Page 32 of Blind Bite
* * *
Lilith
I’m scared I might hurt someone.
Please.
* * *
Nothing.
Amelie knocked again. “I made soup. I’m leaving it outside.”
The smell of cooked chicken made me gag, but beneath it was the scent of her—warm, alive, delicious.
I bit my own arm to distract myself.
“Thanks,” I called, voice strangled. “Just leave it.”
That night, I heard her breathing as she slept. The steady rhythm of her heart was like a siren’s song. I found myself at my door, hand on the knob, before I realized what I was doing.
I was going to kill my best friend.
Frantic, I tore through my purse until I found it—Felicity’s business card. With shaking hands, I dialed.
“What?” an irritated voice answered.
“It’s Lilith. From the other night. Jamie had?—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Felicity sighed. “Let me guess, he ditched you and now you’re hungry.”
“I’m afraid I’ll hurt my roommate,” I whispered.
“Men,” she muttered. “Listen, baby vamp. Go to 1142 Westmore Avenue. It’s his brownstone. Make him help you—he owes you that much. He should have blood there. And don’t take no for an answer.”
“Thank you?—”
She’d already hung up.
I checked the time—3:17 AM. Perfect. Amelie was deep asleep, and I had hours before sunrise.
I slid my window open and looked down. My room was three stories up, and as I crawled out onto the fire escape, I prayed it wouldn’t decide tonight would be the night it’d collapse. The groans of the metal only worsened my concern with each step I took until I was finally able to jump down from the final ladder.
I landed in a crouch, perfectly balanced like some corny superhero. Holy shit.
The streets were nearly empty as I walked, then jogged, then ran. My speed was incredible—buildings blurred past me.
The next time we had a cloudy day, there’d be nothing stopping me from being on time to class.
Halfway there (at least from what the GPS on my phone said), and the hair on my neck stood up. I froze, scanning the shadows. Something—or someone—was watching me. I could feel it.
A cat darted across the street. Just paranoia, I told myself, though I wasn’t entirely convinced.
I found the brownstone easily—a gorgeous building with ornate stonework. Expensive. Of course, Jamie lived somewhere like this.
I pounded on the door, not caring about the hour. When no one answered, I pounded harder.
The door finally swung open. Jamie stood there in pajama pants and nothing else, hair mussed, eyes narrowed.
