Page 78 of Bite
I don’t argue. I can’t. Because he’s right– Idofeel it, and it should scare me more than it does.
I curl into him, letting the noise and the chaos and the darkness of the room wrap around me like a shroud. Eyes flicker our way, but for the first time, I’m not scared of being seen.
I’m afraid of how much I crave it.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
JAMES
Asoft chime rouses me from sleep, and I wake with the distinct sense that something’s wrong. Not the jump-scare, cold-sweat kind of wrong, but something subtler. A hairline fracture in the glass of my routine; the instinctive awareness of a hunter waking to find the forest silent.
My internal clock– and the lingering weight of fatigue– tells me it’s early afternoon, still hours from sunset. I’m rarely conscious at this time of day unless there’s fire or blood involved. Harsh light grates against my enhanced senses, the world too loud, too sharp, too exposed when the sun’s out. The nocturnal rhythm of vampires might’ve originated from our hunting habits, but our physiology’s to blame for the perpetuation.
For a few minutes I just lie there staring at the ceiling, trying to rationalize the disturbance so I can sink back under. By all appearances, everything’s as it should be– blackout shades drawn tight, the room cocooned in synthetic dark. No sound except the low hum of the vents. And yet every muscle in my body is strung taut as a bowstring with the lingering sense that something’soff.
Unable to shake it, I reach for my phone on the nightstand. The source of the chime flashes on the screen: a message from one of the household staff, informing me that Taylor requested a car.
Of course.
After her last unsupervised excursion into the city, I made it clear the staff are to alert me any time she leaves the estate– a necessary security precaution given my position. She’s more valuable than she knows; more vulnerable than she realizes. I’d prefer if she was never out of my sight at all, but most mortals require the illusion of freedom and independence to remain content. Strip that away, and they tend to panic. An annoyance I’d rather avoid.
Since I’m awake now, it seems simpler to bypass the messenger and just ask Taylor where she’s going myself.
Making my way to the en-suite, I wash the taste of sleep from my mouth, smooth pomade through my hair, and dress. Today, it’s black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a charcoal sport coat– understated, but presentable. Once finished, I disengage the locks and step out into the hall.
The house greets me in quiet order. I pause to listen, stretching my senses to their full, unnatural reach. I hear the clatter of pots from the kitchen, the hum of a vacuum somewhere below. Familiar sounds. Ordinary ones.
Still, unease clings to the edges of my awareness.
I move down the corridor, swiftly crossing from my wing into hers. Taylor’s door stands slightly ajar, her voice threading softly through the crack– along with the steady metronome of a heartbeat I’ve memorized.
I don’t knock. I never do. I push the door open and step in.
She’s standing before the mirror, twisting side to side and studying her reflection. She’s wearing dark jeans and a pale blue cashmere sweater. Simple, unassuming, just shy of angelic.The color turns her skin luminous, that warm olive tone edged in softness like the light before dawn. Her hair falls loose and curled, framing her face with an artful kind of disarray that can’t possibly be accidental.
She’s tense. I can see it in the line of her shoulders, the way she bites her lip. Restless energy bleeds through every movement– the same current that’s been humming through me since I woke. Too similar to be coincidence.
For a moment, I simply watch her, waiting for her to look up and catch my eyes in the mirror. There’s something almost painful about her beauty. Not a pain in my chest, but somewhere deeper; more primal. A pulse of hunger I have to actively force down whenever she’s near.
“What do you think, Oz?” she murmurs, gaze lifting in the mirror as she addresses the cat sprawled lazily on the bed behind her.
He cracks open a yellow eye, and that’s when the little bastard spots me. His ears flatten, a strangled hiss tearing out of him as he leaps to his feet.
Taylor startles, spinning around and slapping a hand to her chest as our eyes lock. “Jesus, you scared me,” she gasps.
“Didn’t mean to,” I lie, inhaling the scent of her fear like a drug. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? Did I not wear you out thoroughly enough last night?”
A blush rises to her cheeks, but her mouth presses into a flat line. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be sleeping. It’s the middle of the day.” She glances at the clock. “Don’t you have at least another four hours in your coffin?”
I arch a brow. I can’t tell if she’s joking, but the look on her face suggests she isn’t.
“Decided to crawl out early,” I reply casually, stretching my arms out in front of me. “Gets cramped in there.”
Her hazel eyes widen as if she’s just confirmed some private suspicion.Ridiculous.Still, I don’t correct her. I’m not in the mood to give another lecture on the vampire species, and a little mystery serves its purpose. Uncertainty keeps mortals cautious. Keeps themaware.
Also, the scent of her fear is exquisite.
