Page 23 of Bite Back

DELILAH

The LIRR train rumbles down the tracks. Asher sits beside me, looking distinctly better than he did last night. He’d looked shaky when I’d dropped him off at his apartment and still sounded a bit tired when we talked about Praline on the phone this morning.

But he’s here now, heading to Long Island—to the circus, to Rod, our lead—looking none the worse for the wear. He runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat.

“So last night.”

“Last night.” I leave it there, heat spreading to my cheeks as I picture a different meaning behind those words.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why?”

He brings his hands up and then lowers them to his lap. “I’m sorry I needed help. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” He speaks low, like he almost wishes he could swallow the words, swallow the whole thing.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m glad I was there to help.” I could leave it there. But I press forward. “You said this was something recent?”

The question sits between us. I pushed too far. He’s not going to answer. The shaking of the train punctuates the silence.

Then he speaks. “Yeah. It’s recent.” Another pause stretches out. I wait. “A few months back, my friend Claude and I were on a hunt together. It didn’t end well.” He stares off into the distance, the glistening moisture in his eyes filling in the gaps in his story.

“Claude?”

He hangs his head. “He got turned. I’ve only seen him once since it happened.

Since I fucked everything up. I couldn’t look him in the eye.

Not after I ruined his life. Not after…Look, we both had complicated histories with vampires.

He didn’t want it. And it happened anyway and I wasn’t able to stop it and…

” He exhales. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time he’s told all that to anyone.

“You didn’t turn him, Asher. The vamp did.”

“I asked him to be there. It was my hunt, it was my responsibility. I wasn’t good enough. The vamp should have been dead already. But I missed. I never miss.”

I reach out and grab his hand, squeezing his fingers.

“None of that makes it your fault, Asher.”

A beat passes, and he squeezes my hand back.

“How’s Claude doing?”

“Honestly…” He gives a wry laugh. “Better than expected. Says he’s going to make the most of the hand he was dealt. But that one time I saw him? That was all I could manage. And the whole time I couldn’t help but think he must be lying.”

“He’s not.” I don’t know that, but I do. “I’d like to meet him sometime.”

Asher raises an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. He looks like a kid who stole the last cookie from the jar but won’t admit it.

“Something you want to share with class?”

“Claude invited me to a barbeque this weekend.” The words drag out of him.

“We should go.”

He rubs to the back of his neck and shakes his head slightly.

“We should. You’ll think about it, at least?”

A soft smile traces across his lips, and he nods. That, I’ll accept, for now.

“And what about you? Your migraines?”

“I got a concussion. Vamp hit me on the head when I was trying to get to Claude. And now I get migraines. The doctors say they might improve, but they probably will hang around. I feel like I deserve them.”

“You don’t deserve your pain. Health problems aren’t punishments.”

His warm cinnamon eyes meet mine.

“I hope someday I’ll believe you.”

The salt air sings in my lungs the moment we step off the train.

I gulp down deep breaths of it, relishing the freshness.

Finally, I’m free from the garbage and urine-soaked streets of Manhattan.

A light mist blankets the streets, kissing my cheeks and raising my hair into a frizzy halo around me.

I smooth my hair down and adjust my clothes.

The crumbling nostalgia of Rossellini’s Circus calls back my memories.

Luka took me here once. Red and white posters advertising the show’s acts peel up at the edges, and faded and worn canvas blankets the big top.

Several of the lights decorating the entrance sign are out, and others are barely holding on, winking in and out. Rust coats the ticket booth.

It’s all part of the charm. Dozens of customers mill around the entrance, many of them dressed to the nines.

My gaze darts from person to person. In the twilight afterglow, I catch gleams of elongated canines poking out from between red painted lips.

One particularly glamorous vampire woman, her glossy hair slicked back in a bun, glides around in black patent leather stilettos.

A faux fur stole adorns her light brown shoulders, and she clutches a large handbag with a gold chain.

Coming here with Luka was one of my first forays into vampire society.

My first taste of what my future could have been.

My chest clenches, bound by an invisible vise.

I push away the swirling memories. My judgement clouds them.

I should have known. I should have protected myself. I should have left.

But that’s not true. Not really. Luka played me. And I’m not to blame. Sure, I wish I’d seen the monster lurking behind the mask. I wish I’d recognized the signs. And I sure as hell wish I’d left.

But I can’t turn back time.

Now, staring at the stand selling cotton candy, numbness washes over me.

Because it was one of the good days. Luka had pulled me inside the tent, cotton candy in hand, and laughter on our lips.

Raspberry washed over my mouth when he brought his lips to mine.

Sweet, like he was on his best days. Even when things started to sour, when I noticed cracks in his facade—the late nights, the subtle criticisms, the flimsy excuses—I stayed and pushed them aside because it wasn’t all bad. A lot of it was good. Most of it, even.

“Are you hungry?” Asher cuts into my thoughts.

I plaster a smile on my face. “Vamp, remember?” We don’t need to eat.

“But do you want food?”Asher says it softly. Those warm brown eyes search mine, like he’ll find the answers written there. “I think I’d miss it. If I were you.”

I used to love food, it’s true. Pizza, pasta, cake. Basically, give me all the carbs.

“I haven’t eaten since I turned.” Haven’t even considered it.

Do I want food? Most new vamps spend months adjusting to their new bodies, learning what they want, what they crave, what they need.

I never afforded myself the luxury. I supply myself with the blood I need to get by.

Eating food just because I want it never crossed my mind.

Technically, I can. Luka ate, at times, at least. When it was something he considered worth his while.

Something expensive or exotic or entertaining.

“Here, let’s try some. I’m hungry anyways.

