Bite Me!
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 6: Selene
The next three months were surreal.
Luna returned to Seoul, resumed being Luna, performed with a smile that felt more genuine than it had in years. Because now she had a secret. Now she had an expiration date on this mortal life, and somehow that made it easier to appreciate.
Lucian stayed in France, healing, dealing with the aftermath. They video called every night—him in the library with his ancient books, her in hotel rooms across Asia as the tour continued.
“How was Osaka?” he’d ask.
“Exhausting. Beautiful. The fans threw so many flowers I couldn’t see the stage.” She’d pause. “I’m going to miss this. The performing part, I mean.”
“You’ll perform again. Just differently.”
“As Selene.”
“As yourself. Finally.”
Mrs. Choi knew something had changed. Luna could see it in the way her manager watched her during meetings, head tilted like she was solving a puzzle.
“You seem different,” Mrs. Choi said one day, two weeks before the tour’s end. “Happier. More ... settled.”
“I am.”
“The boyfriend?”
Luna smiled. “Among other things.”
“Good. Because I’ve been thinking.” Mrs. Choi pulled up her tablet. “Your contract is up for renewal in six months. And I think we should discuss a rebrand.”
Luna’s heart jumped. “A rebrand?”
“You’re too talented for cute pop forever. You’re nineteen—almost twenty. It’s time to evolve.” Mrs. Choi tapped through mock-ups. “Darker concept. More mature. Think ... vampire queen aesthetic. Gothic. Powerful. Sexy.”
Luna stared at the screen. At the black leather and dramatic makeup and stage designs that looked like something from her future, not her past.
“I know it’s a big change,” Mrs. Choi continued, misreading her silence. “But I think—”
“Yes.”
“—you could really ... wait, yes?”
“Yes. Let’s do it.” Luna leaned forward. “But I have some ideas about the direction. And I’ll need creative control.”
Mrs. Choi’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of ideas?”
“Trust me,” Luna said. “You’re going to love it.”
The final concert was in Seoul, at the Olympic Stadium where this had all started.
Luna stood backstage, in the white and pink costume that had defined her career, and felt like she was wearing someone else’s skin.
Last time, she thought. Last time as mortal Luna.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Lucian: Break their hearts, moon babe. Then come home.
She smiled, tucked the phone away, and walked onto the stage.
The screaming was deafening. Seventy thousand people, all there for her, all loving this version of Luna that was about to cease to exist.
She performed like never before. Sang until her voice was raw. Danced until her body ached. Gave them everything she had, because she knew what they didn’t—this was goodbye.
At the end, during the final song, she stood at the edge of the stage and looked out at all those faces.
“Thank you,” she said in Korean, voice thick. “For loving me. For supporting me. For giving me the courage to become who I’m meant to be.”
The crowd roared.
Luna smiled through tears and walked off stage for the last time.
She flew back to France the next morning.
Lucian met her at the château, looking nervous in a way she’d never seen. Like he was the one about to make an irreversible choice.
“Are you sure?” he asked for the hundredth time.
“I’m sure.”
“It will hurt. The transformation. And you’ll be hungry when you wake. Ravenous.”
“I know.”
“And there’s no going back—”
Luna grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him down into a kiss that tasted like forever.
“Bite me, Lucy,” she whispered against his lips.
So he did.
The pain was exquisite.
Lucian’s fangs pierced her throat and Luna felt her life pour out in hot rushes. Her vision dimmed. Her heartbeat slowed. The world narrowed to just this—his arms around her, his mouth on her skin, the terrible beautiful agony of dying.
I love you, she tried to say, but her voice was gone.
I love you, she heard him whisper back. I’ll see you on the other side.
Then nothing.
Then—
Luna woke up.
The world was different. Sharper. She could hear Lucian’s breathing three rooms away. Could smell the age of the wood in the floorboards. Could see in perfect clarity despite the dark.
And she was so, so hungry.
“Easy,” Lucian’s voice, beside her. A bag of blood pressed into her hands. “Drink. Slowly.”
She tore into it like an animal. The taste exploded across her tongue—copper and iron and life. She drained it in seconds, reached for another.
“How do you feel?” Lucian asked when she’d finished the third bag.
Luna stood, moved to the mirror.
The woman looking back was her but not her. Same almond eyes. Same features. But sharper now, predatory. Her skin was luminous, pale as moonlight. Her lips were darker. And when she smiled, her fangs caught the light.
She looked like Kate Beckinsale with almond eyes. Beautiful and dangerous and eternal.
“I feel,” Luna said, her voice lower now, richer, “like myself. Finally.”
Lucian came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist. In the mirror, they looked like a painting—two immortal creatures who’d found each other across centuries.
“Welcome to forever, moon babe.”
Luna turned in his arms. “Now what?”
“Now,” Lucian said, “we call Mrs. Choi.”
Mrs. Choi took the news better than expected.
“A vampire,” she repeated flatly over video call. “You’re telling me you’re actually a vampire now.”
“Yes.”
“And your boyfriend—”
“Also a vampire. Has been for 450 years.”
Mrs. Choi was silent for a long moment. Then: “Can you still perform?”
Luna laughed. “Better than before, actually.”
“And you won’t age?”
“Not a day past nineteen.”
“Can you go out in daylight?”
“With precautions. Covered skin, heavy sunscreen. I’ll be fine.”
Mrs. Choi tapped her pen against her tablet. “The rebrand I mentioned. The vampire queen concept.”
“Yes?”
“How much of that was you knowing this was coming?”
“All of it.”
Another silence. Then Mrs. Choi smiled—sharp and calculating in a way Luna recognized.
“We can work with this,” she said. “The concept writes itself. Mysterious hiatus. Dramatic comeback. New name, new sound, new aesthetic. You said you wanted creative control?”
“Complete creative control. And Lucian produces.”
“The boyfriend produces?”