Page 49 of Bite Me

“No way. Rosealla Erena, then. She’s the most famous sous chef in Vviveren.”

“She makes the exact same hundred-year-old recipe every single day. Eat. Sleep. Work. Do it over.”

I don’t like how sensible he’s being about something that shouldn’t be so black and white. Also, why does he know everything and everyone?

“The culinary world should be about exploration and fun.”

“Some people think structure is fun.” He’s doing it again—staring at my neck.

“Like you?”

“Me? I hate cooking. I’d be happy if I never set foot again in another kitchen.”

He’s less rigid today and less poised as he leans on the counter next to me. He must be tired from staying late and opening early. Maybe that’s why he’s saying more than five words to me, other than “Clean this” or “Do it over again.”

I hate both phrases equally, for the record.

His jacket sleeves are rolled up and I eye the whisk tattoo on his arm as my own wrist grows tired from my vigorous whisking.

“Why’d you get that tattoo, then?”

“Childhood fantasies die painfully.” He says nothing else to explain what he means by that as he eyes my work. “You burned it. I want you to do it over again.”

“What? How can you tell?”

“Your heat is too high for the potion you used, and you’ve been whisking too long.”

I sigh, flip off the burner, and throw my pan into the sink.

When I turn around, Dacre is standing there with his arms crossed, a smug smirk overplaying on his lips.

“Is this amusing to you, Chef?”

“Oh. Very.” He walks in closer, and I square my shoulders.

There’s spice and evaporated charms in the air, but nothing, and I mean nothing, touches the smell of this man’s cologne.

“Have something you want to say?”

“No, Chef.”

I redo it again.

Then again, and that’s not good enough, either. I’m not sure which is worse: Dacre getting under my skin or my inability to get the roux correct. There’s never been anything I haven’t been able to do in the kitchen.

I’m so tired by the time I’m done that I almost cry when I remember I still have to take my general interspecies education class today.

Chapter Sixteen

Dacre

A little foam case sits outside my door labeled “Blood Donation.”

Everything is logged in the Donor Program. You don’t want to fuck with them. Some people think it’s predatory, but there are pages of requirements in order to be inducted, and you also get a weekly doctor visit. You have to check in. Hurting, especially killing, sources is a life offense.

Since I’m spending every day in proximity to Emma, I’ve been having more cravings than usual. I think of her taste when I drink. When I eat. She would probably be safer in the Donor Program, but I can’t tolerate the thought of anyone else in Vviveren tasting what’s meant for me.

This little obsession is just biology.