Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
The next few days pass in a kind of suspended animation, the hours bleeding together until I can’t tell one night from the next.
James keeps his usual routine– dead to the world by day, awake and all-consuming when the sun dips– and I’ve started to follow his rhythm without even meaning to.
Our nightly pattern of feedings and sex leaves me so wrung out that I wind up sleeping all day just to recover, rising when he does to repeat the cycle.
He never sleeps beside me, though, which definitely lends to my coffin theory.
Somewhere in the fog of pleasure, I find a hazy contentment.
The bites don’t scare me anymore. They’re basically vampire foreplay, and the sex is well worth the price of admission.
I swear every climax with James is better than the last, shattering me completely, then rearranging the pieces left behind.
It’s a shame nothing good ever lasts in my life, because he’s officially ruined me for all other men.
Tonight, there’s a break in our routine. I’m accompanying James to a formal gathering for the vampire high council and monarchs of the North American regions, which I can only hope isn’t half as terrifying as it sounds.
A few hours before sunset, a gown arrives in a sleek black garment bag, followed by the reappearance of the glam squad. They quickly take over my bedroom once again, primping and plucking and molding me into Marilyn.
After they leave, I stand in front of the mirror and admire my reflection for entirely too long.
Silver chiffon clings to every curve of my body, catching the light in soft ripples when I move.
My hair’s been curled and styled into an up-do that looks effortless, though the effort was very, very real.
My lips gleam a dangerous red, lashes so full and long that they could pass as extensions.
I look ridiculously expensive; like someone who belongs on the arm of royalty.
I’m still trying to decide if that’s a good thing when James appears in the doorway of my bedroom.
Our eyes meet in the mirror, and the world seems to tighten around the edges as he gives me a long, slow once-over.
“You look lovely,” he declares at last.
I blush instantly, wrapping my arms around my middle and glancing back at him over my shoulder. “Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself.”
It’s the understatement of the century. He’s dressed in a midnight blue suit that fits him like a second skin, all sharp lines and impeccable tailoring.
Cuff links gleam at his wrists, glinting in the light as he straightens his tie.
The tie is silver– almost an exact match to the fabric of my dress– and while he’s always hauntingly beautiful, there’s something undeniably regal about the way he looks tonight.
“Shall we?” he asks, offering his arm.
I nod, then cross the room to him, heels clicking against the polished wood. The air seems to thrum between us as I slide my hand onto his forearm– solid muscle beneath immaculate fabric, cool to the touch even through the suit.
“Remind me what this is all about again?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“It’s mostly political,” he mutters. “We’re required to attend these things quarterly to rub elbows and make nice with one another. We broker deals, pretend we aren’t plotting each other’s assassinations… all very civilized.”
A startled laugh escapes me before I can stop it, the sound echoing softly down the hall. I glance up to see the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
Did he just make a joke?
“I somehow doubt it’s as boring as you’re making it sound,” I say, my grip on his arm tightening as he leads me from the bedroom and down the long hallway.
“Boring for me,” he murmurs. “Though I suppose a human may find it fascinating to stand among the most powerful vampires in the country. You mortals are always too curious for your own good.”
There’s a teasing note under the words, but it doesn’t quite disguise the warning.
At the top of the grand staircase, James halts so abruptly that it nearly knocks me off balance. He whirls to face me, one hand lifting to catch my chin between his fingers. The world narrows to the space between us– his touch, his predatory focus, the look in those icy blue eyes.
“Stay alert,” he growls. “And stay close. No harm will come to you so long as you’re by my side.”
A trickle of unease trails down my spine. “Should I be worried?”
His thumb drags lightly over the curve of my cheek, moonlight catching in his eyes. “Not with me, darling,” he says, voice edged with steel. “But trust no one else.”
With that, he ushers me down the staircase and to the car idling in the circle drive, the two of us tucking into the back seat and setting off.
The drive stretches over an hour, the city slowly peeling away behind us.
We cut north through the sprawl– past the old industrial district, then into the manicured quiet of the suburbs.
