Chapter 15 #2
“You agreed to accompany me to events when requested,” he replies smoothly. “Page twenty-seven of the contract, clause four.”
I open my mouth, ready to lob something back, but nothing comes out. Probably should’ve actually read that stupid contract rather than skimming it on a tequila buzz.
James doesn’t gloat about his victory– at least not out loud. He just extends an arm in that old-fashioned way, and when I hesitate to take it, he shifts neatly to my side. His large hand lands on the small of my back, light but commanding, a suggestion disguised as a choice.
“Shall we?” he drawls. The words are polite, but the pressure of his palm guides me out of the room like I’ve already agreed.
There’s a sleek black limousine idling in the circle drive, ready to whisk us away to god knows where.
James opens the door for me, and I only hesitate for a fraction of a second before sliding in, the fabric of my dress slick against the leather seat.
He follows like a shadow, sitting close enough that his muscular thigh presses against mine.
I brace myself, half-expecting him to tilt my chin, murmur something low, and ask to feed…
But he doesn’t.
And I don’t offer.
I’ve been a little too liberal with offering lately; frustrated by not getting anything in return.
I mean sure, I’ve got the bedroom of a princess, food prepared by a culinary dream team, and now a whole day of pampering…
yeah, objectively, I’m making out like a bandit here.
But there’s something else I’ve been aching for; something that he keeps denying me and I absolutely refuse to beg for.
The ride is thick with silence. Not awkward, just heavy, like the air itself is pressing in on us.
Outside, the city blurs past in streaks of neon and headlights.
My fingers twitch restlessly, brushing against the leather seat and twisting in the silk of my dress.
Every corner of my mind is alert, wondering what this event is for, who will be there, how I’m expected to behave.
Odds are, even though I’m dressed the part, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.
We pull up to a downtown hotel, James stepping out first and offering me his hand like we’re some high-society couple rather than a vampire king and his somewhat reluctant donor. My heels click beneath me as we cross the lobby into the ballroom, and the second we enter, I swear the air shifts.
Golden fixtures drip light over marble floors, laughter echoing and glasses clinking. Vampires mingle in glittering clusters with sharp smiles and sharper eyes, the humans scattered amongst them ornamental in contrast to their predatory elegance.
Every head turns when James enters. Whispers ripple across the room, rising and falling like a tide, some of them reaching my ears. They’re all wondering who I am, why I’m here on the arm of their king, the weight of their stares boring down on me until I can hardly breathe.
A waiter swoops by with a silver tray, and I snatch a champagne flute from it, clutching the glass like a lifeline. The bubbles sting my throat, but at least it gives me something to do with my hands.
Strangely, even though everyone in the room is eyeing James, nobody approaches him– at least not right away.
It isn’t until James gives one man a subtle nod that he breaks away from the crowd and starts in our direction.
He’s got the look of a vamp, but the petite blonde on his arm is definitely human, sporting a silver donor bracelet just like mine.
“Ezra,” James greets as they approach, inclining his chin.
“James,” the man replies warmly, dipping his head in deference. His dark eyes then ping to me, curiosity sharpening his gaze. “And who might this lovely creature be?”
“This is Marilyn,” James quickly answers for me, using my alias.
I give Ezra a shy smile as I offer him my hand. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?
He glances down at it, then flicks a questioning look up at James, as if seeking permission. When James gives the barest nod in response, his vampire friend takes my hand, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss across my knuckles.
His lips are cold and clammy– it takes everything in me not to recoil at the gesture.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marilyn,” Ezra purrs as he releases my hand. “Forgive my surprise, it’s simply… rare to see our king at one of these things with a date. And a human, no less.”
“Marilyn is my exclusive donor,” James states. His delivery is nonchalant, but the words drop like a stone in water.
I swear a hush falls over the entire room. Ezra’s brows shoot up in surprise, and his date’s mouth falls open like I’ve just sprouted wings.
“Exclusive?” he echoes, his disbelieving gaze sliding to me.
James only nods once, calm as ever.
“My,” Ezra murmurs, swiping a hand over his chin and recovering his composure. “That is… well, congratulations to you, Marilyn. What an honor.”
“Uh, thanks,” I mumble, fingers clutching tighter around my champagne flute.
