Page 79 of Bite
I advance further into the room as if pulled toward her by gravity itself. The cat makes his displeasure known by hissing again, his back arched, tail puffed like a bottlebrush. One pointed glare sends him bolting off the bed and skittering out the door, claws scraping the floorboards. I frown after the irritating creature, still plotting his demise, then refocus on Taylor.
“Going somewhere?” I ask before she can give me an attitude about scaring off her cat.
“Yeah,” she breathes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I have a check-in at Bite.”
My jaw tightens. “Since when?”
“Since I got a reminder call this morning,” she mumbles, crossing to the vanity to grab her purse. “Monthly check-ins are part of the contract, remember? To make sure I’m alive and well and you haven’t drained me dry.”
Oh, I remember. I remember including the clause to ease her mind, give her some sense of safety in entering the agreement. I also remember having her completely erased from Bite’s database a week ago, so she absolutely shouldnotbe getting reminder calls for appointments that no longer exist.
My mind cycles through possible explanations. None of them are good.
“I’ll go with you,” I say.
She waves me off. “No need, I can handle it.”
“I insist.”
Her mouth opens– then closes. Whatever retort she’s swallowing stays there, bitten down behind her teeth. She tugsher sweater lower instead, smoothing it over her hips in a nervous gesture.
“Fine,” she grumbles. “I already requested a car.”
I’m aware, little mortal.
“Excellent,” I say evenly, though irritation simmers in my veins. “We’ll leave now. Wear a coat, another cold front rolled in this morning.”
She glares at me as though she doesn’t like being told what to do–lie– but obeys anyway, pulling a black puffer jacket from the closet and shrugging it on. I watch the graceful way she moves, tracking the steady tick of her pulse in her throat.
She has no idea what she does to me.
We descend to the waiting car and slide into the back seat, sealed in the hush of leather and glass. Taylor doesn’t speak as the driver pulls away from the house. She’s still vibrating with anxious energy as she stares out the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself for warmth.
I subtly adjust the heat a notch, my gaze lingering on her profile– the fine line of her nose, the soft bow of her lips. My strange fixation with this one is starting to border on obsession.
Dangerous for her.
Disarming for me.
The city blurs past through the tinted windows. When we arrive at the Steele Holdings building, I step out first, offering a hand she ignores. I settle for placing it on her lower back instead, proceeding to escort her through the glass doors and into the gleaming marble lobby. She glances toward the security guard, but I urge her forward without pause.
We step into the elevator and the doors close, sealing us in mirrored quiet. Taylor leans against the back wall with her arms folded, pretending not to steal glances at me. I don’t bother to pretend I’m not looking at her. Light catches threads of gold through her chestnut hair, glinting along the contours ofher face. When the doors open, I gesture for her to go ahead, following her into Bite’s lobby.
The receptionist’s eyes go wide when she spots me, lashes fluttering rapidly. “Mr. Devereaux!” she stammers, scrambling upright. “I–”
I sweep Taylor past her before the sentence finishes, my patience already worn thin.
“That was rude,” Taylor whispers, frowning up at me. “You can’t just walk in here like you own the place.”
I huff a quiet laugh.I can and I do. I keep walking.
The door to Francesca’s office is ajar, the woman herself seated behind the sleek glass desk. She looks up when we enter, surprise flickering across her face before smoothing into a practiced smile.
“Mr. Devereaux,” she greets as she rises to stand, tone cool and professional. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“My donor got a reminder call this morning for a check-in,” I say in a clipped tone, watching her reaction closely.
Fran’s lips part, a little crease forming between her brows. Little does she know that perplexed expression is the only thing saving her from my wrath.
