Why not see which is brighter: your aura or the sun?

And than suddenly he was there, charging down the hallway like death in a cowboy duster.

He was hiding from his problems in a bottle, something that went against every piece of my nature. Me? I couldnʹt let my problems win without a fight.

Our gazes locked, so much passing between us. In those moments, I wasn't in a tent with him, on the run from those who regarded us as villains. There was no murderer to catch, no Strigoi trauma to overcome. There was just him and me and the feelings that had burned between us for so long.

And after a while...I mean how do you choose? Who gets to live? Part of life is that...well, some people have to die.

If I propose, you'll know it. For one thing, I'll be hyperventilating.

My name's Jet Steele.