Page 55 of Bite Back

ASHER

The anniversary dawns bright and sunny. The date’s been etched on by body and soul, written indelibly on the very core of myself. Before my eyes even open, I know. The weight of the day covers me like a too warm blanket, heavy and suffocating.

The sunlight feels like an insult, a reminder that the weather doesn’t remember, the world doesn’t remember, only I remember.

It stings. I roll out of bed, squaring my shoulders.

I remember. The terrible things that happened today, yes.

But also all the good things that came before, all the things I carry with me.

Their memory is a blessing. I glance over at Delilah, still sleeping in the bed. Her arms thrown out, body reaching for the hollow in the blankets I just vacated.

Even unconscious, she’s drawn to me, a magnetic pull. She looks angelic like this, hair fanned out around her, limbs tangled up in the white sheets, eyes closed, the faintest hint of a smile teasing the corner of her lips. I love her.

I wish she could see herself like this. Yes, there’s darkness in her. But there’s so much light. And all of it—darkness and light and all the gray areas in between—I love.

I could wake her, take her with me. And someday I will, but right now, today, I need to do this alone. For me and for us.

I dress in silence, dark clothes to mark the somberness of the occasion and a single stake, just in case. Leaning down, I press a kiss to her forehead. She stirs at my touch, and I melt a little.

“Sleep well,” I whisper. Praline slinks over and curls up on her shoulder. I smile, knowing she’s in good hands. Then I pad my way over to the door, easing it shut behind me.

The silence of the graveyard roars in my ears.

I always hate that, the quiet. Of course, I want to treat the dead with reverence.

But the silence pulls me back to being alone after it happened, to those horrible minutes, that felt like hours before help arrived.

Even now, I look down at my palms, expecting to see blood staining them.

I take a shuddering breath, then another. I focus on the rhythm of my chest, slow and steady.

I’m here. And they’re not. But right now, in this moment, I can pretend we’re together. A soft smile on my mom’s face, a twinkle in my dad’s eye, laughter in my brother’s throat.

“I found a woman. She’s remarkable…She’s goofy and brave and strong and alive. Except she’s a vampire.” I swallow, gulping down the tears rising in my eyes and welling in my throat. “Not except. She’s a vampire. And that’s my problem, not hers.”

I don’t want it to be a problem anymore is what I’m really saying, pleading. Deafening silence roars around me, punctured only by the rustle of the trees.

But my heart hears the answer it needs. A smile pulls across my face, maybe the first and possibly the last time I’ll smile on this date.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the three small pebbles I brought with me.

I turn them over in my palm, the surface smooth against my calloused skin.

I place one atop each gravestone, the tears I was fighting earlier escaping in full force.

To mark that I was here. And to mark that while they’re gone, their memory is still here, in me.

I stand in the middle of Grand Central Station, commuters streaming around me. A man in a business suit clutching a leather briefcase bumps into me, muttering an apology.

“It’s okay.” My voice remains warm, but his eyes still grow wide as he takes in the stake, just poking out from under my coat. He backs away slowly, hands raised.

“Truly. I’m sorry.” I take in his lips, two darker dots marking where fangs will poke out in the evening.

I used to relish that, the fear we inspired.

I thought it was good. Kept vampires in line.

Now, my stomach flips at the thought that the mere sight of me provokes fear.

How many monsters become monsters because we left them no other role.

How many like Delilah I would have seen more as heroes than villains if I’d taken the time to learn their stories?

I’m no idealist. There’s bad shit and bad people out there. But I wish I’d taken more time to appreciate the shades of gray.

I should head back to Delilah. I should tell her…I shake my head, eyes wandering to the ceiling overhead. It’s magnificent. I used to love to crane my head up at it as a little boy, admiring the golden celestial drawing and the turquoise background.

How do you explain a seismic shift in your worldview? I don’t know. But I’ve been trying and I’ll keep on trying. For Claude. And for Delilah.

My eyes squint as I take in the golden light streaming in the windows above. I want to make this work. I’m in it for the long haul. I’m recognizing and dismantling the assumptions I had. That she’s not just a vampire, that she’s no better or worse for it either.

She’s Delilah. She’s perfect. And she’s mine for as long as she wants me.

And I’m completely hers.