Page 76 of Bite
Her mouth curves, revealing the faintest flash of fang. “Lilith,” she corrects. “No need for titles tonight.” Her attention shifts my way, the weight of it enough to make me squirm. “Our James has a reputation, you know,” she muses. “Never drinks from the same human twice. Yet here you are.” She cocks her head, blue eyes studying me with cool amusement. “What’s your secret?”
I glance up at James, searching for some kind of cue, but his expression is schooled into a blank mask.
“Just lucky, I guess,” I manage, shifting my weight uncomfortably.
Her responding smile is equal parts humor and warning. “Indeed,” she hums, turning back to James. “Have you finally settled for mediocrity like the rest of us, or is this one special?”
“She’s chosen,” he states.
My belly flips. It’s not just what he says– it’showhe says it, absolute and unwavering.
Lilith narrows her eyes, inclining her chin. “Chosen by whom?”
“By me,” he replies simply. “Who else?” His hand brushes my hip, drawing me closer.
She studies me for a beat longer, then apparently decides I’m not worth her time, dismissing us with a curt nod and turning back to her hangers-on. But James’ word choice hums under my skin like electricity.
Nobody has ever chosen me before. Not my parents, who died and left me to the state. Not the foster families who treatedme like a defective rental. Not the boyfriends who drifted in and out, always searching for someone shinier, easier, less broken.
But James did.
I don’t know if it’s a comfort or a curse, but my throat tightens with anxiety nonetheless.
He guides me away from the press of bodies with a strange sort of urgency, the two of us slipping out the side door and into a narrow hallway. Once we’re alone, he pauses, turning to face me.
“That was the High Councilor of North America,” he says, voice pitched low. “You handled yourself well.”
His praise sinks into me like sunlight through cold water. I look up at him, dazed, still reeling from the noise and the stares and the taste of power hanging in the air.
“Come.” He brushes his thumb across my cheek, the world narrowing to that single point of contact. “Let’s get you some air.”
I put up zero resistance as he leads me further away from the bloody spectacle of the feast, passing dark, vacant rooms before arriving at a pair of French doors at the end of the hall. He pushes them open and guides me onto a private balcony, the air outside so crisp and cold that it instantly clears away the fog in my head. A fire pit flickers at the far end, flames painting restless shadows across two black sofas and a low marble table. Beyond the railing, the forest stretches in every direction, silvered and still beneath the moonlight.
James leads me over to the nearest sofa and sits, drawing me down beside him. His arm slips around my shoulders, and I lean in– half for comfort, half for warmth. We just sit there for a while, watching the fire spit and crackle as I try to gather the scattered pieces of myself.
“You seem overwhelmed,” he eventually says, thumb tracing slow circles on my bare shoulder.
“I am,” I admit.
He studies me for a moment, expression unreadable. “Another lesson, darling. Never let them see your fear. Vampires tend to be aroused by the scent of it.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “I can’t exactly turn that off.”
His mouth curves in the ghost of a smile. “You’re tougher than you look, Taylor.”
Something in the way he says it– the absolute conviction– makes me want to believe him. Makes me want to lean even closer, let him be the shield between me and everything that hungers for a pound of my flesh.
It’s a dangerous feeling.
The frigid air does little to cool the heat pulsing through me. I glance up at James– at the sharp lines of his jaw, the shadows catching in the hollows of his cheekbones. He’s calm, controlled, but I know what simmers beneath the surface. I’ve seen it. Felt it. Tasted it.
Maybe he senses it, or maybe he wants it just as badly, because he suddenly shifts, rucking up my dress and drawing me fully into his lap. I straddle him, knees braced on either side of his thighs, hands clutching the silk of his tie. He kisses me– slow at first, then rougher, hunger seeping into every press of his lips.
His hands roam up my sides, curving inward to squeeze my breasts. Then he breaks the kiss, teeth grazing my jaw, blue eyes darkening. “You have no idea how difficult you make it to control my hunger,” he growls, the gravel in his voice rattling down to my bones.
My stomach swoops. “Then feed,” I whisper, tempting the beast.
Before I can even blink, he flips me back onto the sofa and shoves my dress up, exposing my thighs and the thin black panties stretched tight across my mound. His fingers hookunder the fabric, tearing them off in a single motion. I gasp, the cold air a slap against my heated skin.
