirts, and his boxers too; both were baggy on me, but—I looked better, in the mirror. My hair was a mess, and my make-up hadn’t all come off yet—I used eyeliner just this side of super-glue—but!—the bruises were almost gone!

Was I dead . . . alive?

I scanned inside myself, searching for new strength, and then opened my mouth as wide as I could, looking for new teeth.

I made superhero poses, designed to elicit any powers I might have, and when that didn’t work I ran for Jack’s apartment’s door.

I almost, almost, flung it open like a normal person.

Like a human who wasn’t scared of the day.

But how ironic would it be if I got turned the way I’d always wanted, and then managed to fry myself in the setting sun’s rays?

I carefully cracked it a few inches, looked out, and found it was night.

Just like I knew it would be. That was why I was awake!

I was free!

“Luna?” I heard Jack ask from the darkness of his bedroom.

I raced back into it with a squeal. “Thank you!” I shrieked, standing beside his bed.

Jack groaned. “Don’t thank me.”

“Jack, no, you have no idea what this means to me,” I went on, beaming at him even though he couldn’t see it. If Jack had turned me, then I no longer had to serve the strange Master who’d given me the nightblade—and I no longer had to worry about when I was going to die.

I wouldn’t be like my mom, or my mom’s mom before her. The Huntingtons wouldn’t get me. I would be healthy for the rest of my long non-life. “Thank you!” I sobbed.

“Don’t thank me, Luna. Literally,” he said, swinging himself up.

I reached for the light switch on the wall, flipped it, and the look he gave me then shattered all of my hopes and dreams like a glass vase dropped from a great height. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

I frowned. I couldn’t imagine a world in which Jack went back on his word. And—I knew I’d lost so much blood feeding Paco—I was sure I’d been at death’s door.

“It’s been a week. I’ve been taking care of you.” He pulled himself out of his coffin, wearing an outfit that matched mine almost exactly, except his fit, and he started searching for jeans on his bedroom floor.

A week explained why the bruises were almost gone. “But . . . I was passed out? That whole time?”

“Not all of it. I whammied you some, and for that, I’m sorry,” he said, as he buttoned up his pants. “I fed you and cleaned you, but you needed rest more than you needed anything else.”

“Oh,” I said again, even more quietly.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked solicitously.

I held myself and bit my lips to stop from crying. I didn’t want to show any more weakness to him than I already had. “Not really.”