Page 31 of Bite Back

DELILAH

I don’t want to get up. My body curls beneath the tangled blankets, burrowing into the couch.

Praline sleeps beside me, a small comfort.

The light peeking around the edges of the blinds grows brighter as the sun climbs higher in the sky. The city hums around me. Pedestrians chatter on the street. The elderly neighbor’s TV plays game show reruns. The dog on the first floor barks.

Life continues. Nestled under the blankets, I can pretend everything’s okay. I don’t have to focus on my own life or death or whatever the hell this is.

But the negative thoughts creep in, uninvited guests knocking at the door to my brain.

I lost Luka. I fucked up the best lead we had. Ruined a chance we may never get again.

All because I’m an impulsive, reckless new vampire.

Exhaustion weighs heavy on my limbs, blanketing my brain and body. I drift in and out of sleep, welcoming the oblivion it brings.

The strip of light from the blinds fades darker and darker each time my eyes flutter open.

Sarah enters the apartment, shuffling in with bags of groceries. I could sit up and talk to her. But instead I clench my eyes shut and slow my breathing, mimicking the sleep I wish would claim me. Eventually, it does.

When I wake again, I find Praline sprawled across my neck and shoulders, her cheek pressed to my chin. Adorable. She gives a soft mew as I stir. My phone buzzes.

Asher’s name flashes across the screen.

For a moment, I’m tempted to ignore it. Ignore him. Ignore the consequences of my actions.

But another text buzzes in after it.

Got a sighting of a bunch of Luka’s friends out on the town.

Want to help me tail?

The Academy’s been keeping a look out for Luka’s friends we have some info on. I drag myself upright, despite Praline’s protests. Hopping over to my suitcase, I fish out and tug on some clothes.

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in line outside a club with Asher, elbow to elbow with women clad in high heels and miniskirts.

My eyes fix on the other clubbers, following the flashes of sequins and the gleam of leather.

Anything to keep my eyes off Asher. To avoid seeing the judgment no doubt written across his face.

Standing here, so close to him, his licorice and pepper scent calls back the memories of last night. Tears streaming down my face, wet and hot. His arms wrapped around me, firm but gentle. A moment that would have felt kind, sweet even, if it weren’t so fucking awful.

He didn’t criticize me then. Didn’t tell me all the things I already know.

A part of me expects that to come. But Asher’s not Luka and he seems determined to pretend it’s business as usual, to move on after my massive fuck up.

Get it together. I can play pretend too.

“They’re already inside?”

He nods, gaze scanning down the line. He leans towards me, beard hair scratching my ear. “Not a good side entrance, I checked.”

Of course there isn’t.

“Is he in there?”

Asher shakes his head. “No, we’re hoping he’ll meet up with his friends. If not, I’m thinking our next step is a road trip out to Connecticut, talk to his mom and hope she has some info.”

Hope. I used to have so much of that.

Now, I have desperation.

I nod, shoulders slumping. I let the excited chatter of the others in line wash over me.

“Shit. They’re leaving.”

I dart forward, but Asher grabs my arm and holds me in place. I get the message: wait.

Once they’re down the block, we break from the line and follow after them, matching their pace, meandering slowly.

Their raucous laughter drifts back towards us. One of them, a tall Arab man with an arm slung around his companion, turns. I’ve seen him before at one of Luka’s parties. He was nice, funny. Anwar. Our gazes collide and a spark of recognition flares.

His brow furrows, like he’s trying to place where he knows me from.

Well, fuck.

I spin towards Asher. I can’t let Anwar get a better look at my face. Can’t acknowledge I recognize him too. Can’t risk someone mentioning to Luka that they saw me. We want to find Luka, not scare him off.

Before, I was pretending I’m okay. Now I have to pretend I’m not myself. Maybe that’s the same thing.

I resist the urge to turn back towards the vampires, to assess the situation further, and keep my gaze locked firmly on Asher.

Pretend, Delilah. Maybe if I focus enough on Asher, Anwar will assume he’s mistaken.

I doubt the others would recognize me. It’s not like most of Luka’s friends paid close attention to me anyway.

The weather’s been teetering between seasons, but tonight, late summer’s heat is out in full force.

