Page 84 of Bite
“To new discoveries,” Elliott toasts.
“To new beginnings,” James echoes, his gaze locking on me.
I drink, letting the wine coat my throat. The conversation picks up, James and Elliott discussing advances in donor registry protocols, political infighting within the regional council, and rumors about Bite expanding into the European markets. Anna and I nod along with the quiet complicity of professional wallflowers, and every so often, she leans over to murmur a translation or explanation.
“That means they’re arguing over whether to allow direct-feed clinics in the south,” she whispers at one point. “It’s a big deal.”
I nod back at her appreciatively, grateful for the context even though I can’t really follow the conversation. Until recently, I didn’t even know vamps could walk in the sun, so it’s safe to say my grasp on how their world works is laughably limited.
There’s a certain ease in James and Elliott’s exchange; a familiarity in their patterns. They’ve clearly known each other for a long time, and it’s strange to see James so…relaxed. It feels like I’m finally getting a glimpse at who he really is beneath the secrets and schooled expressions, and I hate how it makes me even more attracted to him.
Eventually, the focus shifts. Dr. Faulkner tilts his head toward me, brows knitting with curiosity. “James tells me your blood tastes rare, like nothing he’s ever experienced. If you’re willing, I’d like to draw a sample for a study. Nothing invasive, just a few vials.”
The request lands like a cold hand gripping the back of my neck. I glance at James, expecting a refusal, but he just…smiles. Calmly, almost as if he’s amused. For a man who’s loudly staked his claim on my blood from the moment we met, the fact he’s letting this happen cuts far deeper than a bite ever could.
“That’s up to Taylor,” James says when I hesitate, offering a subtle nod.
I just stare back at him, so much hanging unsaid between us.Is this a test? A gesture of trust? An indication that he’s grown bored of me?
Whatever it is, I’m not sure I even want to know.
The table goes silent, three pairs of eyes resting on me. I feel the urge to crack a joke or make light of it, but the room is suddenly so thick with expectation that I can barely breathe.
“Sure,” I manage, voice wavering. “If it’ll help science.”
Dr. Faulkner dips his chin in a nod. “It always does. The more we can learn about the world around us, the better we can make it.”
I smile back at him, though I know it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
The staff returns to clear plates and refill glasses. Conversation resumes, but I can’t focus. The edges of the room start to blur; voices fade. My own thoughts surge, drowning out everything else.
At some point, the main course arrives– a delicate, seared filet of beef. Anna and I cut into ours in synchronized silence, but I only pretend to chew. The food tastes bitter, as if my self-destructive thoughts have poisoned my tongue against decadence.
I’ve been staring at my plate for entirely too long when Anna nudges my knee under the table.
“You okay?” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I lie, snapping my head up. “Just… distracted.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile, eyes darting toward our vampire benefactors, then back to me. “It’s weird, right?” she asks in a low voice. “The way they talk about us?”
“Like we’re not even here,” I murmur, flickering a glance at the men. They’re absorbed in some discussion about genomesequencing in blood samples, the subject matter way over my head. “How long have you been a donor?” I ask quietly.
She shrugs a slender shoulder. “Three years, give or take. I’ve only been with Dr. Faulkner for a month, though.”
My brows shoot up, interest piqued. “Wow, that’s a long time. Does it ever get easier?”
“You get used to it,” she mutters. “And sometimes, if you’re lucky, they actually care.”
Both of us glance toward the men again, James now gesturing to Elliott with his wine glass while beaming the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
“Doeshecare?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Anna’s expression softens as her eyes meet mine again. “He’s a vampire. Caring is different for them.” She hesitates, then adds, “But he hasn’t killed you. That’s more than some donors can say.”
I force a laugh, but it sticks in my throat.
Dessert is served, which consists of a trio of small pastries. Anna devours all three of hers in quick succession, then pushes the plate aside and stands, excusing herself to the restroom.
