The Bite

​Walking home alone was a colossal mistake.

​That thought looped in my mind for the hundredth time, keeping time with the click of my heels. A sliver of regret pricked at my chest for turning down Julian’s offer to drive me home.

​In truth, it was my stubborn pride that had glued my lips shut and forced me to walk.

​We had only broken up two weeks ago. After two years together, everything shattered in an instant when a woman barged into my apartment, slapped me across the face, and screamed at me to keep my hands off Julian.

​She claimed to be Julian’s fiancée. She claimed they had been together for over a year.

​Damn Julian Frost. He isn’t even that good-looking. But that snake had been playing me for a fool for half of our relationship.

​I glanced over my shoulder for the third time, my legs moving on autopilot. My instincts were screaming that something was behind me. Or someone.

​And all of this because Mr. Newman decided to force the staff into mandatory overtime for the last three days.

​Tonight was the absolute worst; he didn't release us until twelve-thirty in the morning. Me, Julian, and a handful of other unlucky souls.

​With no buses running this late and the wait time for a cab estimated at forty minutes, I had made the stupid decision to hoof it.

​Now, the concept of trekking to my apartment alone at midnight seemed less like independence and more like a death wish.

​I turned my head, scanning the deserted road behind me. It was too quiet.

​"This is a really terrible idea, Maya," I whispered to the empty air. I should have swallowed my pride and waited for a cab.

​I had taken this route dozens of times; it was a shortcut to my building. usually, this street was alive with food trucks and vintage shops, buzzing with energy during the daylight hours. Unfortunately, the atmosphere at night was a stark, hollow contrast.

​Every shop was shuttered tight. The only illumination came from the faint glow of display windows and the flickering streetlamps. The rest of the world was swallowed by darkness.

​The sound of my heels—sensible work shoes, not too high—echoed softly against the concrete. For some reason, the fine hairs on the back of my neck had been standing on end since I turned onto this cursed street.

​I forced my gaze forward. Just a hundred meters more and I would be out of this shadowy stretch. I silently promised myself I would never take this shortcut after dark again.

​Suddenly, a sound shattered the silence.

​It wasn't a scream. It was a guttural, wet snarl that sounded like it came from a throat being torn apart. It was a sound of pure agony.

​It was a violent contrast to the stillness from seconds before.

​Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, sending a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. But a nagging tug of conscience pulled me in the opposite direction. Someone was hurt.

​This is the fatal flaw of humanity: listening to the heart instead of the brain. If this were a horror movie, I would be the opening kill.

​My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird as I turned around. Ignoring the alarm bells ringing in my head, I took a tentative step toward the source of the noise.

​The sound came again, this time a rhythmic, heavy wheezing mixed with a low growl. My right hand, trembling slightly, dove into my purse, fingers searching for my cell phone.

​I froze in front of a narrow gap between two buildings—a pitch-black alley that seemed to be the source. The noises stopped abruptly, plunging the street back into a heavy silence.

​I squinted into the gloom, trying to make out shapes. The alley was narrow and deep, exactly the kind of place where monsters in movies waited to drag their victims into the dark.

​With shaking hands, I unlocked my phone screen to dial 911, when a movement in the shadows caught my eye.

​"Hello?" A man’s voice boomed from the alley, deep and vibrating. I nearly dropped my phone in shock.

​I looked up to see a silhouette detaching itself from the wall and stumbling toward me. I listened to my fear this time, taking two quick steps back.

​He stumbled into the light. He was wearing a torn grey t-shirt and dark jeans. He didn't look like a monster, but he looked wrecked.

​"Are you hurt?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

​He looked up. A strange, strained smile tugged at his lips. It didn't reach his eyes. I took another step back.

​"What was that noise?" I asked, panic rising in my throat. My heart was beating so hard the sound of blood rushing filled my ears.

​The man stopped a few feet away, directly under the streetlamp. The harsh light illuminated him fully.

​His dark hair was messy, falling over his forehead. He stared at me with eyes that were unsettling—a bright, glowing amber. He was objectively handsome.

​Or he would have been, if we had met at a coffee shop in the daylight.

​But something was wrong. The air around him shimmered with heat. He smiled again, seeing the fear plainly written on my face.

​"What did you hear?" He tilted his head, his voice rough, like gravel grinding together.

​It was a deep, resonant voice. The kind of voice you’d expect from a late-night radio host meant to soothe insomnia.

​Except this voice sounded dangerous. Predatory.

​I opened my mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. If he was dangerous, telling him I heard him growl wasn't a smart move. I gripped my phone until my knuckles turned white.

​"Um, I think I was mistaken," I mumbled, muscles tensing to turn and bolt.

​"Wait." The single word was a command, freezing my feet to the pavement.

​"Is something hunting you?" he asked, his tone shifting to urgent worry as he sniffed the air, looking past me.

​Reflexively, I spun around to look behind me, but the street was empty.

​"Run," he whispered.

​"What?"

​"I said run!" The voice dropped an octave, becoming a roar.

