Page 14 of Bite of Midnight
Ican’t breathe.
Or maybe I’m breathing too much. My chest rises and falls too fast, my pulse pounding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. The night feels heavier now, thick with something electric and wrong and…alive.
Vampires.
The word doesn’t even feel real in my head. My mind keeps rejecting it, spitting it back out like a bad joke, but my body knows the truth. I saw it. The sharp glint of teeth. The sound that woman made, half pain, half pleasure.
It shouldn’t have made my skin prickle like this. It shouldn’t have made me ache.
But it does.
I’m scared. I am. My hands are shaking, my thoughts are spinning, but underneath all of that is this dizzying heat that I can’t name. My heart shouldn’t racefor himright now, not when I’ve seen what he is. But it does anyway.
It feels like I’m caught in some kind of spell. My head saysrun, but my body can’t move. The idea of walking away from him, of being apart from him, makes me feel sick. Like I need him to breathe, to live.
“What does it feel like?” I ask, my voice trembling even though I’m not sure what I’m asking about anymore.
Damien studies me quietly. His eyes are endless, dark and hungry and full of something I don’t have words for. Then he reaches up, grips my chin gently between his fingers, and tilts my face up toward his. The motion is soft, but there’s no mistaking the power in it.
“Come,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I don’t want to talk about this here.”
Before I can think to argue, his hand slips down to mine. His touch is warm, steady, and I follow him because I don’t know how not to.
He leads me off the balcony, through a narrow side door I didn’t even notice before. The noise of the party fades behind us until it’s nothing but echoes. The hallway is dim, lined with old portraits and heavy drapes that whisper when we pass. My heels click softly against the stone floor, and the air grows cooler with every step.
We climb a set of stairs, then another. My pulse hasn’t slowed since he touched me. I should stop him, ask what’s happening, demand answers, but all I can do is follow, spellbound and breathless.
Finally, we reach the end of a long, dark hall. There’s a single door waiting at the end, old wood framed by candlelight. Damien stops in front of it and reaches into his pocket.
The faint jingle of keys sounds impossibly loud in the quiet.
“Why do you have a key?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He glances back at me, a small, knowing smile ghosting over his lips. “Because this is my home.”
My breath catches. “Your home?”
He slides the key into the lock and turns it. The sound clicks through me like a heartbeat.
“Yes,” he says, pushing the door open. “Welcome to my world, Calla.”
I hesitate for only a second before stepping inside.
The moment I cross the threshold, I feel him behind me, close enough to touch, close enough that his breath brushes the back of my neck. The air in the room is warmer, filled with the faint scent of smoke, old books, and something darker beneath it that feels likehim.
I don’t know what’s waiting for me in this place, but I know one thing for sure. Whatever this is, whatever he is… I’m already too far gone to turn back now.
I stand there for a moment, staring into the room. It’s beautiful, but not in a modern way. Everything feels old, like time stopped here centuries ago and no one told the walls. Heavy velvet curtains hang from floor to ceiling, drawn halfway over tall windows that let in silver slivers of moonlight. The furniture is dark wood and leather, carved with details too intricate to be new.
A fire burns low in the stone hearth, throwing soft gold light across the room. It smells faintly of cedar and smoke and something I can’t place, something sharp and ancient that makes my pulse jump.
Damien walks past me, moving with that same quiet grace, and lights a few candles on the mantel. The flickering glow chases away the shadows just enough for me to see the shelves lining the walls, rows and rows of old books, some with spines cracked and titles I can’t read.
“You live here?” I ask, my voice barely steady.
He glances over his shoulder. “I do.”
“It’s like a museum.”
