Page 99 of Bite
“Non-negotiable,” I remind him, a faint smile touching my lips.
He frowns at Ozzy. “He’s a liability.”
“He’s family,” I counter.
James flicks a glance at me, weighing the argument, then shrugs. “I’ll continue to tolerate him. For you.”
As if he knows he’s won this round, Ozzy leaps from my lap and saunters to the window seat with a swagger only cats canpull off, curling into a perfect, smug little crescent. I let the silence hang between us for a moment, both a challenge and an invitation.
James drops to a crouch in front of me, taking my hand in his. His touch is cool, but the chill burns off the static in my veins.
“You’re staying, then,” he says quietly, searching my face.
“I’m staying,” I confirm. “If you’ll have me.”
He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles in answer. “You know what this means,” he murmurs as he lowers it. “If we bond– if you drink from me– there’s no going back.”
I think of howAnnabel Leeends with the narrator lying beside his dead love, not because he wants to, but because he can’tnot. Because love, when it’s real, is a kind of death.
“I know,” I whisper. “But I’m ready. I’m not afraid.”
Something sharp flickers in James’ pale blue eyes– a flare of wildness, mixed with relief.
“Wewillhave to go over some ground rules,” I add quickly, before he gets any ideas about tearing my clothes off right here.
He smoothly rises to his feet, towering over me with one brow arched. “Such as?”
I exhale steadily, gathering my thoughts. “Well, for starters, no more secrets. No more lies by omission, either.”
“Done,” he says without hesitation.
“And this has to be arealrelationship,” I continue. “Not just some… blood thing. I mean marriage-level commitment. Monogamy, unlessbothof us want to spice things up and explicitly agree otherwise. I know you’ve got the whole notorious playboy sex god reputation, but for this to–”
“Done,” he cuts in, his jaw tightening. “I slept around out of sheer boredom. No one ever satisfied me.” His voice softens.“You do. I haven’t wanted anyone else since you walked into my life, darling.”
My pulse stumbles. Damn him– he knows exactly how to aim a word and make it wound sweetly. “Oh. Okay, then,” I manage, trying not to sound too breathless.
“Anything else?” James asks, eyes glinting. “Or can I take you upstairs now and claim what’s mine?”
A smirk tugs at my lips. I cross my arms, tilting my chin up. “Actually, yes. I know you get off on the wholeminething, but let’s be clear– it goes both ways. If I’m yours, then you’remine. We belong to each other.”
He plants his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning down over me with a predator’s grin. “Well obviously,mea dulcis,” he croons, his face hovering inches from my own, eyes locked on mine. “Hasn’t it always been that way?”
My mouth opens, but no words come. I’d never really considered that. That while he’s been staking his claim on me all this time, I’ve had one over him, too.
The thought is a jolt of electricity– a dark thrill that makes me feel powerful in a way I never have before.
“Obviously,” I scoff, trying to play it cool even though my heart’s suddenly beating a mile a minute.
James smiles, and in the next instant, I’m in his arms. He scoops me up from the chair bridal style, and before I can protest, the world lurches. Being carried with vampire speed is disorienting every time. It’s not quite like vertigo; more like the air folds in on itself, and for a split second I exist everywhere and nowhere at once.
When it settles, we’re in a room I’ve never seen before.
My eyes widen, breath catching. The space is enormous– almost cavernous. The only light comes from a narrow strip of recessed LEDs set high along the crown molding, washing the room in an icy blue glow that mirrors his eyes. The floor is darkhardwood, the walls black and hung with a few stark, modern paintings that read more as violence than art. A pair of antique swords gleam near a marble fireplace, and I pointedly decidenotto ask whether they’ve seen actual combat.
The bed dominates everything. Bigger than a king, set on a raised platform, raven-black sheets pooled like spilled ink. There’s nothing else– no clutter, no books, no trinkets– just the bed and a low storage bench at its foot.
James sets me down, his hand lingering at my waist. “Welcome to my room,” he murmurs, voice threaded with dark amusement.