Every house looks like it was designed from the same catalog of power and money, with stone facades, wrought-iron gates, and driveways long enough to hide secrets.
Inside the car, it’s quiet except for the purr of the engine and the rhythmic thrum of tires over asphalt. James sits beside me, angled toward the window and scrolling on his phone. He seems more on edge than usual, and it’s wreaking havoc on my anxiety.
I shift my weight, smoothing the fabric of my dress, pretending the silence doesn’t bother me.
It definitely does.
“You seem tense,” I finally say, keeping my tone light.
“These gatherings are tedious,” James mumbles, not looking up from his phone.
I frown, eyes flicking over the sharp lines of his profile. “Did you want to feed beforehand?”
He lifts his head, mouth curving in a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I’ve come to expect the unexpected at these things. I’m sharper when I’m hungry.”
I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be reassuring or ominous, so I just let the conversation fizzle out as the city light fades to black in the rearview.
Ahead, the darkness thickens into forest, dense rows of cypress and sycamore lining the road.
The headlights sweep through their branches, catching glints of silver bark and the flash of wildlife darting for cover.
After driving through the wilderness for what feels like forever, we turn down a long private drive threaded through a tunnel of trees.
The house at the end is enormous– a modernist chateau of glass and stone, angular and imposing, every surface washed in the soft glow of amber lighting.
It looks like a damn fortress disguised as art.
The car rolls to a stop at the base of the front steps, James opening his door and stepping out with quiet command.
He offers me his arm, and I take it without hesitation.
The stress of this whole thing has me ridiculously imbalanced– the last thing I want to do is to trip over myself in front of vampire royalty.
James looks so impossibly gorgeous beneath the moonlight that my knees wobble anyway.
I tighten my grip on his arm as we approach the front door, a butler opening it with a flourish and ushering us inside.
The entryway is breathtaking– sleek, modern, and minimalist, with an abstract art piece as a chandelier dangling overhead.
I take it all in as the butler collects our coats, then gestures toward a set of double doors ahead.
James’ hand lands on the small of my back to guide me forward, and I glance up to find his expression calm, detached, utterly in control. But as the doors swing open, I swear I feel his muscles tense.
Sound and scent hit first. Music– delicate strings weaving through the hum of conversation– mingled with the cloying perfume of expensive cologne and cigar smoke. The air itself feels heavy, decadent to the point of suffocation.
And then I see the table.
It dominates the room, a glossy expanse of black lacquer stretching nearly wall to wall. For a heartbeat, I think it’s a traditional banquet– until I realize there’s no food. No plates.
Just people.
Bodies are arranged artfully along the entire length of the table, draped over silk cushions.
Men and women of varying ages and complexions, all strikingly beautiful, all stark naked.
Some are sprawled on their backs while others recline on their sides, limbs lazily intertwined.
A few are actively being fed on, panting and writhing at the press of fangs in their skin.
My stomach twists. My feet stop moving. Every instinct screams danger.
James leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “It’s rude to stare, darling,” he murmurs, the teasing tone almost soft enough to disguise the command behind it.
His palm splays wider against my back, urging me forward with gentle pressure. I snap my mouth shut and force myself to move. While my gait is unsteady, James sweeps into the room like he owns it.
Around the edges, plush chairs and sofas are occupied by vampires lounging like nobility in some macabre salon.
They sip liquor from crystal tumblers, exchanging idle conversation and moving to the table for a taste of flesh whenever the mood strikes.
The group closest to us– three men and a woman– look like they’re in the midst of a meeting for supervillains, eyeing us as we enter and murmuring to one another conspiratorially.
“James!” one of the men calls out, throwing up an arm to wave him over. “Add your donor to the buffet and come join us.”
I stiffen, but James slides his arm around my waist and tucks me in closer to his side. “Marilyn is my exclusive donor,” he replies smoothly. “Her blood is mine, and mine alone.”
A ripple of laughter and murmured interest follows.