Bite Me (Doxlothia University Standalone #2)

Prologue

Dacre

I can barely move through the students as the stadium chants in excitement and the music on the overhead speakers rattles in my chest. A deafening roar echoes in the stadium.

Our Rage team just won an off-season game, and the ice rink is abuzz.

That’s why I don’t see her. A head of messy blonde hair hits my chest, and she stumbles back in a daze.

“Watch where you’re going,” I spit, seconds before I realize who it is.

Emma fucking Osborne. Of course, she wasn’t paying attention.

The odor of alcohol clinging to the floor, the popcorn under my feet, and the blood still lingering on the ice are nothing compared to the scent of Emma Osborne in my nostrils—a scent so strong, it seizes control of every other sense. I can’t move. I can’t think.

“Dacre.” Emma’s eyes widen, seconds before her face falls.

“You should be careful,” I manage to say, grabbing hold of the urge to lean in closer to her neck and take in her radiant scent. Something about the way she smells makes me want to take an extra step, maybe two.

I can’t be in the same room as her without thinking about how to get her to let me sink my teeth into her skin. It’s the same every time. The definition of insanity.

“No. You’re in my space.”

Typical. She’s always like this, careless of how sweet her blood really is and oblivious to the people around her.

“Whatever you say, thief.”

That should get to her. Nothing Emma hates more than when I press that particular button. Steal a notebook from the culinary lounge, and the natural consequence is to be called a thief, and yet her eyes glow with brilliant rage at the mention.

Someone bumps my shoulder as they maneuver around us on the stairs. I barely feel it.

Her golden eyes spark with defiance. “Your recipe sucked anyway.”

“What?”

I’m used to that bite in her tone. It’s taken a lot of effort to make someone like Emma hate me. Her usual pep has become an inferno of disdain; I can practically see the steam leaving her ears when she speaks.

“I looked at your recipe in the book, and you put in too much flour.”

“You tried it?”

She tried my recipe? Something I can’t place lingers in the space between us. I don’t know what I thought she’d do with the notebook. Burn it. Copy it and sell it.

“Of course, I tried it. I’m working my way through them all.”

It’s almost . . . impressive.

No.

Emma is a brat. A whiny, selfish—

On her neck, there’s a glimmer of white, the same as the crumbs in her hair. It smells sickly sweet. My heartbeat responds, and a flush of heat runs through my veins.

“You’ve got icing on your neck.”

I can’t stop myself from reaching. All sense leaves my body again as the primal instinct takes over. I lean in and bathe in her scent. It’s the perfect opening. I’ve imagined it so many times.

I use my thumb to rub the vibrant pulse on her neck, fingering the icing off in one scoop before popping it in my mouth.

“Too sweet.” As the icing melts on my tongue, the image of her warm, sweet blood filling my mouth is enough to give me a dizzying head rush.

Surely, just one taste would be enough. Then I’ll never have to think of Emma ever again. The mystery will be over. The tug of urgency will fade.

“No way. That’s my mom’s recipe. It’s perfect.” That look of disgust in her eyes brings me back into my body.

Who the fuck am I kidding? Even once would ruin me.

I shrug. “Whatever you say, thief.”

Desperate to get away from her, I wave her aside and leave, walking up the stands toward the exit. The world comes back into view, along with the dull clamor of the crowd, still cheering at our victory. My feet stick to the floor with each heavy step.

The relief I feel just feet away from her confirms what I’ve known for months. No one can know about this, especially not her.