Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
James Deveraux is even more devastating up close.
It’s as if his presence bends everything around him to its will, warping the room until it blurs at the edges of my vision.
The chandeliers dim, the crowd recedes, and all that’s left is him.
Suit blacker than shadows, hair white as snow, eyes like shards of ice that cut straight through to my soul.
When he steps into my space, I’m forced to tilt my chin upward to hold his eye contact.
I’ve always considered myself tall, but this man is a monolith– at least six and a half feet, broad-shouldered and immovably solid.
The sheer scale of him makes me feel small in a way I never have before, and instinctively, I want to shrink even further.
Something in me registers that a predator has locked me in its sights, but that defiant, reckless part of my brain forged through years of survival refuses to cower, even as his imposing shadow swallows me whole.
He doesn’t smile. His expression is carved into a mask of calm control, but there’s a hint of something simmering beneath the surface.
Curiosity, maybe.
Hunger, definitely.
A faint scent clings to him– cedarwood and snow, clean and cold, a whisper of winter cutting through the heat of the ballroom.
He extends a hand toward me, my breath catching as I lift my own in response, thinking he’s going to shake it and introduce himself.
Instead, his long fingers gently curl around my wrist and turn it over until the widest part of my Bite bracelet faces upward.
He holds his phone over the band, a chime sounding as my profile registers.
His gaze flickers down to the screen, then back to me.
“Marilyn,” he drawls smoothly, the deep timbre of his voice like velvet dragging across bare skin.
It takes me a second too long to realize he’s using my alias.
“Y-yes,” I stammer, straightening my spine.
He releases my wrist only to raise his hand higher, gently tucking a rogue curl behind my ear. The tips of his fingers graze the curve of my cheek before he withdraws his touch, hand dropping back down to his side. “You’re new.”
“Sort of,” I manage, breathless. “This is my third engagement.”
Something sharpens in his eyes. Interest, yes– but also something else. Something darker.
“You’re remarkably calm for someone so new,” he remarks, his tone amused, as if I’m a puzzle he’s already halfway to solving.
A shaky laugh escapes me. “I’m definitely not.”
I dart a sideways glance toward Bex and Audrey, desperate for an anchor, but his gaze doesn’t follow. He still hasn’t acknowledged anyone else’s presence– his attention remains locked on me, never wavering, and it’s starting to feel less like focus and more like possession.
“I’d like to feed from you, tonight,” he declares without pomp or hesitation. “Would you allow it?”
My pulse skips. I flick another look toward Bex and Audrey, both of whom are making wide eyes at me, practically vibrating with silent say yes energy. Around us, the other donors have gone still, all staring this way. Staring at him.
He still hasn’t bothered to formally introduce himself, but I suppose a man like him needs no introduction.
Everyone here knows exactly who James Devereaux is.
Hell, I’ve been here for all of five minutes, and I already know who he is.
Which is precisely why I should refuse his request. A man like him– a king among predators– probably gets away with anything he desires, up to and including casual murder.
And yet, I feel my chin dip in a barely discernible nod, agreeing to a dance with the devil before I’ve even fully decided if I want to.
“Excellent,” he murmurs, the faint curl of his lips revealing two rows of perfectly straight white teeth. It’s not quite a smile, but something sharper that should require a warning label. “Shall we?”
He offers his arm, gazing down at me expectantly, and my hand lifts before I can think better of it, settling against firm muscle. The contact is grounding and intoxicating all at once, my head spinning as I blindly thrust my champagne flute in Bex’s direction.
She takes it with a little nod of encouragement, face splitting into an excited grin before James begins to guide me away, his presence eclipsing everything else.
The ballroom seems to exhale as we leave, a ripple of attention following us all the way to the exit. Every eye feels pinned to my back, heavy with envy and speculation. My spine stiffens, but I keep moving, remembering what Fran said at my intake.
‘If you accept an engagement, we expect you to follow through.’
I’m about to make five hundred bucks. This is a business transaction, plain and simple.
We step out into a corridor draped in velvet curtains and lit by soft golden sconces, the hush immediate. The echo of my heels on the marble becomes embarrassingly loud against the silence as I walk beside him, my heartbeat even louder.
“Where are we going?” I ask when I finally find my voice again.
“To my study,” he replies simply.
We pass closed doors, faint flickers of movement shadowing behind etched glass. Other donors, other feedings, other secrets sealed behind soundproof walls. Each one we glide past makes it harder to breathe, until he finally steers me through an open doorway into a large, dimly lit room.
