Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
The knock comes just after sunrise.
At first, I think I’ve dreamt it, still caught in that heavy, half-suffocating fog of sleep.
I roll over with a groan, dragging the threadbare blanket up over my face to block out the watery gray light spilling through the curtains.
Then the knock comes again– sharper this time, brisk and businesslike– splintering the fragile peace like glass.
Huffing, I toss the blanket aside and swing my legs over the edge of the futon, the floor cold against my bare feet.
The kitten makes his displeasure known, tiny claws sinking into the soft skin of my thigh in retaliation for disturbing his slumber.
I hiss in a breath through my teeth and swat him away irritably, fighting a wave of dizziness when I push to stand.
My oversized sleep shirt hangs crooked off one shoulder as I shuffle toward the door, the air chilly against my bare legs. I’m still half asleep, but unease is already gnawing at my insides as I lean forward to press my eye to the peephole.
A man in a black suit waits outside my apartment door, posture straight, a clipboard tucked under one arm. Flanking him are two men in crisp black jumpsuits, hands folded neatly in front of them.
“Can I help you?” I call through the door warily, voice still rough with sleep.
“Miss Holt?” The suited man leans closer, voice steady and professional. “I’m Eric Pendleton, head of the relocation team from Bite. Miss Fox sent us to facilitate your move today.”
My heart stutters– one hard, awkward skip that makes me press a hand to my chest as the memory hits me like a sucker punch.
I signed my life away last night.
I was still buzzed on tequila, still riding the high of getting bitten when I returned to my apartment and e-signed on the dotted line, agreeing to a one-year exclusive donor agreement with James Devereaux in exchange for half a million dollars.
No– not half a million. Five million. He added that extra zero after our negotiation, and seeing it in writing hooked me clean through, reeling me right in.
It felt surreal when I signed it, almost like a dare. It still does.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I fumble to disengage the locks and pull the door open just enough to peer out at the men in confusion. “Today?” I echo, blinking.
The man in the suit gives a sharp nod. “Yes, ma’am. The client requested immediate accommodations. Your rent here has been paid through the year, and the unit will be held as-is during your term. We’re here to help you pack anything you’d like to bring with you to the estate.”
I blink at him some more, then glance back at my tiny studio apartment that’s somehow already feeling smaller. Everything inside looks absurdly inadequate for the likes of a vampire king’s mansion.
“Okay,” I say slowly, rubbing sleep from my eyes as I step aside. “Come in, I guess.”
Tugging the hem of my sleep shirt down to cover more of my thighs, I move toward the futon and scoop up my kitten, pressing him tight to my chest while the men sweep inside.
His little body is warm, grounding me in the midst of the unfolding chaos.
Boxes snap open, taped with military precision.
The movers look to me for instruction, and I have to decide on the spot what’s worth packing up and bringing with me.
It ends up only being three measly boxes, which feels laughably insufficient. My belongings are humble, domestic, mortal. A few mementos, some clothes and shoes. Makeup, toiletries, the tube of Rapi-Gen cream. For spending eight years in this place, I sure don’t have much to show for it.
Once they’re finished packing my things, the men leave, the suited guy telling me to meet them downstairs once I’m ready.
I pull on a pair of jeans and a faded crewneck bearing the logo of a college I definitely didn’t attend, then throw my bedraggled hair into a messy bun, glancing around my apartment one last time.
Ironically, this place was the reason I entered this whole vampire blood game to begin with.
I signed up at Bite in a desperate bid to keep it, and now Bite’s the reason I’m leaving it behind.
Only for a year, I remind myself. In the grand scheme of things, that’s a blip. And really, who in their right mind would turn down a year of pampering in a mansion with a five-million-dollar payout at the end? Not me, and James knew it. He probably smelled the desperation on me the second we met.
I head downstairs, heart thudding with a mixture of dread and disbelief.
A sleek black car waits at the curb, idling behind a nondescript box truck– clearly overkill for my three whole boxes of possessions.
The driver side-eyes the kitten as I slide into the back seat, but doesn’t say a word as I settle him onto my lap for the ride.
