Page 30 of My Neighbor Literally Bites

"What do you expect me to do?" I ask.

"Stop treating silence as mercy."

"She told me to stay away."

"Then stay away." Elias' gaze does not soften. "But do not confuse absence with honesty. If you cannot stand at her door, leave her something true enough to test without touching her. A choice is not a choice if you keep the lock and call it safety."

I almost laugh. "You always did prefer impossible instructions."

"I prefer clean ones." He turns toward the door. "Tell her what the bond is not. Not ownership. Not replacement. Not a hunger she is required to answer. Begin there, before Nathan teaches her an uglier version."

I draw the curtains wide. Moonlight spills in, and I sit at the desk, pull out a fresh sheet of paper, and begin to write. Not a plea for forgiveness, not explanations wrapped in pretty restraint. Plain facts: what the bond is, what it's not, why I'm usually reclusive, and every choice I took from her. No plea either. I title the pages simply—What I Owe You—and put them in her mailbox.

The room no longer feels preserved in amber. I leave the portrait facing forward, the curtains open. Hannah has to forgive me. I do not expect her to though, not yet. But I will not be silent or be a shadow anymore. I will do everything I can to win her back.

I extinguish the lamp, and the weight on my chest feels lighter—not gone, but no longer absolute. The future I once refused to imagine now waits in the space between us, unclaimed but possible.

23

HANNAH

Iwalk up the gravel drive to Alaric's house under heavy low clouds. My boots crunch the stones. It's time I found out the truth. My choice. No one called me here. After days of turning over every scrap of truth I could find, I simply came because staying away felt worse than facing him.

The light casts a warm circle on the weathered boards. I stop and knock twice, firm with confidence. Inside, footsteps move, then pause. The door slowly opens, and Alaric stands there, shock crossing his face.

"Hannah," my name said with caution. "Come in if you want."

I step through the doorway. He closes the door behind me but keeps distance between us. I take off my coat and hang it on the hook, then turn to face him, lamplight pools on the rug.

"I read it," I say, pulling the papers from my pocket and setting them on the low table. "Every bit. You laid it out straight."

He nods once, hands at his sides. "Every word is true."

I sit on the bottom of the staircase. He remains standing a fair distance away, giving the space I need. My chest feels tight, but I push the words out anyway. "The worst part wasn't learning what you are. It was realizing you chose for me, the same way Gregory used to. It's a type of control dressed up as care."

Alaric shifts his jaw, but he doesn't look away. "Yes. I told myself it was protection. It wasn't. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

The apology seems simple and bare. No explanations. My shoulders drop with ease at how easy that was.

I lean forward, elbows to knees. "Tell me. The woman you lost. Who was she?"

He moves to the opposite chair and sits, elbows on his knees. "Her name was Renee. We met in another life, another town. She died because of the world I lived in then. Hunters. The grief was real. It carved out pieces of me."

I study his face, searching for any familiar evasion. "And the bond?"

"It's a pull. A recognition. It doesn't own you. It doesn't command you. It doesn't mean you owe me anything you don't freely give. Your choices stay yours. Always."

The room shrinks with the air thickening. I cross to the window, looking out at the dark trees swaying in the wind. He stays seated. I appreciate that more than I can say right now.

"I'm still angry. And scared. But Nathan's story isn't adding up. Elspeth's notes prove there's more to what he's saying. I'm done letting him convince me otherwise."

I turn back. Alaric watches me, patient. I walk over and stop in front of him. "I'm choosing to believe you. Not because everything feels safe again. It doesn't. But because I want to walk into the rest of this with open eyes. With you."

He rises slowly, careful. "Then we do it together."

I reach up and touch his face, my thumb brushing the line of his jaw. He leans into the contact but lets me lead. I kiss him first, tentative, then deeper when he answers with the same measured hunger. His hands settle at my waist, light, ready to release if I pull away. I don't.

The tension snaps between us halfway up the staircase. I back him against the banister, my fingers twisted in the front of his shirt, and he lets me. No rush. No demand. Just the steadiness of his body under my palms and the way his breath catches when I press closer.