Page 32 of Bite
He doesn’t need to.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Bex whispers, clocking the shift in my demeanor instantly.
I nod numbly, swallowing hard.
“So, are you gonna take it?” she probes, practically vibrating with eager expectation.
“No,” I reply flatly.
“Why not?”
“It’s for tonight.”
Bex leans back, a smirk creasing her lips. “Okay, I officially give you permission to cut our girls’ night short to go see your new sugar daddy.”
I flick her a glare through my eyelashes. “It’s in half an hour. There’s no way I’d make it home and get changed in time,” I say stubbornly.
“Then have them pick you up here,” she says, waving a hand flippantly. “You have to at least see what he wants.”
“I already know what he wants,” I mutter, gaze dropping back to my phone screen. “Besides, I’m not dressed for it.”
“So?” she scoffs. “If you move in with the guy, he’s gonna see far worse. Set the bar low, babe.”
“Gee, thanks,” I snort.
Bex leans in close again, her grin widening. “C’mon, Tay. Youknowyou want to see him.”
I stare down at my phone screen, finger frozen over theACCEPTbutton. My pulse hammers in my ears, palms goingclammy. Every rational thought clashes with that electric jolt of curiosity, desire, and terror coiling in my stomach.
Thirty seconds stretch into an eternity, then with a shaky exhale, my thumb presses down.
Engagement Accepted.
Chapter
Eleven
The city streaks by in fractured ribbons of neon and shadow, my reflection ghosting faintly in the tinted glass. I ride cocooned in leather and silence, the faint hum of the engine the only sound. The tequila I downed with Bex still thrums in my veins– warm enough to dull the edges of my nerves, but not quite enough to drown them out completely. My pulse still jumps when the car slows to pass through the wrought-iron gates of the Devereaux estate, fingers twisting together in my lap as we start up the long drive.
I shift my weight on the seat, the creak of the leather too loud in the hushed silence. The driveway stretches ahead in a shadowy tunnel of manicured trees, the mansion rising at the end like some gothic cathedral, windows awash in pale golden light.
‘Mr. Devereaux isn’t known for extending second invitations, let alone third’.
Fran’s words from this morning echo through my brain, yet here I am, accepting an invitation that defies all logic– the third in as many days. And amidst all this madness and confusion, the question I can’t help but keep asking myself is, whyme?
It can’t just be about hunger. A vampire king surely has an endless menu of donors at his fingertips– beautiful, willing, probably ready to claw each other’s eyes out for the privilege of feeding him. He doesn’tneedme, but I’ve been requested, summoned… and, like a moth too dumb to realize the flame always wins, I keep coming back.
The car eases to a stop on the circular drive, the driver already at my door before I can reconsider. A shiver rolls through me as I step out into the cold night air, tugging my leather jacket tighter around me for warmth.
I’m so not dressed for this.
My black skinny jeans, ankle boots, and lime green tank top seemed perfect for a night of tequila shots and bad decisions– but in front of this castle, it feels like a joke. Cheap neon clashes with old money gold, the frigid air biting through the ripped knees of my jeans. It’s entirely possible that James could open the door, take one look at me, and slam it in my face.
It's not him who answers, though. When I make it to the top of the stone steps, the butler opens the door before I can even reach up to knock, sweeping out an arm in a silent gesture for me to enter.
I dart through the doorway, eager to escape the cold. The butler closes the door behind me, nods once without meeting my eyes, then turns and glides away down the long corridor. Not a word, not a glance back.
Awkward.
