Page 94 of Bite
The city unfolds around us, the lights a sickly haze against the stormy night sky. I lean forward, watching through the windshield as we turn onto her block. The building looms as decrepit as I remember– flaking brick, sagging stoop, and windows dull with old violence. The ground-floor laundromat has long been abandoned, its cracked glass streaked with grime.
I imagine her here, haunting the remains of her former life. Feeding the cat, sleeping with one eye open. I wonder if she’s ever truly felt safe anywhere.
The car stops. I step out, the air heavy with the promise of rain. As I cross the street toward the building, I start rehearsing what I’ll say. I suppose I could beg. I could threaten. I could tell her the truth– that this bond is deeper than either of us can grasp, and despite the danger that comes with it, I’d kill anyone who threatened her without hesitation.
The path of least resistance seems best. Let her choose. I tell myself that’s what I want– for her to accept the bond and to return to me of her own free will.
But beneath that lie, a sharper truth lingers. That if she doesn’t, I’ll still claim what’s mine. I’ll find her, chain her to the goddamn wall if I must, and never let her out of my sight again.
Perhaps she’d even find it romantic.
The door to the building is closed, but the lock is worthless. One sharp tug and it pops open, the sound echoing up the stairwell. The air inside reeks of mildew and rot. I take the stairstwo at a time, my steps light and soundless even on the ancient treads.
Third floor. 3B. I pause outside, listening.
Low voices hum from within– Taylor’s, and another, female.The friend. Irritating, but I should be able to deal with her quickly enough.
I could easily force my way inside. The door’s got multiple locks, but they’re rusted and weak. Instead, I knock once, hard enough to rattle the frame.
Taylor answers. She looks surprised to see me, but not afraid. Her hair’s piled in a messy bun, cheeks flushed and hazel eyes sharp.
“What are you doing here?” she demands.
I arch a brow. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Behind her, Bex perches on the edge of the futon with her arms crossed, gaze narrowing on me like a challenge. She’s brave, I’ll give her that. Foolishly so.
My eyes sweep over the room. This is the world she’s chosen– at least for tonight. The old walls, the old friends, the old pain. I want to tear it all down and drag her back where she belongs, lock every door, and throw away the damn keys. But the rules are different now.
“Wow, you really can’t take a hint,” Bex scoffs, lips curling.
I ignore her, keeping my attention on Taylor. Her friend is inconsequential. “You planning on hiding here forever, or is this just a nostalgia trip?” I ask calmly.
Taylor shrugs, eyes fixed on the warped floorboards. “It’s none of your business.”
A muscle jumps in my jaw. “Everything about you is my business. Especially after last night.”
Bex barks a laugh. “You ever hear of boundaries, Dracula? She doesn’t belong to you.”
Taylor flinches– barely, but I see it– and something vicious stirs in me.
“She does,” I grit out, shooting Bex a look sharp enough to cut. I resist the urge to cross the room and silence her for good. “Whether she likes it or not, Taylor ismine.”
Taylor’s gaze snaps up, eyes rimmed red. “That’s the problem,” she whispers. “Nobody ever asks me what I want. They just take. Or leave.”
I swallow hard. There’s nothing in my centuries of existence that’s prepared me for this– not wars, not betrayals, not power games or politics. This is new and terrifying; the real possibility that I could actually lose her… and that maybe I actually care.
“Mea dulcis,” I murmur, stepping over the threshold and reaching out to cup her face.
Taylor exhales shakily, then glances back at her friend. “Can we have a minute?”
Bex huffs irritably and stands, giving me a look that saystry me. If she only knew how much I’d love to. She digs a battered pack of cigarettes from her purse on the coffee table, slides one between her lips, and points at me as she moves toward the door.
“If you hurt her,” she warns, “I’ll stake your ass.”
I grin, flashing fang for emphasis. “Good luck with that.”
She cuts me a final glare, then slips past into the hall, leaving the faint scent of menthol and cheap shampoo in her wake.