The truck lumbers ahead, and we follow all the way to the estate. The gates look taller and more imposing than I remembered, black iron twisting upward like fingers grasping at the sky. They part to admit us, and my stomach twists as we drive through.
This is it. No turning back.
The estate looks different in the light of day.
Somehow less foreboding, more alive. Rolling, frost-dusted lawns stretch in front of me, dotted with evergreens.
Sunlight glints off the stone pathways, sparkling faintly against the melting snow.
As I take it all in, my pulse hitches at the thought that I actually live here.
Pulling up to the front entrance, I catch every detail of the mansion’s architecture that the shadows had swallowed at night. Carved stone, intricate ironwork, sweeping archways– it’s breathtaking. Like something out of an old movie.
I swallow thickly and step out of the car, kitten tucked carefully in the crook of my arm. He lets out a soft, confused meow, pressing against my chest as if trying to reassure me.
“It’s okay, little guy,” I whisper as I start up the stone steps, my heart pounding like a drum. “We live here now.”
The butler opens the door before I can reach it, giving me a faint nod and waving me inside with a flourish. His eyes drop to the kitten in my arms as I step past him, but he seems unfazed by the feline addition, his expression impassive as always.
The entrance hall swallows me whole. A curved staircase sweeps upward like something out of a dream, banister polished to a mirror sheen.
Crystal chandeliers drip from the high ceiling, scattering sunbeams in fractured patterns across the marble floor.
The sight of it takes my breath away. I’ve only ever seen the interior of the mansion at night, but the pale morning light makes each detail sharper, more opulent, more demanding of reverence.
The movers step in behind me, my boxes clutched tightly in their grip.
The butler’s sharp gaze flicks over them, then sweeps back to me before he turns, leading our procession up the curved staircase to the second level.
Each step echoes against the marble, my body tingling with anticipation.
When we reach the end of a long hall, he opens the door to a bedroom and my jaw nearly hits the floor.
It’s bigger than my entire apartment– make that ten times the size.
The space is curated with lavish furnishings, pale purple walls adorned with watercolor art that looks like it belongs in a museum.
Subtle touches of lavender thread through the entire room– the throw pillows, a rug, even the faint tint in the sheer curtains.
It’s my favorite color. Not that James could’ve known, and yet…
coincidence or not, my chest tightens at the realization.
Once the movers set the boxes down and leave, I’m left alone in my new bedroom, kitten in my arms. I start to explore, and my pulse flutters again when I find that the walk-in closet is already stocked with clothes and shoes in my exact sizes.
Clearly, someone’s been preparing– which defies logic, because I only signed the contract hours ago.
Then again, with the infinite resources James Devereaux must have at his disposal, I suppose there isn’t much he can’t make happen in the blink of an eye.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, testing the bounce of the mattress.
It’s enormous. I haven’t had a real bed in…
I can’t even remember how long. An actual bed was a rarity at the foster homes I was placed in, and I used to consider the futon in my apartment a luxury, even though I had to contort my body to avoid the metal bars digging into my back.
I’m tempted to lie back and sink into the softness, but I talk myself out of it.
If I do, I may never find the will to leave this bed again.
I remain perched on the edge while I take it all in– the silence, the luxury, the surreal shift in my reality.
I set the kitten down beside me and he starts exploring cautiously, whiskers twitching.
He hops onto the wide stone windowsill, bright gold eyes watching the trees sway outside, and I can’t help but smile.
“This is a hell of an upgrade, isn’t it Ozzy?” I murmur.
He tilts his head at me, tail flicking in a way that feels suspiciously approving.
“You like that name?”
He stretches, a soft purr rumbling in his throat.
Yep. He likes it. I’ll have to let Bex know that she nailed it.
Shit– Bex.
My fingers fumble in my pocket for my phone.
I quickly pull up her contact, thumb hovering over the call button before realization kicks in.
It’s still morning, and she probably stayed out late after I left the bar.
So, rather than waking her by calling, I fire off a quick text to let her know I accepted the contract, telling her to call me once she’s awake.
I linger in the bedroom for a few more minutes, half-expecting James to appear in the doorway to greet me personally, but he never shows. Then it hits me– it’s daytime. Vamps are nocturnal. I feel a little silly for forgetting.