Page 18 of Bite

That thought sits heavy in my chest as I stumble through my morning routine, trying to distract myself with shitty instant coffee and kitten snuggles and anything else that feels remotely normal.

By noon, the adrenaline has mostly faded, leaving me with nothing but restless energy and a dull ache of confusion. Just when I start to think maybe last night will settle into the background noise of bad decisions and worse impulses, my phone lights up with a notification from the Bite app.

Special Engagement Invitation!

For a moment, all I can do is stare at it. Then curiosity gets the best of me, and I tap on the app icon to open it up.

Event: Donor Gala

Location: Elm Grove, Private Estate

Duration: 4 hours

Base Compensation: $1,000

Additional Donations: $500 each

My stomach somersaults.

Holy.Shit.

This isn’t a one-off, it’s a party– and I could earn a thousand bucks by just showing up.

Before I can spiral too far, my phone buzzes again with a text from Bex.

You get the invite for tonight’s gala?

Just now.

Say you’re going? I promise it’s not as scary as it sounds.

Plus, free drinks!

For us, not the vamps. They’re paying out the ass and we’re reaping all the benefits.

You in?

My thumb hovers over the screen as I hesitate. Rent is due in two days, and one more short engagement would cover what I owe… but if I attend this ‘gala’, I could cover next month, too.And if I allow just one extra donation– hell, maybe two– I could give myself a safety net.

It’s tempting.Too tempting.The kind of temptation that feels like a slippery slope.

One taste, one choice, one little compromise, and suddenly you’re not sure where you’ll stop.

Fuck it, I’m in.

Hell yeah! See you there!

I tell myself I’m not nervous as I go through the motions of officially accepting the invitation through the app, but the way my gut twists when the confirmation pops up says otherwise.

Your pickup time is 9:00 pm.

Evening attire will be provided via delivery.

A few hours later, when a sleek garment bag is hand-delivered to my door, my heart nearly drops into my stomach.

I unzip it slowly. Inside waits a dress I have no business touching, let alone wearing. Blood red silk gleams in the afternoon light, the fabric luxe and impossibly soft. It’s cut low at the chest and scandalously lower in the back, the silhouette slinky enough to make my pulse quicken.

It’s stunning. Obviously expensive and sexy as sin. The kind of dress that should come with a warning label.