Page 36 of Bite
It ends up only being three measly boxes, which feels laughably insufficient. My belongings are humble, domestic,mortal. A few mementos, some clothes and shoes. Makeup, toiletries, the tube of Rapi-Gen cream. For spending eight years in this place, I sure don’t have much to show for it.
Once they’re finished packing my things, the men leave, the suited guy telling me to meet them downstairs once I’m ready. I pull on a pair of jeans and a faded crewneck bearing the logo of a college I definitely didn’t attend, then throw my bedraggled hair into a messy bun, glancing around my apartment one last time. Ironically, this place was the reason I entered this whole vampire blood game to begin with. I signed up at Bite in a desperate bid to keep it, and now Bite’s the reason I’m leaving it behind.
Only for a year, I remind myself. In the grand scheme of things, that’s a blip. And really, who in their right mind would turn down a year of pampering in a mansion with a five-million-dollar payout at the end? Not me, and James knew it. He probably smelled the desperation on me the second we met.
I head downstairs, heart thudding with a mixture of dread and disbelief. A sleek black car waits at the curb, idling behind a nondescript box truck– clearly overkill for my three whole boxes of possessions. The driver side-eyes the kitten as I slide into the back seat, but doesn’t say a word as I settle him onto my lap for the ride.
The truck lumbers ahead, and we follow all the way to the estate. The gates look taller and more imposing than I remembered, black iron twisting upward like fingers grasping atthe sky. They part to admit us, and my stomach twists as we drive through.
This is it. No turning back.
The estate looks different in the light of day. Somehow less foreboding, more alive. Rolling, frost-dusted lawns stretch in front of me, dotted with evergreens. Sunlight glints off the stone pathways, sparkling faintly against the melting snow. As I take it all in, my pulse hitches at the thought that I actuallylivehere.
Pulling up to the front entrance, I catch every detail of the mansion’s architecture that the shadows had swallowed at night. Carved stone, intricate ironwork, sweeping archways– it’s breathtaking. Like something out of an old movie.
I swallow thickly and step out of the car, kitten tucked carefully in the crook of my arm. He lets out a soft, confused meow, pressing against my chest as if trying to reassure me.
“It’s okay, little guy,” I whisper as I start up the stone steps, my heart pounding like a drum. “We live here now.”
The butler opens the door before I can reach it, giving me a faint nod and waving me inside with a flourish. His eyes drop to the kitten in my arms as I step past him, but he seems unfazed by the feline addition, his expression impassive as always.
The entrance hall swallows me whole. A curved staircase sweeps upward like something out of a dream, banister polished to a mirror sheen. Crystal chandeliers drip from the high ceiling, scattering sunbeams in fractured patterns across the marble floor. The sight of it takes my breath away. I’ve only ever seen the interior of the mansion at night, but the pale morning light makes each detail sharper, more opulent, more demanding of reverence.
The movers step in behind me, my boxes clutched tightly in their grip. The butler’s sharp gaze flicks over them, then sweeps back to me before he turns, leading our procession up the curved staircase to the second level. Each step echoes against themarble, my body tingling with anticipation. When we reach the end of a long hall, he opens the door to a bedroom and my jaw nearly hits the floor.
It’s bigger than my entire apartment– make thattentimes the size. The space is curated with lavish furnishings, pale purple walls adorned with watercolor art that looks like it belongs in a museum. Subtle touches of lavender thread through the entire room– the throw pillows, a rug, even the faint tint in the sheer curtains. It’s my favorite color. Not that James could’ve known, and yet… coincidence or not, my chest tightens at the realization.
Once the movers set the boxes down and leave, I’m left alone in my new bedroom, kitten in my arms. I start to explore, and my pulse flutters again when I find that the walk-in closet is already stocked with clothes and shoes in my exact sizes. Clearly, someone’s been preparing– which defies logic, because I only signed the contract hours ago. Then again, with the infinite resources James Devereaux must have at his disposal, I suppose there isn’t much he can’t make happen in the blink of an eye.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, testing the bounce of the mattress. It’senormous. I haven’t had a real bed in… I can’t even remember how long. An actual bed was a rarity at the foster homes I was placed in, and I used to consider the futon in my apartment a luxury, even though I had to contort my body to avoid the metal bars digging into my back. I’m tempted to lie back and sink into the softness, but I talk myself out of it. If I do, I may never find the will to leave this bed again.
I remain perched on the edge while I take it all in– the silence, the luxury, the surreal shift in my reality. I set the kitten down beside me and he starts exploring cautiously, whiskers twitching. He hops onto the wide stone windowsill, bright gold eyes watching the trees sway outside, and I can’t help but smile.
“This is a hell of an upgrade, isn’t it Ozzy?” I murmur.
He tilts his head at me, tail flicking in a way that feels suspiciously approving.
“You like that name?”
He stretches, a soft purr rumbling in his throat.
Yep. He likes it. I’ll have to let Bex know that she nailed it.
Shit– Bex.
My fingers fumble in my pocket for my phone. I quickly pull up her contact, thumb hovering over the call button before realization kicks in. It’s still morning, and she probably stayed out late after I left the bar. So, rather than waking her by calling, I fire off a quick text to let her know I accepted the contract, telling her to call me once she’s awake.
I linger in the bedroom for a few more minutes, half-expecting James to appear in the doorway to greet me personally, but he never shows. Then it hits me– it’s daytime. Vamps are nocturnal. I feel a little silly for forgetting.
But that also means I’ve got hours to explore, and curiosity swiftly pulls me from the bedroom. I step lightly down the stairs, letting my eyes drink in the view. The corridors are impossibly wide, walls lined with art and tapestries. Sunlight streams through tall windows, glinting off polished floors. Even with the golden light softening the edges, I can’t shake the hum of tension winding tighter in my chest. Every step feels amplified, echoing too loudly, each one reminding me of just how out of my depth I am.
Eventually, I find my way to the kitchen, where the energy hits me like a wave. Heat, scent, movement– a team of chefs bustling in crisp white jackets, knives chopping, pans clattering. The smell alone is intoxicating as they prepare trays of pastries, fresh fruit, and steaming dishes that smell like heaven.
A round-faced woman with a braided bun spots me and beams like I’m the sun risen into her kitchen. “You must beMiss Holt!” she exclaims, drying her hands on a tea towel as she hurries over.
“It’s Taylor,” I say with a small, uncertain smile.
“Of course, Taylor,” she gushes, clasping my hands in hers. “We’re so glad you’re here. I apologize for our lack of preparedness, we weren’t expecting you for another hour or so. Mr. Devereaux asked us to fix a brunch feast for you as a welcome, but as you can see, it’s not quite ready yet.”
