Page 94 of Bite Marks

That’s why I understood Vi’s anger, the way it continued to mutate and grow. It was nursed by a hundred tiny cuts that would never heal, scabs that could reopen at any moment. A residue of wrongness that no amount of scrubbing or time would diminish.

Luckily for her, the human mind was pliable, so the fear that night evoked in her would dull soon. It’d warp and shift, distorted by her body’s biological response to avoid suffering. Eventually, she might even forget altogether, with the memories being washed away and replaced with something more pleasant—something newer that held less pain.

Memories that, if I was honest with myself, I wanted to help her build.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, not having much more to offer than platitudes.

“It isn’t your fault.” She sighed. “You didn’t choose to be this way.”

“No,” I agreed. “I didn’t. Hey, Vi?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” I asked, looking at her from the corner of my eye.

“No, why?”

“Do you want to go on a date?”

The streetlights passed rhythmically as I continued to drive, neon lights flashing into the car in shades of pink, blue, and red as we passed businesses and apartment buildings the closer we got to the center of the city.

“W-what?” she stammered, blinking at me in surprise.

I relished the pleased uptick in her heartbeat, barely concealing my smile.

“Yeah. I don’t have anything planned this afternoon… And I thought you might like some company.”

“I'm all gym sweaty,” she argued half-heartedly, making a face.

I shrugged. “As am I. But that’s never been much of a deterrent for me.”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times. I would’ve paid good money to hear where her mind had wandered at my comment.

“Wouldn’t you rather our first date be a little more, I don’t know—formal?”

“First?” I asked with a raised eyebrow, squeezing her fingers. “Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Maybe I’ll think you’re boring.”

“Shut up!” she scolded, entirely lacking heat. “Do you always have to be such a cocky fucker?”

I pressed my tongue to my fang, mostly to stop myself from saying something else that would earn me another order to stop talking, choosing to press my directive instead. “So? Do you want to?”

“Where would we even go? It’s not like much will be open in the middle of the day on a Monday.”

“I know a place,” I said, bringing the back of her hand to my lips for a quick kiss. “I just hope you’re not a sore loser.”

Coins dinged and rattled into the metal bottom of the chute in a rhythmicclink,clinkas I fed bills into the machine. It was damn near impossible to find an arcade that didn’t operate off those fucking tacky swipe cards, but I’d stumbled onto this gem—a warehouse-sized barcade in the industrial district—thanks to Chance.

She was one of our relief donors and only worked every couple of months since she was usually running drinks at this place. But when she’d found out about my love of vintage arcade cabinets—though the eighties often didn’t feel that long ago to me—she’d slipped me a card. I’d been coming a couple of times a week ever since.

I bent, scooping several handfuls of coins out of the machine and dumping them into the little zippered bag slung across my chest.

Vi’s eyes chased the sights and sounds of the games as they played music and lit up, beckoning us closer to play everything fromDance Dance RevolutiontoTMNTtoStreet Fighter. Theimpressive selection was highlighted even more by the human’s soft littleoohsof excitement as we walked past.

“This is so cool,” she said, handing me my Italian soda.

Blood orange.

Not the fruit.

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