Page 96 of Bite
“Fine,” I manage, the word rasping like sandpaper on my tongue. “But if you don’t come back…”
She cuts me off, voice raw. “I can’t promise I will, James. This isn’t a simple contract or a business deal. It’s literaleternity. So forgive me if I need more than a day to decide if I can give you that.” She steps back, sucking in a shaky breath. “You say you’ve made your choice, but if you care about me, you’ll give me the space to make mine.”
It’s a dagger, and it lands exactly where she intends.
I’ve spent my entire existence– life and afterlife– taking whatever I wanted, no matter who it hurt. I could do the same now. Carry her off. Lock her away. Keep her where she belongs.
But that would break her. And for the first time, I care more about her needs than the satisfaction of getting my way.
Have I gone soft for a human?
I don’t know if I can do this– leave, wait, and trust she’ll come back. But even though it goes against everything I am, for her, I’ll try.
I step in close, brushing my lips against her temple, and then– against every instinct I possess– force myself to turn away and walk out the door.
When I step into the hall, Bex is waiting there, reeking of cigarette smoke and rebellion. She scowls at me, green eyes glinting with malice.
“You’re not so scary, you know,” she mutters. “You just think you are.”
“Bex,” Taylor sighs behind me, exasperated.
I pin Bex with a cold stare. “Take care of her. If anything happens, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
She gives me a lazy mock salute. “Sure thing, bloodsucker.”
Pity I can’t snap this one’s neck.
With one final glare, I move past her and down the stairs. Behind me, the door clicks shut, their muffled voices fading as I descend.
Outside, the night greets me with rain– cold, relentless, and cleansing nothing. I stalk toward the waiting car, the storm washing the taste of loss from my tongue, but not the hunger.
The hunger never fades.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
TAYLOR
Bex is still sprawled out on my futon, one arm thrown over her eyes in a gesture that’s half dramatic, half tactical, blocking out the slant of sun sneaking through my cheap curtains. My apartment smells like a hangover– burnt coffee, last night’s microwave popcorn, and the sour bite of spilled tequila somewhere near the radiator. The scene presses against me with an almost painful familiarity; a shadow of the life I used to know, now so far removed from the one I’ve been living.
I’m perched at the scarred Formica table by the kitchenette, re-reading last night’s text thread with James, my phone held at arm’s length so the blue light doesn’t sear my retinas. I’ve already drained one mug of coffee. I’m working on my second, bitter enough to leave a film on my tongue but strong enough to sand paint off the walls. Just how I like it.
Bex stirs, groaning, then plants a foot on the floor and pivots upright in a single, fluid motion. “The Prince of Darkness needs to learn some damn manners,” she declares, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“He’s a cat,” I shrug. “He does what he wants.”
“I’m serious,” she mutters. “I woke up in the middle of the night with his butthole pressed to my forehead. That’s… not okay.”
“Well, I also woke up with your butt in my face at one point, so we’ll call it a draw,” I smirk.
“At least I was wearing underwear,” she huffs, rubbing her temples before standing and scanning the room for coffee like it’s the only thing that’ll keep her soul tethered to this plane.
I push my mug her way in offering.
She pounces on it like an addict, sips, then immediately sets it back down with a grimace. “Jesus, Tay. Are you trying to pickle your organs? Did you use the whole damn canister?”
“Double the grounds, double the strength,” I reply unapologetically, sliding my mug back in front of me. “You kept me up until four. Payback’s a bitch.”