​When I turned back, he was right in front of me.

​"I'm sorry," he groaned, his body convulsing. "I'm so sorry, little rabbit."

​He grinned, but it was a grimace of pain. His jaw unhinged, and I saw teeth—too long, too sharp—lengthening before my eyes.

​Before I could scream, he lunged.

​In a blur of motion, he pinned me. His skin was burning hot, feverish against mine.

​Razor-sharp teeth sank into the junction of my neck and shoulder. The pain was blinding, white-hot fire injected directly into my veins. My mouth opened in a silent scream, shock stealing my voice.

​The last thing I remember was the blinding glare of the streetlamp and the terrifying, wet sound of a beast feeding.

​(6 Months Later)

​"I have arranged for Julian to forward your itinerary, Maya." Mr. Newman’s voice brooked no argument. I stared at my boss, despair settling in my stomach.

​"But sir, surely there is someone else—"

​"You are the most capable auditor on the payroll. You should be flattered that I trust you with a client of this magnitude." Mr. Newman turned his attention back to his paperwork, a clear dismissal.

​I stood up slowly. I wasn't going to demean myself by begging. I had done enough of that in my life.

​I walked out of his office without another word and headed straight for the Assistant Manager’s desk.

​Julian Frost. My ex-boyfriend. The man I had wasted two years on before finding out he was engaged to someone else.

​I had loved him once. Before his fiancée slapped reality into me.

​The jerk.

​I clenched my fists as I approached his desk. Julian was typing away, his perfect blonde hair falling over his forehead. He looked up, flashing that charming, fake smile.

​"Need something, May?"

​May. I hated that nickname.

​"Mr. Newman said you have my flight details." I kept my voice flat, professional.

​We had been broken up for six months. Even though I fantasized about throwing my stapler at his head, I had to pay my bills.

​He opened a drawer and slid a manila envelope across the desk, grinning. "Sorry about this, May. Newman wanted me to go, but with the wedding planning, I just couldn't get away. So, you're the backup. Enjoy Seattle. I hear it rains... constantly."

​I stared at him. The audacity.

​His blue eyes twinkled, waiting for me to snap. I resisted the urge to flip his desk. Instead, I grabbed the envelope and muttered a curt thanks.

​"You're being dramatic, May. It's just a trip," he called after me.

​I ignored him, marching back to my cubicle. I ripped the envelope open. A plane ticket and a hotel confirmation. Destination: Seattle.

​I hated Seattle.

​I slumped into my chair. As an auditor, travel was part of the description. Usually.

​But Mr. Newman usually sent a team. Sending a solo auditor to a major firm meant the job was going to be a nightmare. Two weeks of digging through messy ledgers alone.

​I sighed, rubbing my temples. I hated being alone. Ever since that night six months ago, solitude felt like a threat. My mind flashed back to the deserted street, the heat of the man's skin, the snarl.

​The fine hairs on my arms rose. I couldn't remember the man's face clearly—it was a blur of shadows—but I remembered the eyes. Burning amber.

​My shoulder throbbed. I touched the fabric of my blouse, covering the jagged scar that still looked angry and red.

​I had woken up the next morning in my own bed, disoriented and feverish. The only proof of the attack was the bite mark and two puncture wounds. The police had found nothing. No witnesses, no blood, no attacker. They closed the case in a week.

​"Maya, lunch?"

​I looked up to see Christine leaning against my cubicle wall, holding my purse. She was typing furiously on her phone with one hand.

​"Sure," I said, grabbing my things.

​"Newman sending you solo?" Christine asked as we walked to the elevators.

​I groaned. "Yes."

​"I thought Julian was taking that account," she noted.

​"He dumped it on me." I crossed my arms. "I don't even know who the client is."

​"You're kidding. It's Cohen Enterprises. I heard Paul talking about it. They specifically requested a single auditor for a 'confidential review'." Christine shrugged.

​I groaned again. "Are they big?"

​Christine stopped and stared at me. "You really live under a rock, don't you?"

​I shook my head. "I stick to numbers, Chris."

​She rolled her eyes. "You need to get a life. Have you seriously never heard of Levi Cohen? Or Asher Cohen?"

​I shook my head again.

​"Right, I forgot. Your type is 'Julian the Weasel'." Christine laughed. "The Cohen brothers are investment moguls. They built an empire in Seattle overnight. You should read their profile in Forbes. They are..."

​"Good with money?"

​"I was going to say edible," Christine grinned. "So yummy."

​I wrinkled my nose. "Gross."

​"But, word of warning about Levi Cohen. The tabloids think he's gay. He's literally never seen with a woman. Ever. Unlike his brother Asher, who is a playboy."

​I rolled my eyes. I didn't care about the client's dating life. I likely wouldn't even meet him.

​Auditors deal with the CFO and the finance team. We don't meet the Alpha dogs at the top. And honestly, I didn't care if the man was a Greek god. I just wanted to get the job done.

​One thing was certain: this trip to Seattle was going to be a headache.