Page 57 of Bite Back

I wake up to the persistent prodding of Praline’s little paws, small pricks of pain sparking across my arms where her claws make contact with my skin. I add a nail trim to our to-do list for the day. Praline studies me, eyes narrowed as though she suspects what’s to come.

She pads over to the head of the bed, settling and curling into a ball on top of my shoulder, paws tucked in the crook of my neck, her cheek nestled against mine. I lean into the press of her soft fur, velvety against my skin, and a small chirp leaves her mouth.

“I love you, too,” I whisper.

“And I love you both.” Asher’s voice is still thick with sleep.

He reaches over and scratches the top of Praline’s head, and she stretches up into the motion, a loud purr rumbling in her chest. Asher mimics the motion, stretching out his arms and flopping down so I’m tucked beneath him, Praline sandwiched between us.

A smile curves across his face, bright and wicked. “Good morning.” His hands fist the fabric at my waist, a clear indication of his intentions. Anticipation curls in my stomach.

A smile lights across my face to match. “Good morning to you too.”

I roll to the side to access the mini fridge we added next to bed ahead of Asher’s transformation.

The fridge had been a godsend in the first few days when Asher was thrashing and burning in pain.

Now, though, it’s a convenience and one I appreciate greatly on lazy mornings like these.

I fumble for two blood bags, grabbing one for Asher and another for me.

A sigh escapes his lips as he empties the bag. I’m slower to flatten mine. The sweetness of the blood still calls to me, even after all these years, but it’s no longer the pressing need it was when I was newly turned.

Other things, though, my body still craves just as much. Heat flashes through me as Asher lifts Praline out of the bed, earning some indignant protests, which are quickly quieted when she hears the jingle of food hitting her bowl.

“That’ll keep her occupied for a bit.” A smile cracks across my face at the thought of how Asher's going to keep me occupied.

Hunger flashes in his eyes and tightens across his jaw as he stalks back towards the bed. I’m struck by how much he reminds of that night I first saw him in the club.

Predatory. Possessive. And completely and utterly transfixed by me.

Now, though, we’ve rewritten the ending. Now, our past is something that pulls us together, instead of forcing us apart.

Asher grasps my chin, scraping his thumb along my lips. They part, and I inhale, drinking in his licorice and pepper scent. He traces my canines, still short in the morning light, and a faint pressure pulses there.

“Show me.” His voice doesn’t waver, no hint of fear left. Only reverence like a prayer, like a hymn.

I extend my fangs, slowly, carefully. I only gained full control of them a couple months ago.

His eyes widen, drinking in the transformation as my teeth extend, sharpen. His pupils are blown, the black eclipsing the cinnamon.

My right canine pricks the pad of his thumb, a tiny pool of blood welling, wet and warm. My tongue reaches out.

Vampire blood isn’t sweet like human blood. It’s more. More sophisticated. More complex. The difference between sugary grape juice and carefully aged wine. Or at least, that’s how it is with Asher’s blood.

I lap the blood from the pad of his thumb, savoring the taste of licorice and pepper. The small wound closes over quickly, and then he pulls me to him in a crushing kiss, his lips rough and eager against mine.

His knees nudge mine wider as he slowly lowers me back onto the bed, his body pressing mine into the soft sheets.

I fist his shirt in my hand. A request. A demand. I want more. I want more of him and less between us.

He’s more than happy to oblige. He lifts his shirt over his head, and my hands fumble with his pants.

My hands roam the soft planes of his body, skating over the muscular heft of his shoulders and arms and the soft plane of his stomach.

My fingers follow the pattern of his scars by memory.

Vampirism may have wiped his skin clean.

But I keep the tradition alive, just as the stories we tell about our past keep the memories alive.

Vampirism may heal everything cosmetic, may make you harder, faster, stronger. But that doesn’t mean what hurt you didn’t happen.

When Asher turned, we’d wondered if his migraines would go away. If the transformation would repair whatever damage the concussion wreaked. But they stayed with him. Now though, he’s learned to manage them as best he can.

There are good times and bad times. But we face them together.

His fingers interlace with mine, stilling their progress along my body.

My lips find their way to his neck, kissing a line down the swoop of it. I position my fangs against his neck. An invitation.

