Page 25 of Bite Back

ASHER

I paint on a smile as Delilah dives for the tennis ball I threw at her, burgundy ponytail rippling behind her.

We’re working on her reaction times and coordination this training session.

Her improvement’s good. But my gaze keeps drifting to the clock on the wall, mentally ticking down the minutes until we’re supposed to head over to Claude’s place.

Which was well over ten minutes ago. I gulp down another sip of water, palm rubbing the back of my neck. Is it too late to back out entirely?

Delilah tsks. “We should head over.”

We should. But that would mean facing Claude. Facing myself.

I swallow. “You’re right.”

But my feet stay firmly planted on the ground.

Delilah’s blue eyes meet mine. “He wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t want you there.”

“Maybe he just felt guilty?” I float the question and let it hang there between us. Because why would he want to see me? After how everything went down? The sound of Claude’s screams echoes in my ears. The bright splash of crimson sprayed across his throat.

Fuck. I need to keep it together.

Delilah’s voice comes soft. “I don’t think he does. But…even if he did, would you rather have guilt be the thing that brings you together or keeps you apart?”

And there it is. The reason I said yes. The reason I’m going to go even though every bone in my body screams at me to avoid this.

I couldn’t show up for Claude the way I wanted to that day. And I didn’t show up for him afterwards—not properly—because I couldn’t face what happened.

But I want to show up for him now.

The savory simmer of barbeque wafts up from the backyard.

Claude lives in a Harlem apartment building, all charming red brick.

Delilah—her hair still damp with sweat from our training session—and I wind our way through his apartment, full of cushy seating draped in handknit blankets and green leafed plants.

I used to think of this place as a second home. Now, I feel stiff and out of place.

I nod to the other guests I recognize, mostly other slayers from the Academy.

Claude was always the people person of the two of us, and, even now that he’s no longer a slayer, he’s clearly maintained those connections.

But there are some new faces here, people I’ve never met.

Another sign of the distance that’s grown between us.

An orange tabby brushes against Delilah’s legs, purring insistently. I reach down and scritch his soft head, only to earn a disapproving nip. Classic.

A chuckle sounds next to us and I stiffen.

“That’s Winston.” Claude stands in the doorway to the backyard, arms laden with an empty tray.

In the daylight, with his fangs retracted, he looks just like he used to.

Deep Black skin, warm brown eyes, hair cropped close, and a soft smile.

He jerks his thumb towards the sofa, where another orange cat lounges.

“That’s Sweetie.” She stretches her paws towards me in greeting.

Adorable. At least one of the cats still likes me.

Then again, a nibble’s typical Winston anyway.

“Oh, and I’m Claude.” He places the tray on the counter and extends his palm towards Delilah. She shakes his hand, and I’m grateful for the moment’s distraction it gives me. A moment to get myself together.

But then Claude’s gaze shifts to me and his smile falters. My fingers curl around the potato salad we brought, denting into the plastic container.

“Hey, man.” There’s a warmth to Claude’s voice. A warmth I don’t deserve.

“Hey.” The smile I wear feels like a mask. Stiff. Fake. My fingers find their way to my hair, untangling the strands. “Fuck. I don’t know how to do this. Do you want to talk?”

Claude claps me on the back and heads to the couch, sinking down next to Sweetie who gives an indignant sounding meow. She stretches out and then settles on his lap. He pets her, and she purrs loudly.

Delilah hovers in the kitchen, uncertainty written across her features.

I look up and pat the sofa beside me. “Stay with us.” I turn towards Claude.

“If that’s okay with you, of course.” Claude nods, so she makes her way to the sofa and settles down next to me.

Despite the plush cushions surrounding us, I can’t relax.

I thought Delilah’s presence would anchor me.

But even with her beside me, I can’t escape the feeling that I’m drifting.

“I’m glad you came. Feels like it used to.” But the silence that stretches between us contradicts that.

Fuck.

I’m no good at this. At saying the right thing. But maybe simple is enough. “I’m sorry.” My mask breaks as I say it, and my voice sounds jagged.

“For what?” The soft query hangs between us.

“For what happened. How I fucked up. How I ruined everything.”

Something passes across Claude’s face. “I’m not mad about that.”

Not about that.

“But you’re mad.”

“Yes.” Claude takes a deep breath. “I’m mad that you didn’t show up.

I’m mad that you shut me out. I’m mad that you were so focused on blaming yourself that you missed out on being there for me, with me.

And that I couldn’t be there for you.” Each sentence lands like a blow.

Because I’ve avoided each and every one of these truths. And I can’t. Not anymore.

He waves a hand at the two of us. “Mad I didn’t get to be there for the start of this. I thought you’d always be a part of my story, but now it feels like there’s a chapter missing.” This. There isn’t a this. Not really. But it seems wrong to interrupt, to break the moment.

Tears spill down Claude’s cheeks, and dampness pools in my own eyes. I don’t know what moving forward will look like. Not like before. But I’m ready to try.

We get to start a new chapter.