Page 1 of It's in His Bite
Chapter One
Harlowe
The vampire in the corner of the mountain coffee shop was doing a shit job of hiding his hunger. I palmed the disposable cup and lifted it to my lips, letting the warmth of the black tea fill my lungs, not quite ready to risk burning my tongue. The vampire’s gaze flitted across the moderate crowd, his cheeks hollowing out as the seconds ticked by. He ran a hand over his mouth, his eyes closing as he swallowed. Another couple minutes, and he’d probably break down and try his luck with one of the unwitting patrons of this little place tucked deep in the Rocky Mountains.
It was easy enough to imagine how the scene would play out. He’d abandon the half-drunk coffee that was his excuse to be here and casually tap a shoulder—or maybe a wrist or back of hand. Only a quick brush would be needed, a moment of his skin on theirs. The unsuspecting human would heed the unspoken command, following him to his car or the side of the building, where he would be able to slake his thirst without risking exposure. Another quick touch, and all memory of the experience would be gone, scrubbed from the person’s memory.
Yes, imagining it was as simple as envisioning what I might wear tomorrow. I had seen Tessa, my best friend, do it countless times, the sequence so fine-tuned it was nearly ethereal to witness. She, though, never let the need reach a point where it was so plainly visible on her face. It wasn’t safe.
I eyed the one in the corner with pursed lips. It was irresponsible in the extreme for him to have let it gotten to this point. One camera turned in the wrong direction, and there’d be mass hysteria all over social media. Even as I watched, his eyes flashed red then back to brown.
Foolish, reckless vampire.
Vampires weren’t known by the general populace, just like the rest of the preternaturals that melded and blended well enough. The wolves tended to band together in the rural towns where it was easier to run uninhibited. There was a group here, though none had ventured inside this coffee shop yet today. Witches were often wanderers, moving from one place to another, a seemingly inescapable urge to keep discovering, to keep seeking, running through their veins. That’s how my mother described it, at least.
But vampires were truly the ones that adored cities, the large swaths of people and metal and commotion. They drank it in nearly as fiercely as the blood they needed to survive. Most wouldn’t be found this deep into the mountains without a damn good reason, like those coming in the next few days to my parents’ cabin a few miles outside this little town to celebrate Christmas.
Curiosity burned through me, but I squashed it down. It was a gift from my mother, just like the wanderlust. My father’s gifts were more obvious, my red hair and brown eyes and impish nose. Unlike my brother, I didn’t end up with fangs or the need for blood. Dhampirs are like that, though. Genetics are weird.
While my brother looked like my mother and embodied my father, I was the opposite. Even now, graduated from college for nearly six months and newly turned 22, I felt unmoored. Sure, I’d applied for an internship with an archeology nonprofit on the Iberian peninsula. It was why I waited in this charming shop rather than continue on to the cabin, unwilling to be alone when the email of whether I got the position came today. My best friends wouldn’t be here until later this evening, and there was simply no way I’d be able to ignore the email for that long.
My mother had offered a place in her business after I graduated, something that would keep me closer to home after spending the last four years in another state. It would let me use my own magic in the same tradition as all the women in her family, but the idea chafed, set my teeth on edge. There was just something… missing. I wasn’t sold on the idea that this internship was it, but it sparked enough interest to keep me from quietly spiraling into boredom.
The vampire took a long swig of his drink and then rolled his shoulders. After a minute, his body grew tense, like a predator preparing to strike. He’d decided which human to try and enthrall. His hands clenched the cup, and his fingers extended into sharp claws. His eyes flashed red again, taking several seconds to flick back to the rich brown.
There was no possible way this would end well for the human. Which meant it would end poorly for the vampire as well. The last thing any preternatural wanted was to end up in the crosshairs of the Enforcers, witches specially trained to clean up after all of us and keep us hidden. Their methods were… brutal. And while it was often impossible to tell exactly how old a vampire was—they could live for centuries, after all—there was something aboutthisone that screamed inexperienced. I’d bet my collection of vintage vinyl records he was turned, not born, and probably only in the last few years.
Something almost like sympathy twisted in my gut.
Damn it.
I risked a drink of my London fog, letting the warmth trace under my sternum like liquid courage. And then I tilted my head, exposing the delicate, tender flesh of my throat in an invitation the vampire would understand even across the room. His eyes flashed red as his gaze locked on the column of untouched skin. His lip pulled back, revealing a flash of his fang. My thighs clenched in primal anticipation.
Despite the bite being something pleasurable, not all feedings ended with sex. But the way this vampire was eyeing my offered carotid? It seemed likely I’d end up getting an orgasm in exchange for my blood. A worthy trade, and the only time I willingly offered my vein.
He rose from the table, more leashed violence than unearthly grace—like he was a werewolf rather than a blood drinker—and stalked toward me. I took a long pull of my drink, letting my eyes close as he neared. His voice was surprisingly high as he whispered in my ear.
“Yours or mine, witch?”
I bristled under the label. Dhampirs werenotwitches, just like they were not human nor vampire. We were a half-breed, granted gifts from both our parents, each of us wholly unique.
“Yours.” I didn’t dare risk my father smelling an unknown vampire in my car. It wouldn’t be worth the inevitable argument. “And it’s dhampir, not witch.”
His breath caught, and I could practically feel him vibrating with new excitement. Vampires needed blood to survive, just as the wolves needed the moon to unleash their beast and witches needed the earth to align their magics. And just like how the witches were able to take from the earth for extra power when needed, vampires could take into themselves the magic of those they fed from. It’s why vampires only ever shared their bloodwith a chosen mate or their creations. My blood? It would give him more than any of the humans here could ever dream of supplying.
“Let’s go,” he whispered.
Without a word, I grabbed my bag and followed him out onto the main street of the small mountain town. Large, fluffy snowflakes fell around us, already sticking to the slick concrete as he led me to a newer SUV parked along a side alley. He all but vibrated with his need now that we weren’t under such close scrutiny. Even still, he opened the back door carefully and gestured me inside first before silently following. The door clicked closed. I set my drink in the cup holder and twisted my hair off my neck, not wanting to risk getting it bloody. He waited with an unnerving focus, his hands elongated into those claws again. His eyes had stopped switching back and forth. Now just the eerie red of his need shone.
Not bothering to fill the silence, I tilted my neck in the same gesture as before. His teeth were a slash of pain before there was nothing but pleasure.
Chapter Two
Harlowe
Just my luck, there was already another car in front of the cabin by the time I pulled up to it a few hours later. It wasn’t my parents, so at least there was one small mercy mixed in with my idiotic choice to help that vampire. I dug through my bag the moment I parked, trying to find the aftercare ointment for the bite. I’d been right: he hadn’t been gentle. If I’d been human, there would have been no way to hide the damage he’d done. As it was, the marks were puffy at the edges, and the scabs were barely set—any significant twist of my neck and they would break back open, just like they had when he’d guided my knees around his hips and fucked me.
I twisted off the lid to the ointment and carefully dabbed it onto the marks, resisting the urge to sink my nails into the skin. It was already itchy enough I wanted to rip my skin clean off. That didn’t bode well for the rest of tonight and tomorrow.