The Bite Mark
1073 Words
Emily did not sleep.
Ethan noticed it just before dawn, when the sky outside the cabin shifted from black to bruised purple and the fire in the hearth collapsed into glowing embers. He had been sitting in the chair across from the couch all night, unmoving, his weapons within reach, his eyes never leaving her.
She stared at the ceiling, unblinking.
“Emily,” he said quietly.
Her gaze flicked to him too fast, pupils dilated, breath shallow. “How long has it been?”
He hesitated. “A few hours.”
“That’s a lie.”
The words were calm, but something sharp lived beneath them. Not accusation—awareness.
Ethan stood and crossed the room. The floorboard creaked, and she flinched hard enough that his chest tightened.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered immediately, as if the reaction itself frightened her. “I don’t know why I did that.”
He sat beside her, close enough to feel the heat rolling off her skin. Fever. Stronger now. Wrong.
“It’s just shock,” he said, even as his instincts screamed otherwise. “Your body’s still reacting.”
She nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.
“I can hear things,” she said after a moment. “Outside. Far away.”
Ethan stilled. “What kind of things?”
She swallowed. “Footsteps. Heartbeats. Like the forest is full of them.”
That was too soon.
His jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “Your senses are heightened. Adrenaline can do that.”
She turned her head to look at him fully now. Her eyes—God, her eyes—were darker than they should have been, the whites faintly tinged with gold like a reflection that shouldn’t exist.
“You’re lying again,” she said softly.
Ethan reached for her hand. She pulled away before he could touch her.
The movement hurt more than any blade ever had.
“Show me,” she said.
His throat went dry. “Show you what?”
“The wound.”
He hesitated too long.
Emily pushed herself upright with a hiss of pain and reached for the bandage at her shoulder. Ethan’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.
“Don’t,” he said sharply—too sharply.
She froze, eyes wide, fear blooming fast.
“Why?” she asked.
Ethan let go immediately, regret flooding his face. “Emily, please. You need to rest.”
“I need the truth.” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t back down. “Whatever you’re hiding—it’s already happening to me. I can feel it.”
She carefully unwound the bandage herself.
The bite stared back at them.
Overnight, the wound had changed.
The skin around the punctures was no longer red, but dark—veined with faint lines that pulsed subtly beneath the surface, like something alive was moving there. The flesh looked… stronger. Too perfect. Too wrong.
Emily sucked in a breath.
“Oh my God.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“It’s healing,” she said. “Faster than it should.”
“Yes.”
She looked up at him slowly. “Ethan… what does that mean?”
He had killed men for less than this truth. Buried friends. Burned bodies so no one would know what they’d become.
But this was her.
“I hunt them,” he said quietly.
Her brow furrowed. “Hunt who?”
“The things that attacked last night.” He met her gaze, unflinching now. “I’ve been doing it for most of my life.”
The silence that followed felt vast and fragile, like ice about to c***k.
“You’re saying you’re… what?” she whispered. “Some kind of vigilante?”
“A slayer.”
She gave a hollow laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
She searched his face for the punchline. Found none.
Her breath began to come faster. “You kill people.”
“I kill monsters.”
The word landed between them like a dropped plate.
Emily shook her head slowly. “No. No, that’s—this is insane. You can’t expect me to believe—”
She stopped.
Her body went rigid.
Ethan was on his feet instantly. “Emily?”
She gasped, fingers digging into the couch cushions. “Something’s wrong.”
Her heartbeat thundered in Ethan’s ears, loud enough now that even he could hear it without focusing. Her skin flushed, then paled. Sweat beaded along her hairline.
“It burns,” she whispered. “Inside. Like my bones are too tight.”
Panic surged through him.
“Okay,” he said, forcing calm. “Okay, look at me. Breathe.”
She tried. Failed. A low sound escaped her throat—not a scream, but not human either.
Her nails lengthened.
Just a little.
Enough.
Ethan staggered back as if struck.
“No,” he breathed.
Emily stared at her hands, horror dawning as she watched her nails retract slowly back to normal, leaving faint grooves torn into the wood.
Tears streamed down her face.
“Did you see that?” she sobbed. “Ethan, did you see—”
“I did.”
Her eyes locked onto his, wild and desperate. “Tell me I’m not turning into one of them.”
The law echoed again, merciless.
Infected turn within days. Sometimes hours.
“There are… stages,” he said carefully. “Early signs don’t always mean—”
She surged to her feet suddenly, swaying.
“Don’t lie to me!” she cried. “I can feel it thinking. Like something else is in my head.”
That stopped him cold.
“Thinking how?”
She pressed her palms to her temples. “Hungry. Angry. It keeps… pulling.”
Ethan crossed the distance between them and caught her as her knees buckled. He lowered her gently back onto the couch, holding her tight as she shook.
“I won’t let it take you,” he said fiercely. “I swear it.”
She clung to him like a lifeline.
“What if you can’t stop it?” she whispered. “What if I hurt someone?”
He didn’t answer.
Outside, the sun finally crested the mountains, pale and weak. The full moon faded from view—but its work was already done.
Miles away, deep in the forest, something lifted its head.
And smiled.
- Writer
