Bianca's breath hitched. Stunned by the display of fireworks, she couldn't believe as to the person who did it for her. Her heart raced like a bullet train. Was he still there on the island over there?

"Wow! That's so beautiful!" said Lydia with wonder on her face. "Who did that? Bia, you sure have a secret admirer."

"Woah!" said Eddie. "Man that's some dope display! Who the hell is that man though? Do you know him?"

She shook her head. Her breathing increased to a feverish pitch. "I— I want to go to the island and see who— who is behind this," she said. She felt a pressing need to be there, an urge which clamored inside her heart. He was there and he did it for her.

"But we can't Bia!" said Eddie. "It's not safe. Plus your brother is about to come here in fifteen minutes. There's no way that we can make it back in that time."

"But I want to see who did it!" she protested.

"I am sure that it was Darius who arranged for the fireworks and the face out there— it was of some random dude!"

"He is right Bianca. We must go back," said Lydia. She took the oars from her and along with Eddie, they started to row back to the shore.

"No!" she screamed. "Let's go to the island!"

"You are freaking me out Bia!" Eddie said with wide eyes.

Bianca looked at Eddie's scared face. Perhaps this was her imagination. Perhaps the face that she saw against the night sky was someone else's and because of her infatuation towards him, that is what she imagined. She bit her lip. Confused, anxious and out of her wits, she looked at Lydia.

"We have to go back," she said. "Your brother is about to come."

Bianca nodded. They rowed back to the shores in silence. She couldn't stop thinking about the fireworks. It was beautiful.

When they reached the shores, Lydia and Eddie anchored the boat, while Bianca walked towards the tent, wrapped in her thoughts. She crossed her arms across her chest and sat down on a moss covered log in front of the fire. Suddenly a movement caught her eye. She cocked her head to see behind the tent but there was nothing. A soft gush of wind seemed to flutter its canvas. But she wasn't, so she got up to check who was there and to her utter shock, she saw him, standing with a bouquet of roses. She pressed her hand to her chest. "Oh my God!" she rasped.

He walked up to her, gave her the bouquet and in a deep, husky voice said, "Happy Birthday Bianca!"

Bianca's mind froze. She felt as if she had become liquid. "How did— who are— how did—?" She was captivated by his eyes, in his gaze. They reminded her of honey. A flush pinked her cheeks. World ceased to exist and the only thread of life was standing right in front of her. Her lips parted because she forgot to breathe. She took the bouquet, feeling heady, feeling entranced all over again, as she inhaled his scent of spice and lush blossoms.

"I am Brantley," he said as the right side of his lips curved into a smile. Taking a loose strand in his fingers, he rubbed it between his fingers. "You are more beautiful than what I had ever expected." Gods, her scent was as exquisite as she was—a heady mix of lavender and warm summer. Her wavy red hair fluttered gently in the breeze. Those pouting pink lips and eyes that were more blue than green that they almost appeared teal, made him go weak in his legs. His mate was the most beautiful, loveliest, god's gift to the world… no, to him.

"Brantley…" his name rolled off her tongue like a sweet melody. Bianca's brain wondered if her interest was simply because the man in front of her was dangerously handsome. She couldn't find a better explanation about her lethal attraction for him. His thick blond hair was curled at the nape of his neck and a few fell over his forehead. Up so close, she thought if she could ever paint him. "Thank you," she rasped. "How do—"

"Did you like the fireworks?" he asked as he inched closer.

Bianca had to crane her neck up to keep looking in his eyes. The man was almost a foot taller than her and had such broad shoulders that she could get lost in the taut muscles of the chest in between. "Yeah! But—"

Before she could speak, Brantley leaned and kissed her on the forehead, and Bianca… She didn't want to protest. She shuddered as a sharp, needy ache cruised in her body.

Brantley curled his fingers below her chin and tipped it upwards. His chest rumbled with a low growl and he felt his body would ignite. He pressed his lips to hers.

Bianca placed her free hand to his chest and instinctively slid it over his shoulder and around his neck. And then she did what she had been thinking since afternoon—she sank her fingers into his soft golden strands. His arm moved around her, pulling her tightly against him, leaving no space – the bouquet tucked on the side.

As she shuddered around him, he pulled her bottom lip and grazed it with his fangs. Heat pooled in her body as tremors passed through her like lightning. As soon as she opened her mouth, his tongue slipped in and the sensation was mind blowing.

Brantley pulled away from her immediately and rested his forehead against hers as he panted. "Bianca…" he said her name as if worshipping her.

"Who are you?" she asked. Her body was as taut as a bowstring. She wanted to know about him urgently.

He looked into her eyes deeply. "I have to go," he said.

"Wait. Why?" she asked with a frown.

"Because if I will stay, I won't be able to stop myself, and you… you are still too young."

"I am sixteen!" she blurted and immediately hoped she had said she was eighteen.

He chuckled. Gods, she was so cute and adorable.

"Bianca!" Lydia's sharp voice came from a distance.

Their reverie broke. "I'll meet you soon," he said and then tugging her lips with his once more, he left her, committing everything about her to his memory.

"No!" she stopped him, but he was already gone. She watched him merge with the night.

"Bia!" said Lydia. "What the hell are you doing here? And who gave you that bouquet of roses?"

Bianca had no clarification, so she kept quiet.

A car's constant honking saved her. "I have to rush back! Darius is here!"

"Ah, ok!" said Lydia.

Bianca hugged them tightly once again and quickly left.

That night when she came back home, she untied the bouquet of red roses and arranged it in a flower vase. She placed it above her piano. After changing in her nightgown, she went to smell them for the hundredth time. She was ecstatic. The sudden meeting had taken her breath away. He was so mysterious. Gods! Sitting at the rich mahogany piano, which looked like the sky on a balmy summer night, she pressed a key. The music pulled her and her fingers began to fly over the keys. And she didn't know how, but the music that came out was as if every note of the tone was weaved for his beauty.