Page 93 of Bite
He studies me for a beat longer, then nods once. “Of course.”
The water has gone tepid, the steam fading. I shiver again, and he notices. Without a word, he stands and pulls the plug,watching as the dirty bathwater churns and glugs away, the evidence of the night’s sins washed down the drain. Then he reaches for a towel, wrapping it around my shoulders before lifting me effortlessly from the tub.
He dries me off slowly, each pass of the towel a small act of care that makes my throat ache. When he’s done, he leaves the bathroom and returns with a fresh pair of pajamas from the dresser. The fabric is soft against my skin, and I slip them on without protest as he towels himself off and pulls on a pair of dark lounge pants that seem to have materialized from nowhere.
Another vampire trick, or does he actually keep clothes here?
I don’t bother asking. My body’s spent, my mind scrambled beyond coherence.
We cross into the bedroom, Ozzy leaping from the bed at the sight of James approaching and retreating to the shadows underneath. James peels back the comforter and coaxes me to lie down. The sheets are cool, the mattress plush beneath me, and exhaustion pulls at every bone. He lingers at the edge of the bed, expression drawn in hesitation.
“Will you stay?” I whisper, not even sure why I’m asking– or if I truly want him to.
He blinks, caught off guard. “I haven’t slept beside anyone in centuries,” he admits, raking a hand through his hair. His muscles flex with the movement, my gaze flicking down to his bare chest before I can stop it. “But for you…” he murmurs, trailing off.
My eyes ping back up to meet his, my chest tightening.
“I’ll stay for a while,” he says finally. “Until you fall asleep.”
I push back the covers in invitation. He only hesitates for a split second before sliding in beside me, one arm looping around my waist and drawing me into the solid curve of his body. His other hand smooths down my damp hair, and I feel the tensionin him– the way he’s holding himself in check, the way every fiber of his body is wired to feed, kill, or fuck.
I close my eyes. For the first time in what feels like years, I let myself breathe. I feel safe.
Or at least as safe as I’ll ever be while lying in the arms of a monster.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
JAMES
Irise at sunset and prowl the halls with my usual predatory calm, but tonight the calm feels paper-thin. The mansion lies silent and cold, every shadow seemingly holding its breath. I’m scheduled to hold court here tonight, but first, Taylor and I have unfinished business to attend to.
Her bedroom is the first place I check. Most nights when I arrive here, the sheets are still twisted and half off the bed, the vanity scattered with lip gloss, pins, and the faint chaos that clings to her like a second skin. Now, the bed is made. The room is neat.Too neat. Which means she’s been awake long enough for the staff to have tidied it.
Taylor is messy. Her world reflects her mood– untamed, unfiltered, and alive. Seeing her space stripped of that wildness makes something in me prickle with unease.
The library is my next stop, where I find nothing but her ghost. The echo of her laughter clings to the walls, her warm vanilla scent lingering on the pages of the poetry book she’s taken a liking to. No Taylor. No cat, even. Only absence.
I trail my fingers over the spines of books as I do a lap, the gesture automatic, meant to disguise the pulse of irritation and the sharper edge of worry cutting beneath it. I refuse to assumeshe’s run off. Not yet. Not until I’ve checked the other places she tends to haunt.
The kitchen’s quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the churn of the dishwasher. Not even the cat is lurking, which is rapidly becoming the most unsettling piece of this puzzle. If she were merely out, she wouldn’t have taken the cat– unless she wasn’t planning on returning.
I run through her usual hiding places again, tension climbing by the minute as I pace the main floor in an irritable circuit. I’d have been notified if she called for a car. Yet the more I search, the more it sinks in– she isn’t here. I can’t find her anywhere. I don’tfeelher.
A prickle of unease stirs beneath the irritation. I’ve lived long enough to trust my instincts, and they’re telling me something’s off.
I pull out my phone, resorting to using the tracker linked to her bracelet. A small blue dot blinks to life on the map in Midtown: her old neighborhood. Her old apartment.
Somehow, she managed to leave the estate without anyone noticing or informing me. That alone is…concerning. But if she wanted to vanish completely, she would’ve removed the bracelet. She knows what it is; what it allows me to do as the owner of Bite. The fact that she hasn’t means something else entirely.
Shewantsto be found.
The thrill of the hunt prickles beneath my skin, a smile tugging at my mouth as I send a quick message to the staff requesting a car. There’s a certain poetry to her returning to the place where all of this began– as if it still belongs to her. As if I won’t come there to collect what’s mine.
Vampire wealth buys more than immortality; it buys efficiency. Within minutes, a car is waiting at the front steps. Islide into the back seat, rattle off the address, and let the world blur past as we head toward the city.
The hunger gnawing at me now is layered– not just for her blood, but for her defiance, her fear, her inevitable surrender when she accepts what she already knows: she ismine. Iwanther to run. Iwanther to fight. I want her to understand, in the marrow of her bones, that nothing– not memory, not trauma, not even her own fragile human will– will ever free her from me.
