Page 62 of Vampire Bite

“I’ve done my best not to be,” I said quietly, meeting her gaze with honesty.

Her mother turned back to Annika, her expression softening. “And you… you’re all right?”

Annika nodded, but the motion was stiff. “I’m here now, Mom. That’s what matters.”

Her mother’s fingers curled slightly around hers, a faint smile touching her lips. “I always knew you’d find your way through anything,” she whispered.

I stayed back, watching Annika with a quiet intensity as she knelt beside her mother’s bed, determination etched into her features. Her mother looked frail, her skin pale against the stark white of the blankets. Annika’s voice was steady, but I could see the way her hands trembled as she spoke.

“Mom, there’s something else I need to tell you,” Annika began, her tone careful but insistent.

Her mother’s brow furrowed, a mixture of confusion and concern crossing her face. “What now? More... creatures?”

Annika shook her head, her grip tightening on her mother’s hand. “No. This is about me. About what I can do.”

Her mother frowned, leaning back slightly. “What you can do?”

Annika glanced at me for a moment, as if drawing courage from my presence, before looking back at her mother. “I can heal people,” she said softly.

Silence.

Then her mother scoffed, the sound weak but laced with disbelief. “Annika, you’re not making any sense. First, vampires and shifters, and now… now you’re some kind of miracle worker? This is madness.”

“It’s not madness, Mom,” Annika insisted, her voice rising slightly. “Please, just let me show you. Let me try.”

Her mother sighed, a long, drawn-out exhale that seemed to carry the weight of years of exhaustion. “Annika, I’m dying. Whatever fantasy you think will help, it’s not going to change anything.”

Annika’s jaw tightened, her determination sharpening into something almost fierce. “Just trust me,” she whispered. “Please.”

I held my breath as her mother hesitated, her weary eyes searching Annika’s face. Finally, with a resigned nod, she muttered, “Fine. Do whatever it is you think you can do.”

Annika leaned closer, her hands hovering over her mother’s frail form. Her face was calm, but I could see the tension in the set of her jaw, the way her fingers flexed nervously before settling.

The air seemed to shift, a subtle hum brushing against my senses. Annika closed her eyes, and the faintest shimmer began to gather around her hands, a soft glow that pulsed like a heartbeat.

I’d seen her do this before, but it never stopped being extraordinary. The energy flowed from her like a gentle wave, sinking into her mother’s fragile frame.

Her mother gasped, a sharp intake of breath, her body jerking slightly before settling. The glow faded, leaving only the dim light of the room.

Annika sat back, her hands trembling as she looked at her mother. “How do you feel?” she asked softly.

Her mother blinked, her expression shifting from disbelief to confusion. “I…” She paused, pressing a hand to her chest, then her temple. “I feel... different. Lighter, maybe. But this doesn’t make sense. It’s not possible.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Annika said, her voice trembling. “Just tell me—does it hurt less?”

Her mother hesitated, her hand falling to her side. “Yes,” she admitted, almost begrudgingly. “It doesn’t hurt as much. But, Annika... this... this isn’t real. It can’t be real.”

Annika’s shoulders slumped, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face, but she nodded. “It’s real, Mom. I just wanted to help you.”

I stepped closer, placing a hand on Annika’s shoulder, letting her know I was there. Her mother looked between us, her skepticism evident but tempered by something softer.

“Whatever this is,” her mother said quietly, “thank you. Even if I don’t understand it... thank you.

She was equally grateful and even more incredulous two days later, when she was sitting in her living room, staring at the lab results in her lap, her mouth opening and closing as if she couldn’t find the words to speak.

I watched her carefully, trying to decipher every flicker of emotion on her face. Shock, disbelief, and then, slowly, something like joy. She let out a laugh, quiet and shaky, as if she wasn’t sure whether to celebrate or cry.

“It’s... it’s impossible,” she finally managed, her voice trembling. She lifted the papers again, scanning them as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less miraculous. “But it’s real. I’m—”

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