Page 2 of Bite Back

DELILAH

“Relax, Delilah.”

I lean into Luka’s reassurance, allowing my torso to fall flush against his chest. The amber scent of his aftershave fills my nostrils.

It smells like home, like the life we’ve built, the life we’re building.

I ease my shoulders and burrow my fingers into the front of his crisp white shirt, thumb tracing the button.

His hands flutter over my hair, brushing down the strands that never stay in place. “That’s it.” Warmth settles in my core at the praise, and I tilt my head up to drink in this moment, my last as a human.

As always, Luka looks like he stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Light blonde hair swept back just so. Gray eyes glimmering like he’s on the verge of chuckling. Full lips quirked in a bemused smile. His presence comforts me enough to draw out the truth I’ve been avoiding all day.

“I’m nervous.”

A muscle ticks along his jaw, and his hand leaves my hair and winds down to find mine, locking our fingers together.

He brings our palms to his mouth and kisses my knuckles one by one.

“You’re ready.” A smile spreads across his face, revealing those sharpened canines.

“Spending forever without you would be a tragedy.” The same words he said to me three months ago when he got down on one knee.

Those gray eyes fix on my neck, and I sweep my hair back, tilting my chin up. An offering.

His lips descend on my neck, the barest flutter, the slightest brush. The heat of his breath caresses me, and there’s something delicious about it, the anticipation. The promise of what’s to come.

I fix my gaze on something in the distance, a trick my mom taught me when I was a kid getting shots.

A way to focus, to stay still. My eyes zero in on a photo of my family—my parents and my little sister, Emily—on the last vacation we took together, just weeks before the car accident that killed them.

And next to it, a framed picture of Luka and I, smiles broad and cheeks flushed, on a weekend trip upstate.

The family I lost. And the family I found.

I tense at the first prick of his fangs, a cry escaping my lips as they puncture my skin. Pain washes over me, hot and warm. But it passes soon enough.

This is familiar territory. Luka’s bitten me before, but never long enough to trigger a transformation. All vampire bites deliver venom, harmless in small quantities, transformative in larger quantities.

His arms wind around my waist, anchoring me to him. My eyes drift shut, and my head lolls back against the solid cage of his chest. The remnants of my worries melt away. This feels good, feels right.

Warmth builds in my neck, subtle, like the first hints of a sunburn. That’s our cue that my bloodstream’s built up enough venom to transform. My hand finds Luka’s, and I squeeze, ready for him to pull back, to smile, to tell me he loves me.

His lips stay latched to my throat, sucking, pulling insistently.

I squeeze harder. The burning sensation builds, my body lit up like a wildfire, burning from the inside out. A wave of nausea crashes over me, and I cry out at the pain.

He doesn’t stop.

“Luka.” My voice sounds harsh, discordant, not really my own. Sweat beads on my brow and drips from my armpits.

Is he caught up in the bloodlust? A dull ache fills my head, and my thoughts stumble, sluggish.

I no longer comprehend what’s happening and why. A single thought dominates my mind: I need him to stop.

My hands twist into his shirt, fumbling, trying to push him away with what little strength I have left. Vaguely, some part of me catalogues how pale my hands look—very, very pale.

My screams echo in my ears.

And then it stops. He stops.

He pulls away and stands up, and my body clatters to the floor like a limp rag doll, pain thudding through my arms and torso at the impact.

On his face I read none of the things I expected to find there. No horror, no regret, no apology, no concern, no love. It’s just bizarrely blank.

He turns and heads towards the door. My chest tightens. This isn’t what we planned. None of this is what we planned.

Those fingers, the ones that minutes ago had twined in my hair, brush the doorknob. But he pauses, chin tilted up.

His black loafers pivot, turning towards me. Tears well in my eyes, and relief washes over me. He’s coming back.

Luka crouches down beside me. Deft fingers flick up the sleeves of his shirt, rolling the crisp white fabric in a practiced motion. He always did hate a mess. His hand reaches out and grasps mine, my skin still paper white. Flecks of blood dot the back of my palm.

I scrape together what little strength I have left to lift my head, my eyes searching his face. Searching for the Luka I know, the Luka I love.

Cold fingers find my engagement ring and pull it off. He stands, pocketing the jewelry.

My chest tightens. I can’t think. Can’t understand. Can’t talk.

A whimper falls from my lips.

The ghost of a smile flits across his face. He turns and heads back for the door.

This time, he doesn’t stop.

The door clicks shut behind him with a disturbing finality. Whatever small part of me can still think, can still react latches onto that.

He’s leaving. I claw at the floor, fingers gouging into the wood as I drag myself up, but my legs buckle and black spots dance in front of my eyes, so I haul myself towards the door the only way I can.

Splinters pierce my forearms as I crawl across the floor.

After—I’m not sure what, exactly. Luka? The future we planned to build together?

If I can just talk to him, maybe this will all make sense.

I collapse before I make it to the door, curled up in a ball of pain.

My hoarse cries echo throughout the apartment. Ringing fills my ears as my breaths come in fast pants and then stop altogether.

Darkness closes in.

My shaking hands fumble for my phone, my clammy fingers making it difficult to grasp. How long has it been? Even basic subtraction slips through my grasp. The faint light peeking around the corners of the drapes tells me it’s been at least a day.

I hoist myself onto my forearm, stiff muscles groaning in protest. Sweat coats my body, and burgundy hair hangs limp around my face.

Crusted blood cakes the skin at the side of my throat, and silence fills the apartment.

Where’s Luka?

The darkness closes in on me again.

It’s pitch black when I wake again, body burning. Scrabbling wildly, I rip off my t-shirt and sweatpants. Too hot, much too hot. My mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton balls, and my brain feels the same, wooly, fuzzy.

A dull ache throbs in my teeth. My fingers reach out to touch my canines and find them sharp, pointed.

Two thoughts hook in my mind: Luka’s not here. And I’m thirsty, so thirsty.

The second thought drives out the first.

I heave myself to my feet, hoisting myself up with a hand on my knee, and manage one shaky step, legs trembling. I crumple. My knees hit the floor first, then my hands with a raw slap. Hands and knees.

I can do this.

The thirst, the hunger, leaves no other option. The wooden planks scrape my skin raw as I crawl towards the kitchen and yank the fridge door open, eyes blinking shut against the fluorescent illumination.

Instinct drives me, and I seize the chilled blood bags, sweeping a handful into my lap. My teeth rip the plastic.

Relief.

The blood tastes like honey, like promises made and kept. It tastes like everything I’ve ever wanted and nothing I’ve ever experienced. I saw the way Luka savored his blood. But I hadn’t understood, not till now.

Luka. The blood may have satiated my hunger, but a new emptiness, clawing and desperate, replaces it.

My thumb traces across the empty skin on my fourth finger where my engagement ring used to sit.

He left me. Despite his promises. Despite my pleas.

I welcome the darkness when it closes in again.