A fire crackles low in the hearth, bathing the opulent study in a cozy warmth. A plush velvet chaise lounges near the fireplace, a decanter of something red on the table beside it. Probably not wine.
James turns to face me, and for the first time since we locked eyes across the ballroom, something in his expression shifts.
The steel edges soften, the mask loosens.
And it’s worse– so much worse– because without the armor of his severity, I can see him clearly: terrifyingly gorgeous, dangerously inhuman, the embodiment of everything I should know better than to tangle with.
My intense attraction to him overrides sensibility. I should be afraid to be alone in a room with a vampire king, but I’m not. I’m intrigued. Thrumming with anticipation. Shamefully, deliciously titillated.
I study his features, drinking in every detail.
It’s impossible to guess his age by looks alone.
Physically, he appears to be in his mid-twenties, no boyish softness left but no ravages of age weathering his features.
Eternal in his youth, almost cruel in his beauty.
He doesn’t speak, only assesses me with a patience so unyielding that the silence rapidly becomes suffocating.
I twist my fingers together uncomfortably, darting a glance at the chaise by the fire. “Should we sit down, or…?”
He closes the distance between us so abruptly that the rest of my words stick in my throat, never making it past my lips. His fingertips brush the curve of my neck, sending electricity skittering through my veins.
“May I?” he murmurs.
I nod, surrendering with a subtle tilt of my chin.
He moves in even closer, until his chest is pressed flush against mine and the last whisper of space between us evaporates.
Brushing my hair over one shoulder with deliberate precision, his fingers trail down the delicate slope of my throat until they come to rest on the frantic flutter of my pulse.
My skin prickles, every nerve alive under his touch.
I exhale slowly, eyes fluttering closed as I steady myself. His breath ghosts across my neck, lips grazing featherlight over my skin. At the soft pop of his fangs extending, my heart skips, stutters, stops–
And then he bites.
My lips part on a silent gasp, pain instantly dissolving to pleasure as warmth floods my limbs, crashing into something raw and unrelenting.
The pull begins– deep, rhythmic, each draw tugging something vital from me.
It should feel like a violation, but instead it’s dangerously intimate.
Heat coils along my spine, settling low in my belly and igniting to flame.
My knees buckle, but his arm wraps around my waist instantly, anchoring my body to his as though he anticipated my collapse. I cling to him instinctively, fingers twisting in the immaculate fabric of his suit. Every nerve blazes, every muscle taut, every shiver a plea I can’t articulate.
I surrender to him, but it doesn’t feel like weakness. A delicious ache thrums in my core, thighs clenching against the surge of illicit heat. With his immense frame surrounding me and his fangs in my neck, I feel completely… consumed.
Then, just as quickly as it began, it ends.
His fangs retract with a soft pop, tongue flicking lightly over the wound in a final caress that leaves me shivering.
A wave of dizziness rolls over me, flushing my skin and trembling through my limbs.
An involuntary moan slips from my throat, part of me reluctant for the moment to be over.
James pulls back just enough to let me see him, clear blue eyes alight with fresh curiosity. My pulse is still wild, thoughts scattered, embarrassment coiling in my stomach at the realization that I enjoyed his bite far more than I should have.
He thumbs a single drop from the corner of his lips, humming with quiet intrigue as he drags it over his tongue.
“Your blood is exquisite, darling,” he murmurs.
My chest heaves. My skin buzzes. My legs feel like jelly, but he still hasn’t let go, his grip around my waist anchoring me to this dangerous world I’ve entered.
“You taste like fire and salt,” he muses, almost to himself. “And… something else. Something rare.”
I meet his gaze, startled. “Is that… a good thing?”
The ghost of a smile curves his lips. “Very.”
Once I’m steady on my feet, he steps back smoothly, sliding his phone from the pocket of his slacks and tapping the screen. My own phone chimes in my clutch, signaling that payment has been transferred.
Because this was a business transaction. Nothing more.
I start to fidget, smoothing my hair and glancing toward the door. James follows my gaze, then returns his attention to me, the corner of his mouth lifting infinitesimally.
“You may go, if you wish.”
If I wish?
I hesitate, caught in the magnetic pull of his orbit. Something about the intense look in his eyes makes me feel like leaving would be a mistake– but staying could be a worse one.
I smooth the front of my dress and try to compose myself, willing my shaking hands to steady. “Thank you,” I murmur with a shy smile, turning to start for the door.
His deep voice follows me as I step out into the corridor. “The pleasure was all mine, Marilyn.”