Page 5 of It's in His Bite

And having her bleeding inches from me?

My hands lengthened into claws, a new wave of desire buffeting me.

If not for her phone, I would have taken her, would have thrown away over forty years of friendship just to taste her lips and feel the beating pulse under her skin. My throat dried out, the telltale ache of hunger cutting like sandpaper as I tried to swallow. Yeah, she would have just loved that. Her instant, disgusted negation of what her friends had asked was warning enough. She was the forbidden apple, the fruit designed to taunt and tempt. I’d never been closer to actually sealing my fate than when she’d stood from that barstool.

Never in my life had I been so grateful for a piece of technology.

The small main road through the mountain town came into view at last, and I finally slowed my pace. One sole building had lights on despite the early afternoon hour. It was only then I realized just how intense the snow truly was, how quickly it was accumulating on the roads and trees and roofs. I eased toward the only building with signs of life.

A middle-aged man exited out the front door, turning to engage both locks before pulling his scarf up to cover his nose. With a practiced ease, I closed the distance between us, brushing my hand against the skin of his cheek to give the command to wordlessly follow me into the alley. He went willingly.

I didn’t bother with decorum, didn’t worry about who might see. I quietly tilted his head, eased his scarf down, and sank my fangs between the delicate tendons of his throat. Exactly where that prick had bitten her. I drank long and deep—until the sandpaper feel was gone—and then closed the wounds and sent the man back to his life entirely oblivious.

The hunger was gone, just like this morning. And yet I still ached for her, still desired the forbidden fruit, no better than Adam in the garden.

Nearly a foot of snow fell overnight, only easing for about an hour right before sunrise. When the watery gray light of the sun washed across the bright white powder of the new snow, I set about my typical morning routine. I shrugged on one of my sweaters but didn’t bother switching from my heavy sleeping pants. My throat ached in that dull way it did most mornings, the near-constant prick of pain that reminded me I was something other than human and had been from the moment I was born. I rolled my shoulders and stretched my neck, trying to center myself.

Even more important than my morning tea was eating something filling, something that would help stave off the thirst until some of the others arrived this morning and we could go find blood hosts as a collective.

The cabin was quiet as I slowly descended the stairs, though that didn’t really surprise me. Even if others had arrived yesterday evening after I’d exiled myself to the small bedroom I’d been assigned, I knew it was much too early for most to be awake. I was always the earliest riser among our friends, and I didn’t regret it. I valued the peace of the early morning when the world wasn’t quite ready to wake.

There was a prescient silence this morning, though, that had the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Almost like the cabinwas waiting for something to happen, knew that something was about to transpire and waited with bated breath.

The snow picked up in the time it took me to get to the kitchen, and large, fat flakes fell in a heavy blanket as I quietly set about making my morning tea. My phone vibrated just as I set the leaves to steep and went to start on the oatmeal.

“Hello, Joshua,” I murmured. “I thought you were getting in last night.”

My friend scoffed loud enough I could practically feel the eye roll that must have accompanied it. “Don’t start with me. Mallory has already been chewing me out all morning about waiting too long and getting behind the weather.”

I frowned and leaned a hip against the counter. “Did they close the roads?”

“Unfortunately,” he groused. “Full whiteout because of the wind. The pass has been closed since about dinner last night.”

Bloody hell. No wonder the town was all-but-closed when I went searching for a host last night.

“Do they have an idea when it will reopen?”

It was less than a week until Christmas. It would be a logistical nightmare if it stayed closed for more than a couple days.

“They’re saying another day at least, maybe two. This storm has decided to just hunker down.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Joshua laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “So we’ll be up in a couple days. Try not to have a rager while we’re gone.”

I rolled my eyes. “We didn’t have ragers when we were young enough to think they were a half-decent idea. I’ll just take the time to get caught up on my dissertation students. You be safe getting up here.”

When he hung up, I quietly ate the oatmeal, not bothering to sit at the island. It soothed the worst of the hunger, the way any normal food did, though it didn’t touch the burn in the back of my throat. Somewhere in the last sixty years, it had become normal, just like any other piece of me. Some vampires never adjusted, though, especially those who were Created rather than born.

Once the bowl and spoon were drying, I pulled the tea leaves from my water and headed deeper into the cabin, seeking out the smaller living room. It had the view I liked most, a sliver of the valley framed by the large pines and unobstructed by any of the other nearby cabins.

The tea was hot, and it helped balance the ache in my throat.

Movement had me pausing just a few steps into the cozy room, a flash of red that had my breath catching. Harlowe glanced up from a book, the title obscured by her hold on the cover. Her cheeks flushed in awkward embarrassment. The bandage on her throat was gone, the bites now an angry, shiny pink that looked like they might scar despite Mallory’s wound tonic. Anger flashed in my stomach, but I pushed it down.

“Sorry,” I offered. “I didn’t realize anyone else was up yet.”

Harlowe shrugged. “You’re fine. I’m often the only one up. Tessa and Rhiannon are both night owls.”