Stickiness coats my skin. I need to cool off so I can breathe, can think.

I shrug out of my sweatshirt and secure it around my waist. The night air caresses my shoulders and collarbone, now exposed in my tank top.

It’s bright red, skintight, with the lacy straps of my bra peeking out. And, from the looks of it, Asher likes what he sees.

His gaze is glued to me, stuck on the curves and planes and valleys of my body.

I’m sucked in too, my eyes dancing over his face, painted red and purple in the neon glow of the tattoo parlor. A single tendril of hair has escaped his bun and curls into his face, treacherous, tempting.

I give into temptation and brush it back. A shiver runs over him, so infinitesimal, so slight I second guess it, almost. But it was there. His response to me. Or, at least my body. My cheeks heat.

Something—someone—collides with me and the spell, already splintered, breaks. It’s a redhead, clad in a white minidress and teetering gold heels.

“Sorry.” Drunken laughter spills out of her. She staggers away, clutching her friend’s arm.

Luka’s friends are laughing and talking again now. Hopefully no longer paying attention. But I can’t be sure.

I shift closer to the building in front of us. Karaoke bar, the bright yellow sign declares. We should get off the street, get away from the gaggle of vampires loitering on the corner.

“Do you wanna get a room?” I volley the question, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. Luka’s friends can hear. I have to be convincing, unbothered.

Asher swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he extends a hand. I take it, rough and warm in mine.

He leans in close. “I love karaoke.” My stomach curls. My mind knows this is all a ruse, but my body still reacts.

My shoulders relax as we enter the building.

I hold his hand until we reach our room.

It’s lined in pleather, all tufted cushions and cheap slickness.

I sink into the cushions and Asher slides next to me, his leg brushing against mine.

It’s the slightest of touches, and it lights my body up like the tree at the Rockefeller Center, nerve endings firing.

“What’s your go-to?”

“ ‘Mr. Brightside.’ ”

He purses his lips and nods. “Solid choice.”

I scoff. “Only solid? Come on, it’s a classic.”

He raises his hands, palms up. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s a good choice.” He smirks. “Just not as good as my choice.”

“Oh?” I flip my hair over my shoulder.

“ ‘Bye Bye Bye.’ ”

“*NSYNC?” I shriek.

He crosses his arms, muscles bulging. “They’re iconic.”

“As is ‘Mr. Brightside.’ ” I poke the air with each word, my finger drawing closer and closer to his chest. With the last poke, it lands between his pecs, and I inhale sharply.

He mirrors my inhale, drawing forward where I draw back.

Like I’m beckoning him, calling to him like a siren.

Like our attraction is a dance, intoxicating and deadly.

No words pass through our lips as our eyes lock together.

But a thousand stories unfold in my brain about what could happen next.

How I could lean forward, close the gap, seal us together.

How he could do the same, our lips meeting, that large hand shaking up in my hair, grabbing, feeling, giving, taking.

How good it would feel to have my body flush with his again, actually alone.

And how it could ruin everything. Our partnership. Finding Luka. Whatever scraps of self esteem I have left. I lurch backward, hand fumbling for the sticky pleather beside me, breaths coming in pants.

Everything comes careening back. His lips tangled with mine on the dance floor.

The hard press of him against the wall. The weight of his eyes on me as we watched the circus.

The way his lips parted at the top of the Ferris wheel.

The moments that felt like the start of something, but didn’t actually promise anything.

I’ve been playing with fire, playing that we could fall in love.

A flicker passes across Asher’s face. Disappointment? Relief?

It’s better this way. For me. For both of us. Fewer complications. Fewer ways to get hurt.

He can look, but he can’t touch.

The microphone clatters to the floor, snapping me back to the moment.

Asher clears his throat. “You wanna go first.”

I nod limply.

Asher fiddles with the remote for a minute, cueing everything up.

This was a shit idea. All my earlier elation has evaporated. And now I’m left with this. Just us. Together in a room. Unable to figure out what’s between us.

I want to sink into the ground and disappear.

But instead I grip the mic, fingers clammy, and sing when the music comes on. I belt, I laugh, I dissolve into a fit of giggles when Asher performs all the choreography to the dance. And despite everything, or maybe because of it, I have fun.