Page 17 of Bite Back

DELILAH

Heat flushes through me as I say goodbye to Asher. I replay those moments in the library. The brush of my arm against his body. The square of his shoulder as he stood up for me, defended me. The flash in his eyes as he looked at me.

Am I horny? Upset? Mixed-up? Horny because I want last night’s fiction to be reality. Upset because of all the reasons it can’t be. Mixed-up because Asher runs hot and cold. One minute he acts like he barely wants a partnership, but then he looks at me like he wants more.

Sarah’s working a shift tonight—and Kirby’s hanging out at Hector’s with her—so the quiet apartment welcomes me.

I brush my teeth and shower with robotic precision, shuffling around in the dark.

I don’t want to lose the comfort of the shadows.

Turning the lights on feels like an acknowledgement.

I don’t want to face myself or my problems under the harsh artificial light.

I’d rather hide, fade, wilt away. I sink onto the couch and pull a blanket over my head.

I close my eyes, but sleep refuses to come.

It’s rude, honestly, that immortality still requires something as mundane as sleep.

I can’t stop thinking about him. Thinking about everything that happened.

Thinking about everything that hasn’t happened but I wish would.

When I close my eyes, all I see is him, a wicked grin curling across his face in the club.

Another thing that’s rude about my new body.

Vampirism heightens sensation and lowers impulse control.

It feels so wrong to fantasize about someone else so soon after Luka. But it also feels so good.

My hand slips beneath the waistband of my sweatpants and slides through the wetness already pooling there.

As I press my finger into myself, I imagine it’s Asher’s hand and not mine, curling, beckoning.

I climb higher and higher, drunk on sweetness and sensation, lost to the Asher my imagination conjures.

The weight of him against me, the heat of breath on my ear, his fingers on my skin.

I come with a gasp.

Reality hits.

Asher’s just another fantasy. Just like Luka.

He’s in my dreams tonight, clad in a slick navy suit, hair combed back just so. The freshness of aftershave and the woodsy musk of whiskey wafts off him. He sidles right up to me, caging me between his arms.

“You look ravishing.” Warmth blossoms in my chest, and a smile lights across my face.

With a face and a body like that, carved like a Roman sculpture, he could have anyone he wants.

But he’s here. With me. He wants me. His hands slide to my hips, tracing the contours of my body, skimming over my curves.

His right hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers twining in my hair, holding me in place, anchoring me to him.

He tilts my neck to the side and slides his lips to the arch of my neck.

My breath catches. A tinge of something—fear?

anticipation?—curls in my spine at his own inhale.

He drinks in my scent like a sommelier savors a glass of wine, slow and appreciative.

Gooseflesh breaks out across my body as his fangs prick my neck.

We haven’t talked about this. Not yet. Many humans give blood for their vampire lovers, a thought that thrills and frightens me at the same time.

Do I want to? He hovers there for a moment. A question, I suppose. A chance for me to protest.

Do I want to? My heart pounds. I must shrink, freeze up because he draws back.

“You’re not ready yet.”

He delivers the statement flatly, without any emotion, but my cheeks heat.

“I want to be.” The moment the words leave my lips, I feel the truth of them. I do want this, I want him and everything that comes with it.

I’ve never met a man like him. Handsome and suave and clever. I’m not going to let my human hesitations spoil it. I want to be the woman he’s looking for. I want to be comfortable with his nature and everything that comes with it.

He weighs my words, eyes searching my face. He must like what he finds because he gives an approving nod.

“What does it feel like?”

He flinches, a fractional movement, then straightens. For a moment, he stares into the distance.

But when he raises his gaze to meet mine, there’s a spark in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.

“Good.”

“For me or for you?” It’s a fair question. Once when I was younger, the neighbors’ dog bit me. I still remember the flash of pain as his teeth sunk into my flesh.

“For both.” His smile widens. An invitation.

My own mouth curls to match his, and I note the approving gleam in his eye. I want him. And I want him to want me.

Still, fear curls in my gut. “Will it hurt?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Don’t all good things hurt a little?”