And one he readily accepts, nodding, rocking against my fangs. I bite down. Softly, gently, carefully.

If our meeting was a challenge, this is a surrender.

I’m lost. Lost to the sensation of him against me. And lost to him, heart and soul.

Lost and found. He thrusts into me as I tap the blood from his veins.

Giving and taking. Afterwards, we collapse back onto the bed, panting and satisfied.

As we rest on the bed, my head leaning on Asher’s chest, Praline jumps on the bed with us and promptly paws a nest for herself snuggled between us.

Asher threads one hand through my hair and runs another through Praline’s fur. She purrs in response.

I don’t keep track of time anymore. Not the way I used to. I spent the first years of my immortality making up for lost time. Getting to know Asher, getting to know myself, my new self, my new body. But that’s the beauty of forever with the person you love. There are no time limits. No deadlines.

I still fuck a lot of shit up. I might not be human anymore, but that much about me is.

It’s okay though. Okay that there are still mistakes I make.

Okay that there are still nights I wake up panting, skin slick with sweat and mind fresh with memories of the past. Because the good times and the good decisions outnumber the bad.

And all that history and all those imperfections are what led me here.

We moved out of the loft decades ago, and Sarah, Kirby, and I turned it into a safe place to land for women who needed it.

But I still come here sometimes when it’s empty.

To sit and think and be alone amidst the hustle and bustle of everything.

To watch the sunlight kiss the tops of the skyscrapers in the morning and melt into the horizon at night. To revisit where it all began.

Good things can grow out of bad times. And good people can grow through them.

Tonight, I have the windows open, an early spring chill curling around me.

The wind carries in a hint of jasmine and cherry blossoms. The afterglow of the sunset still lingers on the horizon, painting the building around the apartment in a tangerine orange that melts into the purple of the night sky.

Sunrise and sunsets are still my favorite, even after all these years.

When I first turned, I would have told you I craved the harshness of the afternoon sun.

But now that I can enjoy it again, truly enjoy the sun without discomfort, I’ve come full circle.

Sunrises and sunsets were always there for me.

The days can blend together when you’ve lived for as long as I have. My body and my face, uncreased by time, don’t tell the passage of the years. But sunrises and sunsets demand you look. Demand you segment time, remember that each and every day holds adventure and beauty and value.

In the dim light. I look across the worn oak floor.

It looks different now, dressed in new furniture, all our own furniture packed up and moved out to our new home.

But this is where Asher kissed me by the fire.

This is where I fell in love. With Asher and myself.

I understand why we moved, why we need to grow beyond how we began, and I love the new purpose for the space.

But there was something special about that time.

So much chaos and happiness packed into this space.

Books strewn everywhere, takeout boxes on the counters, laughter echoing from the high ceilings.

Movement below reaches my ears, and soon enough, Asher slips into the apartment.

He never did quite reach silver fox status, but a few grays dot his hair.

I like that. It adds a distinguished touch to his handsome features.

Those cinnamon eyes crinkle and a smile lights up his face when he spots me, sharp canines poking out, and he joins me by the window, our feet dangling out into the night air.

I bring my head to rest it on his shoulder.

His hand snakes up and winds through my hair, stroking it.

His own hair has gone through phases over the years.

He cropped it short for a bit, but now it’s back long, tied in a messy bun, the way it was when we met.

It’s unfair how devastatingly hot this man can look in any hair style.

Eventually, his lips find mine and his body does too.

We tangle on the bare floor, his hands raking over me, just as hungry as that first night.

Time hasn’t slowed our passion for each other.

I come apart in a gasp, and he follows me over the edge.

My palm rests on his bare chest as we look out at the stars, so much brighter and crisper than my human vision ever could have imagined.

I’ve learned their names now, spent nights whispering to Asher and telling him their stories.

It’s funny. Years ago, I worried this life wouldn’t be enough.

That it would be cold and empty and meaningless and inhuman.

But it’s been full of laughter and happiness and love.

I lace my hand through Asher’s, appreciating the roughness of his palm in mine, cheeks lifting in a smile.

Because what we have is beautiful. More than I ever could have dreamed of. More than enough.

It turns out, death is worth living.