” He gives an apologetic shrug, as if to say it’s a human thing.

Which it definitely is. He steers me gently into the line, his fingers featherlight on my arm.

Guiding, but not grabbing. Even with the layer of my leather jacket, a shiver runs through me at his touch.

As much as my mind wants to forget what happened between us at the club, my body can’t.

“What do you want to try? Popcorn? Corn dog? Cotton candy?”

That last bit shoves me back to reality. “Not cotton candy.” The reply slides out of me like a knife jab. “Um, anything else is fine.”

He nods. “No cotton candy. Check.” I wait for the follow up questions, but they don’t come.

Thank fucking God. It’s bad enough reliving this shit in my head.

I don’t want to hide my past from Asher.

But I also don’t want to taint the way he looks at me, the way he thinks about me.

I don’t want him to see me as just what happened to me.

When we reach the front of the line, Asher selects the popcorn and pays the vendor.

He grabs a handful from the giant tub and tosses it back.

His eyes close for a moment, and a look of pure bliss crosses his face.

“Delicious.” And although if you’d asked me a few minutes ago, I wouldn’t have been interested, I’m now tempted.

As we head inside the tent, I inhale the buttery scent.

My mouth waters. I pick out a piece and pop it into my mouth.

The salted butter explodes across my tongue.

It’s not blood. But a warmth settles over me nonetheless. Because it’s still delicious.

I’m still crunching on the last of the popcorn when they open the big top and we filter in.

Asher navigates us to the shadowy periphery of the tent, skirting under the packed bleachers and slipping through an exit marked Employees Only.

We wind our way through the haphazard clusters of tents and trailers, searching out our target.

Finally, we locate a beat-up trailer with a faded manager’s office sign affixed to the door.

Damp coats my palms, and I wipe them on the now-empty popcorn bag clenched between my fist.

I steel myself. I don’t want to seem vulnerable to those who have already taken advantage of me. But I also want to make them understand what they did, what it cost me. And to make them pay for it.

My face hardens. A mask. Armor.

I’m thankful that Asher’s beside me, solid and sturdy. I don’t have to face this alone.

Asher turns to me. “You ready?”

I bang a fist on the door, swallowing the lump in my throat.

The door swings open with a long creak. Rod looks like hell. Don’t get me wrong, he’s handsome enough with brown hair flopping over his forehead and a rakish, scruffy beard. But red veins explode across his eyes like fireworks and dark purple circles contrast with his pale white skin.

Not that long ago, I thought Luka and everyone around him was the height of cool. This, though, definitely is not how I want to spend an eternity. Looking strung out and worse for wear.

“Delilah.” Rod’s words come out in a soft rasp, intimate almost, and I recoil instantly, skin crawling. He gestures to the door with an exaggerated flourish. I get it. The punchline is that I don’t deserve his respect.

I open my mouth, ready with a comeback, but my words catch in my throat.

Clutter litters the small, dingy room. Piles of crumpled paper spills over the desk and onto the floor. An ashtray on the desk overflows. The stale stench of cigarettes hangs in the stagnant air.

Rod jerks his thumb at Asher. “Who’s this? The human.” In his mouth, that sounds like an insult.

“A hunter.” Asher wields his role like a weapon, and I clock that Rod’s eyes widen a little. “We’re looking for Luka.”

“What? Is Miss Delilah here upset that she didn’t get her happily ever after? Don’t tell me you actually bought his bull.” He contorts my name in a horrible sing-song voice.

My stomach lurches. The refrain plays in my head over and over. Everyone knew, everyone knew, everyone knew.

Heat washes over me. Those self judgements, the lies I can’t escape, rear their head again. I missed all the red flags. I let it happen. I let him hurt me. And everyone knew. Rod knew.

He doesn’t seem to care that I got hurt, and that makes him no better than Luka.

To them, I was just a human, a toy, a plaything.

Something to mess around with and discard when the fun’s over.

Even now, he treats me like I’m entertainment.

An amusement, a distraction, a sideshow.

But I’m no one’s plaything anymore. And I doubt he’ll find what’s about to happen fun.

I shove him against the gray, smoked-stained wall of the trailer, pushing my forearm across his windpipe.

He struggles against me. He should be stronger.

He’s older, and I’m newly turned. But whatever shit he’s gotten himself into isn’t doing him any favors.

I’m able to trap him in place, even as he bucks, attempting to throw me off, eyes wide.

I enjoy that. The rush of knowing I have him under my control.

“Like he said, I’m. Looking. For. Luka.” I grind out each word through bared teeth. I ease off the pressure slightly.

He takes a heaving breath. “Like I’d tell you.”

I glance over at Asher. He picks his way around Rod’s desk and grabs the phone sitting on a pile of papers. He holds the screen up to Rod’s face to unlock.

“No passcode.” Asher clucks, fingers already skimming across the screen. “Now, let’s see.”

Asher shuffles back around to the banged-up metal desk and picks out a crumpled piece of paper and a ballpoint pen. In a messy scrawl, he scribbles out some notes and flashes me a thumbs up sign. Gingerly, I release Rod.

“Is this going to get back to Luka?” The challenge, the threat, is clear in Asher’s voice.

Rod throws his hands up and smirks.

Asher holds his gaze. “Not good enough. Probably better we keep this anyway”

Asher passes me the phone. My fingers wrap around the smooth glass.

We tramp out the door to the trailer without a backwards glance. No goodbyes, no punctuation to end the conversation. Rod’s not worth it.

My shoulders relax as we walk back toward the big top. We’re one step closer. I’m one step closer. One way or another, this will all be over soon.

Maybe not the happily ever after I wanted. But a damn good ending.