Page 45 of Bite
My hair is glossy, gathered over one shoulder and fashioned into waves that shimmer like wet silk. My lips are painted maroon, hazel eyes rimmed with subtle smoke that makes them look big and dramatic. My cheeks are warm with blush, shoulders dusted with bronzer so I catch the light at every angle.
They wrap up just as the sun begins its slow bleed toward the horizon. One of them offers to help me into the dress, but I decline, clutching at what little independence I still have after being handled all day. The beauty team packs up their arsenal, chirps their goodbyes, and I’m left alone to wonder what the hell all this was for.
When I lift the dress off the bed, I find a lingerie set waiting underneath like bait. It’s the exact same shade as the gown– skimpy midnight blue silk that slides like sin between my fingers. I slip it on, then ease the dress over top, the fabric cool and whisper-light against my skin.
When I finally step in front of the mirror again, my breath catches at the sight of my reflection.
The slit up my thigh is scandalous enough to get me arrested, and the completely bare back leaves me feeling half-naked and wickedly exposed. But the whole effect? It’sstunning. Expensive. Like I stepped out of a magazine spread rather than a third-story walk-up on the wrong side of the tracks.
I still don’t know what I’m dressing up for, only that I’m clearly expected to go along with it. I gawk at my reflection for far too long, half admiring, half unsettled.
A sharp knock at the door jerks me back to reality. My stomach does a nervous little flip as I cross the room and open it, finding James on the other side.
The sight of him steals my breath every time. He’s outfitted in a charcoal gray suit that’s perfectly tailored to his broad frame, the shirt underneath the exact shade of midnight as my dress– a little detail too deliberate to be coincidence. His white-blond hair is combed back neatly, pale blue eyes gleaming in the low light. The man looks absolutely devastating, and from the way he holds himself, he knows it.
His gaze sweeps over me slowly, a predator sizing up prey. The weight of his attention slides down my body like a touch, head tilting, eyes assessing. By the time they drift back up to mine, my skin is prickling and my thighs are pressed together against the urge to squirm.
“Well?” I say finally, breaking the silence before it devours me whole. “Are you gonna tell me what all this is for, or are we just playing dress-up?”
The corner of his mouth lifts– barely, but smug all the same. “You’re accompanying me to an event tonight.”
I squint at him suspiciously. “What kind of event?”
“A political gathering for my kind,” he answers, tone clipped and matter-of-fact.
I cock a hip, planting a hand on it and giving him my best unimpressed glare. “And do I get a say in whether I actuallywantto go?”
“You agreed to accompany me to events when requested,” he replies smoothly. “Page twenty-seven of the contract, clause four.”
I open my mouth, ready to lob something back, but nothing comes out.Probably should’ve actually read that stupid contract rather than skimming it on a tequila buzz.
James doesn’t gloat about his victory– at least not out loud. He just extends an arm in that old-fashioned way, and when I hesitate to take it, he shifts neatly to my side. His large hand lands on the small of my back, light but commanding, a suggestion disguised as a choice.
“Shall we?” he drawls. The words are polite, but the pressure of his palm guides me out of the room like I’ve already agreed.
There’s a sleek black limousine idling in the circle drive, ready to whisk us away to god knows where. James opens the door for me, and I only hesitate for a fraction of a second before sliding in, the fabric of my dress slick against the leather seat. He follows like a shadow, sitting close enough that his muscular thigh presses against mine. I brace myself, half-expecting him to tilt my chin, murmur something low, and ask to feed…
But he doesn’t.
And I don’t offer.
I’ve been a little too liberal with offering lately; frustrated by not getting anything in return. I mean sure, I’ve got the bedroom of a princess, food prepared by a culinary dream team, and now a whole day of pampering…yeah, objectively, I’m making out like a bandit here.But there’s something else I’ve been aching for; something that he keeps denying me and I absolutely refuse to beg for.
The ride is thick with silence. Not awkward, just heavy, like the air itself is pressing in on us. Outside, the city blurs past in streaks of neon and headlights. My fingers twitch restlessly, brushing against the leather seat and twisting in the silk of my dress. Every corner of my mind is alert, wondering what this event is for, who will be there, how I’m expected to behave. Odds are, even though I’m dressed the part, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.
We pull up to a downtown hotel, James stepping out first and offering me his hand like we’re some high-society couple ratherthan a vampire king and his somewhat reluctant donor. My heels click beneath me as we cross the lobby into the ballroom, and the second we enter, I swear the air shifts.
Golden fixtures drip light over marble floors, laughter echoing and glasses clinking. Vampires mingle in glittering clusters with sharp smiles and sharper eyes, the humans scattered amongst them ornamental in contrast to their predatory elegance.
Every head turns when James enters. Whispers ripple across the room, rising and falling like a tide, some of them reaching my ears. They’re all wondering who I am, why I’m here on the arm of their king, the weight of their stares boring down on me until I can hardly breathe.
A waiter swoops by with a silver tray, and I snatch a champagne flute from it, clutching the glass like a lifeline. The bubbles sting my throat, but at least it gives me something to do with my hands.
Strangely, even though everyone in the room is eyeing James, nobody approaches him– at least not right away. It isn’t until James gives one man a subtle nod that he breaks away from the crowd and starts in our direction. He’s got the look of a vamp, but the petite blonde on his arm is definitely human, sporting a silver donor bracelet just like mine.
“Ezra,” James greets as they approach, inclining his chin.
“James,” the man replies warmly, dipping his head in deference. His dark eyes then ping to me, curiosity sharpening his gaze. “And who might this lovely creature be?”
