Page 70 of Bite
It’s well past three a.m. and the mansion feels more like a crypt than ever– cold, echoing, cloaked in shadows and silence. The sex haze from the past few days has faded into a low, buzzing restlessness. My body’s wrecked, muscles tender and aching, but my mind won’t quiet. I keep replaying the way James swept into my bedroom the moment he woke tonight, all hunger and command, ready to claim me like I’m his to ruin. The way I let him– because some part of me wants to be.
So instead of resting, I roam.
It’s quiet except for the whisper of the heating system and the occasional groan of the house settling, but every so often the dark plays tricks on me, making me think there’s something just beyond my line of sight, moving where I can’t see. I tell myself it’s just Ozzy, but I haven’t seen the little demon since this afternoon. He has a habit of vanishing for hours, only to reappear at the most inconvenient times, fur scruffed and eyes blazing.
I drift through the halls with no real destination, fingers brushing the carved banister of the main staircase, then along the frames of the portraits in the hall. The painted faces seem to track me as I pass, their eyes judgmental and sharp. I pausein front of one– a woman in crimson silk, painted with an expression of quiet contempt. Her raven hair is perfectly coiffed, her eyes so light they gleam even in the dark. She looks eerily familiar– not in the way of recognition, but in the way old money always does. Like a ghost you’ve seen in too many rooms.
Maybe it’s just the way all vampires start to look the same after a while– beautiful, bored, and a little bit starved.
There’s a flicker of sound from the far end of the hall– a low, rolling baritone, half-murmur, half-laugh. For a second, I think it’s a TV, but the closer I get, the more I recognize James’ voice. The door to one of the lounges is open just a crack, warm light spilling out in a long stripe across the marble floor. I pause, toeing the line between eavesdropping and minding my own damn business.
This place is cavernous. Sound carries. If he really wanted privacy, he’d be in his office– or wherever else vampires retreat for solitude.
Is there a dungeon here? Because that seems fitting.
I take a step closer, leaning in just enough to catch the rhythm of his words, careful not to be seen or heard.
“–just between us. I wouldn’t be coming to you with this if it wasn’t of the utmost importance. The situation is extremely delicate.” James’ voice is soft, but the edge of command is unmistakable.
A long pause follows. He must be on the phone with someone, their response inaudible before James’ voice comes again.
“No, just a damn cat.”
My pulse spikes, suspicion winding its way through me.Is he talking about Ozzy?My mind spins, and then I hear my name– my real one, not the alias.
“–Holt didn’t yield any results, but she promised to keep digging,” James grumbles. “In the meantime, I thought it prudent to explore things from a scientific angle.”
Another pause.
I hold my breath.
“I’ll handle it,” he says. “Sunday, then.”
Something cold slithers down my spine.
I know I’m probably overreacting– maybe this is just normal vampire business, maybe ‘handing it’ means nothing– but I can’t shake the feeling that I just heard something I shouldn’t have. The smart thing to do would be to walk away, pretend I was never here. Apparently I have zero self-preservation instincts, because instead, I linger.
The conversation tapers off and a brief silence falls. Then James’ voice rings out, sharp and clear.
“You can come in, darling. There’s no need to lurk.”
Shit.
I jolt so hard I bash my elbow against the wall, the pain reverberating all the way down to my fingertips. Then I seriously debate making a run for it, but that would be even more incriminating. So, I suck in a deep breath, push the door open, and step inside.
The room is obscenely lavish, moonlight slanting through tall windows that run the entire length of one wall, pooling over a grand piano that dominates the center. It’s clearly meant to be the focal point– but the man by the fireplace steals the show.
James stands with one hand braced on the ornately carved mantel, the other dragging through his pale blond hair in a gesture of casual annoyance. His white dress shirt is half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looks effortless. Dangerous. Devastatingly gorgeous.
He turns when I enter, his expression shifting– mask gone, jaw tight, blue eyes cold but edged with amusement.
“You should know better than to spy on a vampire,” he murmurs.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say, aiming for breezy but landing somewhere between defensive and flustered. “I was just… walking. Couldn’t sleep.”
He gestures to the velvet armchair across from the fireplace. “Sit.”
I hesitate for half a heartbeat, unease coiling in my gut. But arguing feels pointless, so I cross the room anyways, sinking down onto the plush cushion.
