Page 43 of Bite Back

DELILAH

My chest clenches as I prepare for our meeting with Vlad. It’s been six days since we got the invitation, and I want to get it over with, to flip to the last page, to learn how the story ends. But as much as I want to storm in and demand answers, I can’t.

With Vlad, everything is on his terms. The trick will be trying to align my wants with his. I snort.

My hand shakes as I draw on my cat eye. Fuck. The wobbly line looks absolutely shit. Sighing, I grab a makeup wipe and scrub it over my eye. Take two.

My eyes squeeze shut, and I zero in my breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out.

I know Vlad’s reputation, his power. But he was a good boss.

I remember him grasping my shaking hand in his on my first day working at his office.

How he went out of his way to tell me how happy he was to have me, a human, there working with him.

How I only found blood bags in the office fridge, but after he saw me eating my lunch from home, the next day, there was fresh fruit and sandwiches.

How he’d seek me out for advice sometimes on particularly thorny human-vampire relations issues, nodding when I spoke.

My hand steadies as I seize the eyeliner pen again.

I wield the eyeliner like a weapon, drawing the wing with exacting precision.

I trail glue along the edge of a fake lash and huff on it to make it tacky before I pinch it onto my lash line.

I flutter my eyelids. Almost perfect. I mask the glue with a little extra eyeliner. There.

Putting on my makeup feels like a ritual.

There’s something soothing about it, the mix of repetition and sensation.

The brush bristles kiss my cheeks as I blend out my blush and contour.

There’s an alchemy to it, a power as I transform my bare face into me but different.

My eyes look wide, like pools you could drown in.

My contour emphasizes my cheekbones against the soft curves of my face. And blood red adorns my lips.

I’ve thought of being a vampire as something that happened to me, not something I was. Seeing myself here, ruby and vicious looking, I see it for the first time, what I am and everything it means.

I am a vampire.

An apex predator, lethal and deadly.

Before, being a vampire meant a happily ever after.

Now, being a vampire means something different. It means I’m a weapon, capable of prosecuting my own wrongs, seeking my own revenge.

When Luka didn’t kill me, he created his worst nightmare. A smile curls across my face at the thought.

Cigar smoke hangs heavy in the air, puffs of it clouding the already dim room.

Warm light filters through crystal sconces, providing just enough illumination to make out hazy figures, draped in long velvet gowns and dark tuxedos.

Black and red cards flash on tables and chips change hands.

Vlad’s weekly poker nights are strictly cash free and aboveboard, so the chips are purely to keep score.

I smooth my hands over my own gown, the silk smooth on my fingertips, and pick off a cat hair. In the mirror before we left, this gown felt slinky and sexy. Now, glancing down at the shiny material, I worry it looks cheap, out of place.

“You look incredible.” Asher’s voice sounds low and gravely in my ear, his breath hot and warm. His arm snakes around my waist, anchoring me, grounding me.

With Luka, I never would have acknowledged any insecurity, never would have expressed that I felt I didn’t fit in. Because, to him, I didn’t. I was human. Lucky to be there. Lucky to be on his arm.

I believed it. I don’t anymore. “I’m worried I don’t fit in.”

Asher’s fingers squeeze my waist, pulling me out of the dark eddies of my thoughts. Back to here, now.

“You’re right.” My stomach drops. “You don’t blend in.

You stand out. You’re the most stunning woman, the most stunning person, in this room.

” He delivers this assertion with a fierceness that short-circuits me.

Simply, plainly, as though it’s a fact written in a textbook.

I’m weightless, floating, untethered. Until he pulls me back with that steady pressure at my waist.

Warmth pools in my stomach, and I look back up at him, a smile curving across my lips.

“You’re pretty good looking yourself.”

He adjusts his bow tie, preening for me. “Damn right, I am.”

I slide my arm into his, and we plunge forward into the poker den. Chips clatter and cards rustle as we approach the tables.

Asher carries himself with his shoulders squared and back straight, exuding a confidence I can only hope to approximate. I’m the vampire. So why do I still feel so out of place?

I focus on each step, each collision of my heel with the slick wooden floor.

I channel my determination into them, each footfall a stab at Luka.

As though I can drive a knife into the feelings of unworthiness.

As though I can attack the years I spent wanting a future that was a hollow lie.

As though I can wipe the smirk off his face and then wipe him off the face of the earth.

I can.

I will.

I’ve been training hard.

I take a deep breath. Asher steers us to the left, pulling us up beside a table with our target.

Vlad. He’s a slim white man, all sinew and lean muscle.

Today, he’s outfitted in a navy blue suit with a crisply knotted tie.

He sits in his velvet armchair like it’s a throne, one arm thrown casually over the side.

But his sharp gray eyes that glint like steel tell the truth: this man’s deadly serious.

And he’s looking up at us, those steely eyes appraising us critically.

“Delilah Carter.” Each syllable of my name is precise and clipped in his mouth.

“And Asher Levine.”

Asher inclines his head, the faintest nod of acknowledgement.

“You’re looking for Luka.”

“Yes.” My voice holds steady despite my shaking knees. I shift my weight from one leg to the other.

Vlad holds up a hand. “To kill him.”

“Yes.”

He slumps back in his chair, a portrait of contemplation, hand stroking his chin.

“Why?” Heat boils within me. It’s a fair question.

But I hate that I have to answer. That I have to justify myself, when Luka certainly never has had to.

And that so much rides on how he takes my response.

With Vlad’s opposition, it would be next to impossible to succeed.

While Vlad is far from the shady vampire king so many humans have tried to cast him as, it’s true too many supernaturals respect him—or fear him—to make going against him an easy prospect.

I hold my gaze level. “He’s wronged me.” I fight the urge to overexplain, to say more, to pour out how I really feel. That won’t get me far with Vlad. He assesses everything logically, strategically.

“And he deserves to die for that?” The question hangs there, the room now eerily silent.

I shrug, feigning nonchalance I don’t feel. “Yes.”

He clucks and shakes his head, a motion sets my nerves on edge, and then strokes his chin again. “I can’t have chaos. Infighting. Especially now. We’re law-abiding citizens, just like everyone else.”

A strangled laugh chokes up my throat.

Vlad arches an eyebrow, the question evident.

“Luka’s the one causing chaos.” I hold my voice, steady, calm, measured as I explain what Luka did to me, did to Sutton, did to so many other women. Vlad listens, eyes fixed on me.

He worries his lip when I’ve finished speaking, fangs poking out. The clink of poker chips and the rustle of cards fill my ears.

“I’m sorry.” The apology comes soft, like those words are foreign on his lips.

“I’d heard whispers. But I wasn’t aware of the full scope of the situation.

” He leans back and rubs his temples. “I lack the…flexibility…to respond like I once did. So, you must understand, my capacity to interfere is limited. Which is unfortunate, because this is exactly the kind of thing that could destroy the progress we’ve made in supernatural-human relations. ”

He trains his gaze on Asher. “There’s a warrant, right?” Asher nods. “Then who am I to interfere in whether or how you carry it out?” The tightness in my chest eases. “But.” He raises a finger. “No more stakeouts outside my poker night.”

He turns to the man beside him, a clear dismissal. I tug Asher’s arm, but he stays stationary.

“Do you know where he is?”

Vlad turns to survey him, eyes wide. “I don’t. The last time I spoke with him, I simply recommended a florist.”

“And?” Asher grinds out the question between gritted teeth.

Vlad shrugs. “That’s it. I told him Maggie’s on Fifth is my favorite.” He waves his arms. “I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later.”

But, as we head towards the door, I swear I see Vlad wink.