Ezra turns to his companion, flashing her a sharp, performative smile. “Karina, would you mind keeping Marilyn company while I borrow the king for a moment to discuss business?”
“Of course,” the blonde replies breathily, beaming a smile up at him before shifting her attention my way.
James glances at me once– just a brief flick of those piercing blue eyes– but I swear it almost feels like he doesn’t want to leave. His palm lands on the small of my back and he leans down, mouth right beside my ear as he murmurs, “Try not to get eaten alive while I’m gone.”
I fight an eye roll, sipping my champagne as the men turn away and disappear into the crowd. The second James is gone, I feel it. Without his massive presence at my side, I’m suddenly too exposed, vulnerable, on display.
Karina’s smile falters the instant her own date disappears. She drops all pretense, her green-eyed gaze sharpening as she sizes me up. “How the hell did you land James Devereaux?” she scoffs, upper lip curling like she’s tasted something sour.
By the way she delivers the question, it’s clear that my benefactor isn’t the one who’s put a bad taste in her mouth. She’s already measured me; decided that I’m undeserving of a place beside the most powerful man in the room.
I take another lazy sip of champagne to prevent myself from throwing it in her face.
The bubbles tickle my throat on the way down, buying me a moment to consider how the hell to respond to her rude ass question.
I settle on the path of least resistance, pasting on a smile as fake as her tits. “Just lucky, I guess.”
Karina narrows her eyes on me, cruel and calculative. Then she flips her blonde hair over a shoulder, beckoning a couple of other women over to join us with a dramatic wave. They glide across the marble floor in their sequined dresses, circling up like vultures.
The next thing I know, I’m trapped in a storm of polite smiles and sharp stares as they introduce themselves. They’re all human– donors, like me– and questions start flying my way fast, some trivial, some pointed.
How long have you known him?
Do you live on the estate?
How long is your contract for?
What’s he really like?
I answer where I can and shrug where I can’t, but it’s no use. Their eyes cut sharper than knives, and I realize they don’t even need to know me to dislike me.
I wish Bex was here.
As the conversation shifts toward idle gossip, my eyes drift around the room in search of James. I don’t find him, but I do spot another familiar face.
Lucien’s dark eyes lock with mine across the ballroom, and in the next blink, he’s headed straight for me.
Memories hit like a lightning strike: the heat of his lips against my skin, the way my blood hummed when he drank from me, the strange mix of shame and desire I carried all the way home.
Lucien was my first introduction to this world, and he left a hell of an impression.
“Marilyn,” he drawls as he approaches, dressed in a sharp black suit and flashing a smile that’s all teeth. “What a pleasant surprise.”
The girls’ idle chatter immediately quiets, their attention shifting to me and Lucien, but I barely notice. I’m too caught up in the gravitational pull of memory, eager for any excuse to leave the hellish circle of mean girls.
“Lucien,” I greet as I peel away from the others, a soft smile tugging at my lips. Though we only met once, his presence here is oddly comforting; the barest sliver of something familiar to hold onto.
“Are you here with someone?” he asks, eyes dropping hungrily to the Bite bracelet on my wrist. His fangs extend with a soft pop, the tips poking out from between his lips.
Of course, he wants blood. I open my mouth to reply, but then James is at my side in a blur of speed, one large hand wrapping around my hip possessively.
Lucien freezes for the fraction of a second it takes their gazes to meet. James’ locks sharply onto Lucien’s with unspoken authority, the savagery in it sending a chill racing up my spine.
“Explain,” James commands, voice dangerously low.
The little hairs on the back of my neck prickle in warning, the air suddenly thick with tension. And because I’d rather not be caught in the middle of some weird vampire power struggle, I speak up in an attempt to diffuse the situation.
“Lucien was a client,” I tell James, hoping I’m not inadvertently breaching Bite’s confidentiality clauses in a way I can’t afford.
James glances down at me, expression carefully schooled. It’s the same blank mask he always wears, though I see the smallest flare in his nostrils, the faintest tick of the muscle in his jaw.
Is he… jealous?
“Only once,” Lucien adds, smiling at James in a way that suggests the two of them might actually be friends rather than adversaries. “I submitted another request after, but it went unanswered. Have you tasted her? Her blood is–”