Bite Me!
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 2: The Deal
Luna descended the main staircase 20 minutes later, dressed in an oversized hoodie and leggings, her hair pulled into a messy bun. The sheet mask had done its job, leaving her skin luminous despite the jet lag and vampire-induced trauma.
She followed the sounds—and smells—coming from the kitchen, her stomach reminding her she hadn’t eaten since the plane.
The kitchen was a disaster.
Lucian stood at the ancient stove, somehow looking aristocratic even while attempting to operate appliances that clearly confused him. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing forearms that Luna absolutely did not notice. A pan smoked ominously on one burner.
“What,” Luna said from the doorway, “are you doing?”
He turned, brandishing a spatula like a sword. “Making breakfast, as promised. Though I must confess, modern conveniences are rather ... inconvenient.”
“When was the last time you cooked?”
“1842. There was a particularly attractive maid who enjoyed my—”
“Stop. I don’t want to know.” Luna crossed to the stove and turned off the burner before the smoke alarm could join this nightmare. “Move.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said you were making breakfast. You’re making smoke and regret. Move.” She hip-checked him aside—he was surprisingly solid for a dead man—and surveyed the damage. “Please tell me you have food in this house.”
“There’s a preservation spell on the larder—”
“A WHAT?”
“Magic, dear girl. The larder remains stocked. One of the perks of vampire ancestry.” He gestured toward a door she’d assumed was a pantry.
Luna opened it to find shelves lined with food that looked suspiciously fresh for a house that had been empty. She grabbed eggs, butter, bread. “Okay. New rule. I cook. You ... don’t.”
“In my day, ladies did not cook for—”
“In YOUR day, women died in childbirth at 25 and thought bathing was dangerous. Sit down, Lucy.”
His jaw tightened at the nickname, but he sat at the worn kitchen table with the posture of a man attending court. “It’s Marquis Lucian.”
“It’s Lucy until you earn the ‘Sir.’” Luna cracked eggs into a bowl with more force than necessary. “So. Vampire. 450 years old. Can’t actually eat food?”
“I can eat. I simply don’t require it for sustenance.” He watched her whisk the eggs with unsettling intensity. “Though I confess, after 50 years, even mortal food sounds appealing.”
“And blood? You actually drink blood?”
“When necessary.”
“Define necessary.”
“Monthly, give or take.” He tilted his head, studying her. “I’m not a savage, Miss Luna. I don’t prey on innocents. There are ... establishments. Willing donors.”
“Establishments.” Luna poured the eggs into the heated pan. “Like vampire bars? Blood banks?”
“Something of that nature. Though things have likely changed since 1975.”
“1975? That’s when you went into hibernation?” She glanced over her shoulder. “What happened? Disco too traumatic?”
His expression darkened. “Something like that.”
The weight in his voice made Luna pause. But before she could pry further, the eggs needed attention, and she focused on creating something edible from this morning’s chaos.
Five minutes later, she set two plates on the table—scrambled eggs, toast, and what passed for breakfast in a house with a magically preserved pantry. She sat across from him, suddenly aware this was surreal even by K-pop industry standards.
Lucian picked up his fork with the delicacy of someone handling explosives. He took a small bite.
His eyes closed.
“Good Lord,” he murmured. “I’d forgotten.”
“Forgotten what? How to eat?”
“How to taste anything that wasn’t copper and iron.” He took another bite, this one less cautious. “This is remarkable.”
“It’s scrambled eggs, not Michelin-star cuisine.”
“Nevertheless.” He met her gaze across the table, and something in his expression shifted. Less imperious. More ... human. “Thank you, Miss Luna.”
She should tell him to stop calling her that. She should demand he leave, should call an exorcist or paranormal investigator or whoever dealt with undead squatters.
Instead, she picked up her fork. “You’re welcome. Lucy.”
His eye twitched, but he said nothing.
They ate in surprisingly comfortable silence for several minutes. Luna’s mind raced with questions—about him, about vampires, about what the hell she was supposed to do now. But it was Lucian who broke the quiet.
“So. Luna.” He set down his fork. “A stage name, I presume?”
“How did you—”
“You carry yourself like someone performing even in repose. And the name is rather ... poetic for everyday use.” He leaned back in his chair. “What manner of performer are you?”
“K-pop star.” At his blank look, she sighed. “Korean pop music. It’s ... think modern music, dancing, entertainment. Very popular.”
“Ah. Like music hall performers.”
“Sure. If music hall performers had millions of social media followers and sold out stadiums.”
His eyebrows rose. “Impressive. And you’re here because...?”
“Because I was exhausted.” The truth came out before Luna could stop it. “Because I’m 19 and I’ve been training since I was 12 and I wake up at 4 AM for vocal lessons and dance practice and I can’t eat carbs and everyone watches every single thing I do and I just ... needed somewhere no one knew me.”
She stopped, horrified. She never admitted this. Not to her members, not to her manager, certainly not to strange vampires in her kitchen.
But Lucian didn’t look judgmental. He looked ... understanding.
“Immortality sounds appealing when you’re mortal,” he said quietly. “And mortality sounds precious when you’re not.” He stood, carrying his empty plate to the sink—which surprised her. “We all run from something, Miss Luna. Even when we run for 400 years.”
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