Page 35 of Bite
He leans in, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear. “So, what do you say, little mortal?” he coaxes, lips skimming lower.
I flinch at the soft pop of his fangs extending, shivering at the faint, electric scrape of them trailing along the hollow of my neck.
Everything tilts. I freeze, thoughts scattering, my pulse roaring in my ears. My hands fumble for something to steady myself against, findinghim.
“Okay,” I whisper, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.
His palm slides to my waist, anchoring me, fingers spreading just enough to claim. Then his mouth opens and closes on my throat with a tenderness that’s both terrifying and precise, fangs piercing my flesh with delicious pressure.
The rush is instant. My breath stutters, hands fisting in his shirt as he drinks from me in greedy pulls. Heat coils low and fierce in my belly, pleasure unfurling until my thoughts dissolve into a single, intenseneedthat floods every nerve ending until my thoughts blur together like melting wax.
His throat vibrates with a groan, and the breathy moan that escapes my lips betrays exactly what he’s doing to me. I lean into him, back arching, thighs squeezing together.
Then it’s over.
James lifts his head and licks a drop of blood from my skin, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide. “What’s your real name?” he murmurs.
“Taylor,” I reply on a shaky exhale.
His lips spread into a slow, sinister smile, fangs still on show. “You move in tomorrow, Taylor.”
Chapter
Twelve
The knock comes just after sunrise.
At first, I think I’ve dreamt it, still caught in that heavy, half-suffocating fog of sleep. I roll over with a groan, dragging the threadbare blanket up over my face to block out the watery gray light spilling through the curtains. Then the knock comes again– sharper this time, brisk and businesslike– splintering the fragile peace like glass.
Huffing, I toss the blanket aside and swing my legs over the edge of the futon, the floor cold against my bare feet. The kitten makes his displeasure known, tiny claws sinking into the soft skin of my thigh in retaliation for disturbing his slumber. I hiss in a breath through my teeth and swat him away irritably, fighting a wave of dizziness when I push to stand.
My oversized sleep shirt hangs crooked off one shoulder as I shuffle toward the door, the air chilly against my bare legs. I’m still half asleep, but unease is already gnawing at my insides as I lean forward to press my eye to the peephole.
A man in a black suit waits outside my apartment door, posture straight, a clipboard tucked under one arm. Flanking him are two men in crisp black jumpsuits, hands folded neatly in front of them.
“Can I help you?” I call through the door warily, voice still rough with sleep.
“Miss Holt?” The suited man leans closer, voice steady and professional. “I’m Eric Pendleton, head of the relocation team from Bite. Miss Fox sent us to facilitate your move today.”
My heart stutters– one hard, awkward skip that makes me press a hand to my chest as the memory hits me like a sucker punch.
I signed my life away last night.
I was still buzzed on tequila, still riding the high of getting bitten when I returned to my apartment and e-signed on the dotted line, agreeing to a one-year exclusive donor agreement with James Devereaux in exchange for half a million dollars.
No– not half a million.Five million. He added that extra zero after our negotiation, and seeing it in writing hooked me clean through, reeling me right in.
It felt surreal when I signed it, almost like a dare. It still does.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I fumble to disengage the locks and pull the door open just enough to peer out at the men in confusion. “Today?” I echo, blinking.
The man in the suit gives a sharp nod. “Yes, ma’am. The client requested immediate accommodations. Your rent here has been paid through the year, and the unit will be held as-is during your term. We’re here to help you pack anything you’d like to bring with you to the estate.”
I blink at him some more, then glance back at my tiny studio apartment that’s somehow already feeling smaller. Everything inside looks absurdly inadequate for the likes of a vampire king’s mansion.
“Okay,” I say slowly, rubbing sleep from my eyes as I step aside. “Come in, I guess.”
Tugging the hem of my sleep shirt down to cover more of my thighs, I move toward the futon and scoop up my kitten,pressing him tight to my chest while the men sweep inside. His little body is warm, grounding me in the midst of the unfolding chaos. Boxes snap open, taped with military precision. The movers look to me for instruction, and I have to decide on the spot what’s worth packing up and bringing with me.
