Page 28 of Bite Back

DELILAH

Praline lies stretched across my chest, her whiskers tickling my chin.

I’ve been glued to the couch since I got back from the barbeque this afternoon.

Thinking about everything Claude said. About adjusting to our new bodies, our new lives.

About me and Asher. And thinking about the fact that going to barbeques means we’re not making any progress on finding Luka.

About all the leads Asher scribbled down from Rod’s phone.

All the dead ends. Praline yawns, and my nose wrinkles. “Your breath is stinky, ma’am.”

She cocks her head. So cute and she knows it. I scratch the fur under her chin and earn a loud, satisfied purr.

She tenses, her small frame poised with her head low and haunches raised. Her gaze fixes on the floor. My phone cord stretches across the wooden floorboards and floral rug. Of course. I reach down to flick it under the sofa.

Big mistake.

She launches herself off my chest and pounces toward the cord. Her paws grip the cord, and her mouth nips down. A laugh leaves me as I wrestle the cable away from her and tuck it safely beneath the sofa cushions. “That’s not a toy, ma’am.”

A thought strikes me.

No.

I couldn’t? Or could I?

I’ve felt stuck these past few weeks. Like a fly caught in Luka’s web. Stagnant, immobilized. I need to free myself, take charge. Doing something, anything, however reckless, would feel better than this.

Crossing the room, I dig through my suitcase, where I tucked Rod’s now dead phone. Got it. I flop back on the couch, and Praline nestles back on my chest. I turn the phone over and over in my hands, the metal cool and glass smooth on my fingertips.

She headbutts the phone, small head pressed against the back of it, shifting it out of the way.

I press my forehead to hers. “Yes, you are much cuter than this phone. But it is important.” I scoop her up and lift her from my lap. She chirps indignantly, placing a paw back on my leg as I start to get up.

My hand snakes under the couch to grab the cable. I pause in front of the outlet, phone in one hand, charger in the other.

Asher cautioned me against turning it on, warning that it could lead Luka to me as easily as it could lead us to him. Seems silly, if you ask me. Luka’s no tech wiz.

Caution and red tape.

That’s Asher’s problem. That’s the Academy’s problem.

Still. I’ll be a little cautious. I ease my way out of Sarah’s apartment, bounding down the steps two at a time. There’s a coffee shop a block or two over that’s still open.

The streets are pretty empty this time of night.

A few pedestrians bustle by, hands tucked in their pockets.

Moonlight washes over the gleaming glass of the store windows.

Manhattan’s never quiet, not really. But this—relative silence filled only by the rustle of the first autumn leaves and the hum of traffic—is about as good as it gets.

Maybe the silence is some sort of sign. This is either the best or worst idea I’ve had in a while.

The door to the coffee shop jingles as I push it open.

Warm light washes over me as I step inside.

A few of the tables are occupied, patrons clustered together, nursing their late night lattes.

The scents of coffee and chocolate fill my nose.

I glance toward the counter. Human food only.

Damn. My fangs twinge. I could have gone for some blood.

Still, I order a muffin and take it to a booth with trembling hands. I bring a small pinch to my mouth, and cinnamon flavor explodes across my taste buds.

As if I need another reminder of Asher.

I know all the reasons he’d tell me not to do this. It’s impulsive. It’s risky. It’s dangerous.

I’ve only had a handful of training sessions. The trap I want to set could just as easily trap me.

My fingers hesitate by the outlet. All of those things are true. I could wait longer, continue to follow up on the possible locations Asher already noted. But so’s this: I could lure Luka to me. It could be over.

I shove the plug in.

The screen remains black. Then it lights up.

Asher already disabled the lock on the phone.

I scroll through the messages until I find the thread I’m looking for. I don’t have to look far.

My fingers shake as they tap out my message and, before I can hesitate, hit send.