Page 5 of Bite Me

It’s a family recipe she made after the lunch rush one day and let me try. One of the best things I’ve ever tasted.

“Fine. Thank you. Seriously.”

We’ve been friends since my first day volunteering. After a long day, she opened up to me over a few drinks about her family and her dream of working as a chef in Vviveren City. Kitty doesn’t have sisters. There was no one to take the blame for her if she made missteps as a child. She has no idea what it’s like to have someone else absorb the pain of something meant for you. Well, now she does, I guess.

“You had an off morning. It happens to the best of us,” I say.

“Not to you.” She smiles when she says it.

We all need buffers. People who can see our flaws and believe in the best version of us.

“Oh, Osborne, I have a message for you.” Verity’s voice cuts the air.

“Yes, Chef?” I press my shoulders back.

Chin down. Good impression, Emma.

“Dacre Everhart asked me to extend an invitation to see him this evening.”

“Dacre . . . asked to see me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure he said my name? He doesn’t mean another Emma?”

It has to be. There’s no way.

“Yes. He asked specifically for you. He said it’s important culinary club business. Here.”

She hands me a red envelope.

“Important,” “Dacre,” and the words “culinary club” all in the same conversation have my head buzzing.

A spark of excitement jolts me, and I let my hand fall for a millisecond. It’s enough for the knife to fall a few inches from my hand, and I catch it with my other palm.

“Ow.”

Gasps fill the air around me.

I grab a paper towel and hold it over my palm. “Oops.”

Verity points to the bathroom door, holding her hand over her nose as I scramble away. Sometimes, I forget there are vampires everywhere.

“Sorry!” I call as I disappear through the door.

Running the water over my hand, I wince at the ache of it and the wash of red in the porcelain sink. I should go to the nurse, but it’s the breakfast rush.

Blood drips over the tile as I head to my locker in the corner to snag an old shirt to stop the bleeding. I do have the first aid kit in my bag, which Dad assured me I’d need, and, well, damn him for being right.

I almost never cut myself. This is . . . definitely Dacre’s fault, for being the distraction I did not need today.

I wrap my hand tightly and haphazardly till my bandage is snug on my skin. It’s not like he taught me how to use the kit.

Why would Dacre want to see me? I’ve never met a person who wants to see me less, especially after our encounter last weekend.

He’s planning something. After all, he was recently on a trip, where he probably spent all his time twisting those brown eyebrows and filling his parchment from top to bottom with ways to make my life miserable—or maybe just a new list of nicknames, subtle jabs, and insults. He’s so effortless with his delivery; he must write them down somewhere before we interact, which luckily isn’t often.

Unfortunately for me, he’s the head of the culinary club, an exclusive club. You have to earn your spot or know someone to get in, and they get access to the best classes, trips, and opportunities. All the famous chefs in Vviveren come from that club. Doxlothia does have a culinary program, but the culinary club is what gets you noticed. They have their own magazine. Many of them are taking over their parents’ restaurants in the city after graduation in their various specialties.