Page 36 of Bite Back

DELILAH

I lick my fingers, savoring the last drops of the ice cream. The sweetness of the blood contrasts with the tang of the cherries and the bitterness of the dark chocolate chips. It is, without a doubt, the best thing I’ve eaten in my life or in my death.

I’ve been missing out.

Blood, with all its heady aroma and intoxicating sweetness, will always be what I crave most. But just as my transformation heightened my other senses, tasting is a whole new experience.

The distinct flavors splash across my mouth, combining into a harmonious symphony.

I want more. Not just more ice cream (although I definitely want more ice cream). More to taste. More to experience.

I run my fingers through the sand, the coarse grains falling between my fingers, their rough texture removing the residual stickiness from the ice cream. I burrow my fingers down, tunneling beneath the surface.

I’ve been to the beach before. But not this one, and not like this.

Not since I turned. The whooshing of the waves, the rustling of the seagrass in the playful wind fills my ears.

For once, I’m free from the chatter of dozens of voices overlapping, the rumble of cars, the constant hustle and bustle of the city. The loudness of nature quiets my mind.

I marvel at the sky overhead, the darkness draped over us like inky velvet. In the city, I can see more stars overhead than before I turned. But with all the light pollution, I hadn’t fully appreciated the extent of my new vision.

It looks like someone showered the sky in glitter.

I wish I could stay here forever, the soft leather of Asher’s jacket pressed to my cheek.

This place, this moment, holds magic. I haven’t lost everything.

In the midst of it all, all the change, all the transformation, all the crippling uncertainty swirling around me, there are still good things.

Often it feels like the only emotion I experience, the only emotion driving me forward is rage.

But maybe underneath it all, mad women are sad women.

Women who deserved better than what we got.

This is what I deserve. The wind blowing through my hair, the stars sparkling overhead, the ocean stretching before me. I’ve tossed and turned over the years yawning before me, infinite and empty. But, like the ocean, maybe infinite can be beautiful.

Twilight fades into night as we stare out at the waves. The moon climbs higher and higher, bathing us in its iridescent glow, as time slips by. It’s peaceful. But I have to face what’s happened over the last few days. The peace doesn’t last. It never does, does it?

As we shake the sand off our feet, the grains rough against my toes, all my worries and doubts come crashing back.

What I did and didn’t do. I contemplate if I should stop. If this is enough. If I’m about to go too far. Will killing a monster make me one too?

But what makes us monsters isn’t our differences. It’s how we use them. A sigh leaves my lips, lost against the lapping of the waves and the creaking of the boardwalk beneath our feet. With each footfall, I drill it into my brain: The world’s a better place without him in it.

So I’m all in. To the very end.

When we reach Asher’s bike, the navy body pitched black in the darkness, I glance up at him beside me. He stands silhouetted against the moonlight, hair loose and fluttering in the wind. It paints a soft haze, a halo almost, around him. It’s fitting.

When I first discovered what he was, I saw him as a predator. And in many ways he is. We both are.

My fingers run through my own hair, loosening the tangles from the sea breeze.

Since I turned, the past—the wrongs that happened and how I hope to right them—has gripped me.

But looking at Asher now, cast in platinum, I glimpse something else.

Something beyond pain and revenge and hurt. Possibility.

I take in a deep breath, lungs swelling with the salt air. That notion, the prospect of a future, is intoxicating and terrifying in its own right. It’s beautiful to want something, to crave it. But it also means that you have something to lose. Can I stand to lose anything else?

I push the questions from my mind. Right now, I don’t want to think, I want to do. With a single step forward, I close the distance between us. My head tips up and my fingers wind behind his neck, pulling his mouth to mine. His hair feels like silk beneath my fingers.

I cling to him like I’m drowning and he’s my salvation.

Because, right now, that’s what I need. His lips meet mine with a desperation that matches my own, moving greedily against mine.

My fingers tangle in his hair, and I lose myself in the rhythm of his mouth against mine.

His body presses against mine, radiating heat that’s echoed in my core, and my thoughts, my worries, and fears recede, and I give myself over to taste and touch and feel.

I allow myself to be swept out to sea, knowing that he’ll be there to anchor me if I drift too far.