Page 24 of Bite
“If you’re gonna stay here, I should probably give you a name,” I murmur. “How about… Milton?”
He blinks.
“Ed?”
He just stares at me some more.
“We’ll work on it,” I say, tossing the threadbare blanket off my body and stretching my arms over my head.
The kitten hops down from the futon and trots toward the kitchen while I glance back down at my phone, frowning when I see the confirmation waiting there.
Your pickup time is 10:40 pm.
Dress to impress according to James’ preferences:
I try to scroll down, but there’s nothing else. No preferences, no guidelines. Which begs the question… what the hell do I wear for a meeting with the vampire king?
When I step out of my building to meet the black car at the curb, I’m wearing a brand-new dress. Well, new tome. I thrifted it, but from appearance alone, nobody would know it’s second-hand.
Navy blue silk clings to my curves, a slit running all the way up to the top of my left thigh and the neckline so low I swear I blushed when I caught my reflection on the way out the door. Itlooks almost as expensive as the lingerie I’m wearing beneath it– the set I was gifted from Bite after my profile photoshoot. It may be concealed by the dress, but just knowing it’s there makes me feel sexy and powerful in a way I never have before.
My heels click against the sidewalk as I approach the town car, giving the driver a polite nod before sliding into the back seat.
We set off, the ride smooth and silent. By the time the car slips past the wrought iron gates of the estate and starts up the long stone driveway, my stomach is so twisted into knots that I’m not sure whether they’ll ever unravel. The mansion looms ahead, lit from within like something out of a dark fairy tale. Ornate and imposing; a fortress built for creatures who don’t live by mortal rules.
We glide to a stop in front of the house, the driver coming around to open my door. I step out, and the same butler from last night appears before I even make it up the steps. He inclines his head and waves me inside without a word, his eyes never quite meeting mine.
The butler ushers me down a hauntingly familiar velvet-draped hallway, leading me back to James’ study before scurrying away. A fire burns low in the hearth, the dim lighting creating pockets of shadow around the room. The moment I enter, James rises smoothly from an armchair near the fireplace, those arresting blue eyes locking onto mine.
My heart skips a beat.
He’s dressed more casually tonight in charcoal gray slacks and a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. No suit jacket– just muscle and menace and effortless elegance.
“Marilyn,” he greets, his voice a low purr. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for… inviting me,” I say, standing awkwardly just inside the door, my fingers clasped tight around my silver clutch.
He inclines his chin, gaze dropping to give me a slow once-over. “You look ravishing.”
“Thanks,” I breathe, standing a little taller and trying to project a cool kind of confidence I definitely don’t feel. “You didn’t have any style preferences, so I wasn’t sure what to wear.”
The corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. “I find you can learn a lot more about a person if you allow them to decide for themselves.”
“Then what does this outfit say about me?” I ask, cocking a brow.
He gives me another long once-over, the weight of his gaze so intense it damn near makes me squirm. “That you’re playing a role, trying to conform to some arbitrary set of rules or expectations for what’s desirable to someone like me,” he muses, swiping a hand over his chin as his eyes ping back up to mine. “Aren’t you,Marilyn?”
I swallow thickly. He knows it’s an alias–of course he knows– and the way that name rolls off his tongue just feels wrong. It’s notmine, and for some insane reason I’m suddenly desperate to hear how my real name would sound on his lips, way too tempted to break protocol and strip away the cloak of anonymity hanging over us.
I don’t. My brain catches up just in time to remind me that this entire encounter is purely transactional. Bite, feed, get paid. That’s why I’m here.
“Drink?” James offers, already crossing the room to the small bar cart in the corner.
It feels rhetorical, so I don’t answer, watching as he pours amber liquid from a crystal decanter into two matching tumblers. He approaches to offer me one and I take it– both because refusing feels silly and having something to hold onto will help keep my hands from fidgeting.
He clinks his glass lightly against mine, lips curving into the ghost of a smile as he nods toward the chaise near the fire. “Shall we sit?”
“Sure,” I say, tightening my fingers around my glass.
