Page 34 of Vampire Bite

He was shoveling the food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days. The sound of his slurping and gulping filled the otherwise quiet room. Annika and I stood a few steps away, watching in silence.

Her expression was soft, full of something I couldn’t place. Compassion? Concern? Guilt, maybe.

“Have you seen him before?” I asked, breaking the silence.

She shook her head slowly, her arms wrapped around herself. “No. I just… I found him.”

I frowned, glancing at the boy. He was small—frail, even—but his wide eyes darted around the room between bites, as if he didn’t trust any of us. His presence set every one of my instincts on edge. We didn’t know what he was: shifter, vampire, human. And out here, unknowns could be fatal.

“Annika,” I said, keeping my voice low but firm, “we don’t even know what he is. It’s dangerous to keep him here. For all we know, he could be a trap.”

Her head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing. “You’re suggesting we just throw him out? He’s a child, Lucas.”

“And we’re a group of rebels hiding from shifters,” I countered. “Do you think they’ll care that he’s a child if they find him here? If he’s shifter-born, they’ll rip this place apart to get him back—or punish us for keeping him. And if he’s not…”

She crossed her arms, her jaw tight. “I don’t care. He needs help, and I’m not abandoning him.”

Her words hit harder than I expected, but I wasn’t ready to back down. “Annika, this isn’t just about you wanting to help. There are lives at stake—yours, mine, everyone here.”

“And what about his life?!” Her voice rose, then softened as she glanced at the boy. “He didn’t ask to be left out there, alone and hurt. I’m not turning my back on him, Lucas. I won’t.”

We locked eyes for a long moment, her stubbornness crashing against my caution. Part of me wanted to dig in, to demand she see reason. But another part of me—one I hated acknowledging—knew she was right. If we turn our back on someone who needed our help, then we were no better than them.

I exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Fine,” I muttered. “He can stay. But only until we figure out what to do next.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she gave me a small nod. “Thank you.”

I turned back to the boy, who was now licking the bowl clean. Whatever he was, he didn’t look like much of a threat right now.

We brought the boy to one of the spare rooms. It was a simple space with a cot against the wall and barely enough room to move around. He was quiet the entire way, his small frame stiff with exhaustion and unease.

As soon as we set him down, he clutched the thin blanket I handed him but didn’t lie down. Instead, he looked up at Annika with wide, searching eyes, his lips trembling as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Go on,” I said to her, leaning against the doorway. “Try to get him to sleep.”

Annika knelt beside the cot, her voice soft. “It’s okay now. You’re safe. You can rest.”

The boy didn’t move. His gaze flicked toward me briefly before snapping back to her. Then, slowly, he raised a small, shaking hand and motioned for her to come closer.

Annika glanced back at me, uncertain. I shrugged. “If it helps him sleep…”

She hesitated for a moment, then climbed onto the narrow cot beside him, moving carefully so as not to startle him. As soon as she settled, he reached out and took her hand, clutching it tightly like it was the only thing tethering him to safety.

The tension in his small body eased almost instantly. His eyelids fluttered closed, and within moments, his breathing slowed into the even rhythm of sleep.

I stayed where I was, leaning against the frame, watching the two of them. The sight stirred something unfamiliar in me, something I didn’t want to name.

Annika lay still, her free hand resting on the edge of the cot. She looked over at me, her expression soft but weary. “He wouldn’t let go,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I nodded, my arms crossed. “He’s afraid. Can’t blame him after whatever he’s been through to get those wounds.”

She turned her attention back to the boy, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from his face. There was a gentleness in her that I hadn’t fully understood until now, a willingness to comfort even in the face of her own exhaustion and uncertainty.

I watched them for a long moment, something heavy settling in my chest.

“You should try to rest too,” I said finally.

She didn’t answer, but the way her head dipped slightly told me she’d heard.

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