Page 47 of Bite
“Lucien,” I greet as I peel away from the others, a soft smile tugging at my lips. Though we only met once, his presence here is oddly comforting; the barest sliver of something familiar to hold onto.
“Are you here with someone?” he asks, eyes dropping hungrily to the Bite bracelet on my wrist. His fangs extend with a soft pop, the tips poking out from between his lips.
Of course, he wants blood.I open my mouth to reply, but then James is at my side in a blur of speed, one large hand wrapping around my hip possessively.
Lucien freezes for the fraction of a second it takes their gazes to meet. James’ locks sharply onto Lucien’s with unspoken authority, the savagery in it sending a chill racing up my spine.
“Explain,” James commands, voice dangerously low.
The little hairs on the back of my neck prickle in warning, the air suddenly thick with tension. And because I’d rather notbe caught in the middle of some weird vampire power struggle, I speak up in an attempt to diffuse the situation.
“Lucien was a client,” I tell James, hoping I’m not inadvertently breaching Bite’s confidentiality clauses in a way I can’t afford.
James glances down at me, expression carefully schooled. It’s the same blank mask he always wears, though I see the smallest flare in his nostrils, the faintest tick of the muscle in his jaw.
Is he… jealous?
“Only once,” Lucien adds, smiling at James in a way that suggests the two of them might actually be friends rather than adversaries. “I submitted another request after, but it went unanswered. Have you tasted her? Her blood is–”
“Mine,” James growls fiercely, drawing me in closer. His grip isn’t comforting– it’s a claim, a warning. “Her blood is mine.”
The room seems to go still around us, whispers dying midair.Guess that settles the question of whether anyone was eavesdropping.James seems completely unfazed by the spectacle he’s making– his claim is evident in his grip on my body, in the way he curls his around mine.
Lucien dips his chin in a respectful nod. “Of course, sire,” he replies quietly, tone apologetic. “I didn’t…”
James lifts a hand and Lucien suddenly snaps his mouth closed, the rest of his words left unsaid.
“You’re dismissed,” James mutters.
Lucien blanches, then immediately turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd. The whispers resume, the party coming back to life around us now that the confrontation has ended.
I look up at James, arching a brow. “Sire?” I whisper, voice tinged with amusement. “You’rethatkind of king?”
“My title has nothing to do with it,” he grumbles, fingers loosening their hold on my hip. “I’m Lucien’s sire. I made him vampire.”
My mouth drops open in surprise at the revelation.
James frowns, shaking his head. “So much to learn, little mortal,” he mutters, his hand pressing to my back to guide me across the room.
He brings me over to the buffet table, which doesn’t have much to offer considering the size of this event. Then again, I suppose most of the attendees don’t requirefoodfor sustenance.
“Eat,” James directs.
I’m tempted to refuse, irritated at how he thinks he can order me around. I haven’t had dinner yet, though, and hunger always trumps pride. Loading up a small plate, I nibble on appetizers while James hovers close, sharp eyes sliding over the ballroom.
The next hour is a blur as he steers me through the crowd and exchanges casual conversation with a few acquaintances, never leaving my side. Other donors watch me with thinly veiled envy or suspicion, vampires leer with predatory curiosity. This isn’t like the donor gala, where I had the luxury of anonymity. As James’ date, I’m on display, and I feel the scrutiny wherever I go.
The noise fades behind us like smoke when he finally leads me out of the ballroom, leaving the glittering crowd, the whispers, and the heavy weight of everyone’s attention in our rear view. The cool night air washes over us the moment we step outside, and for the first time since the evening started, I feel like I can finally breathe.
James opens the car door for me, his hand brushing mine in a deliberate, controlled movement that makes my pulse skip. I slide inside, heels clicking lightly on the floor, and he follows, sliding in beside me. The driver’s partition is closed, sealing us off in the cavernous back seat of the limousine. James’ thighpresses against mine just enough to remind me that this is his territory, his control, his world– and I’m along for the ride.
I sit stiffly with my hands folded in my lap, spine straight and knees pressed together. Meanwhile, James is relaxed, impossibly composed, one arm resting lightly along the seat behind me.
“Did you have fun?” he asks as the car begins to move.
“I…” I glance down at my lap, twisting my fingers together. “No,” I reply honestly, looking back up at him.
He arches a curious brow. “No?”
