Right. The posters. The stage he never used. The guitar that everyone knew he played but no one had heard in public for years. He wasn’t exactly subtle about his past—he’d just never talked about it.
“The Bite.” The name tasted strange on his tongue after so long. “We toured for almost a decade. We started small—clubs, divebars, anywhere that would let a bunch of Others play—and then we got big, really big.”
“I’ve heard of you.” Her voice was careful. “Classic rock stations still play your stuff sometimes.”
“‘Midnight Run’ and ‘Claws Out.’ Yeah.” He poured himself another whiskey, then reconsidered and poured one for her as well. She took it without comment. “We were everywhere for a while. Sold-out arenas, magazine covers, the whole thing. And I…” He stared into his glass. “I did not handle it well.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I was an arrogant, reckless, out-of-control mess.” The words came easier than he’d expected, like they’d been waiting to escape. “The touring, the crowds, the constant stimulation—it was like being high all the time. And then there were the women.”
She went very still.
“Groupies, fans, strangers who just wanted to say they’d slept with the rabbit from The Bite.” His lip curled with the old disgust—directed at himself, not them. “I never forced anyone. Never even had to try. They just… offered. Constantly. And I took what they offered because I was young and stupid and my instincts were screaming at me to take, take, take.”
He risked a glance at her. Her face was unreadable, but she hadn’t left. She hadn’t thrown her drink at him or called him a monster.
“Mating season was the worst,” he continued. “Every spring, the urge got so intense I could barely think straight. And instead of fighting it, I just… indulged. Different women every night,sometimes more than one. I told myself it was fine because they wanted it too, because no one was getting hurt.” His claws pricked against the glass again. “But I was hurting myself, chasing something I never found.”
“What were you looking for?”
The question cut straight to the heart of everything.
“I don’t know.” His voice roughened. “A mate, maybe. Someone who made the hunger feel like more than just biology. But I was going about it all wrong. I was trying to satisfy an instinct I didn’t understand with quantity instead of…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I was a mess, Sara. A functioning disaster wrapped in a leather jacket.”
“What changed?”
He was quiet for a long moment. The sounds of the tavern felt distant now, muffled by the weight of his memories.
“We had a huge show in Chicago. I was already half out of my mind—spring was hitting hard that year—and after the show, I went back to the hotel with two women I’d met at the afterparty.” He could still remember their faces, though he’d long forgotten their names. “I woke up the next morning, and they were gone. They left a note thanking me for the experience. Signed it ‘from your fans.’”
Her breath caught.
“That’s when I realized what I’d become. Just an experience. A story they could tell their friends. Not a person—just a… a thing to be consumed.” He set down his glass, the clink sharp in the quiet room. “I walked out of that hotel, drove to the nearest real estate office, and bought a building in the first small town Ifound. Three weeks later, I opened the Moonlight Tavern. And I haven’t touched anyone since.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything he’d just revealed.
“Six years,” she said finally.
“Six years.”
“That’s…” She shook her head slowly. “Ben, that’s incredible discipline.”
“It wasn’t discipline. It was survival.” He met her eyes, letting her see the raw truth he usually kept buried. “I couldn’t trust myself anymore. Every time I felt attracted to someone, I wondered if it was real or just instinct. If I was seeing them or just seeing something I wanted to consume. So I stopped looking. Stopped touching. Stopped letting anyone close enough to tempt me.”
“And mating season?”
His laugh was humorless. “Hell. Pure hell. Every spring, I lock myself in the house for the worst week and white-knuckle through it. Cold showers, exhaustion, whatever it takes.” He paused. “But I’ve never regretted the decision. Not once in six years.”
She set her glass on the desk and stood. His whole body went rigid as she rounded the desk, coming to stand in front of him. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Close enough that her scent wrapped around him like a physical embrace.
“You said not once in six years.” Her voice was soft. “But?”
He couldn’t look at her.
“But nothing,” he ground out. “I made my choice.”
“Ben.” Her fingers gently brushed his jaw, and he flinched like she’d burned him. “Look at me.”
