Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
My body is still humming with the aftermath of terror, adrenaline, and release when James scoops me off the frozen ground and carries me inside. My teeth chatter, lips gone numb, and I can’t tell whether it’s the cold or shock to blame.
James doesn’t speak as he climbs the stairs– just holds me tight, cradling me against his chest with one arm firm around the backs of my thighs and the other steadying my shoulders.
The house is dark, but he moves through it with the ease of someone who can see perfectly in pitch black.
Maybe he can. I’m too tired to ask; too spent to even wonder whether he’s about to deliver me to safety or an early grave.
He carries me through my bedroom and straight into the bathroom.
The en-suite is all cold marble and shadow, and I’m still shivering when he sets me down on the wide ledge at the end of the bathtub.
Without a word, he turns to the taps and twists them open.
Water rushes from the spout with a thunderous splash as he reaches for bottles of bath oils and bubbles, pouring generous amounts of each until the air fills with a soft, sweet scent.
I sit perfectly still, hands pressed to the cold edge of the porcelain.
My hair’s a tangled rat’s nest, my skin splotched with blood and dirt.
The dress that felt so perfect hours ago is now half-shredded, sticky with mud and bodily fluids.
I glance down at myself and almost laugh– I look like the survivor of a natural disaster.
Hurricane James.
He turns back to me, looking just as wrecked.
His white is shirt torn and splattered, his skin streaked with blood and scratch marks from the way I clawed at him in our struggle.
His jaw is set, lips pressed thin, and for a second, I think he’s going to yell at me or drag me off to some hidden dungeon for punishment.
Instead, he kneels.
Right there on the marble, he lowers himself in front of me.
His hands wrap gently around my back, easing the zipper of my tattered dress down, sliding the straps off my shoulders with a tenderness that makes my heart tighten.
I don’t resist. There’s nothing left in me that wants to resist him.
I’m wrung out and hollowed, every wall I’ve built cracked and crumbling.
I lift my hips, letting him peel the dress off the rest of the way, leaving me in nothing but a thin pair of panties that are still askew and the bite mark he left on my throat.
He rises to his feet and takes a long look at me.
Not predatory, just… assessing. Clinical, almost. Like he’s cataloguing every scrape, every bruise, every shiver beneath my skin.
Then he reaches for my waist, easing me to stand and steadying me when I wobble.
His thumbs hook into the waistband of my panties, tugging them down slowly so I can step out, grounding me even as he strips away the last layer of my defenses.
His hands are cool and steady, his touch startlingly gentle.
It’s the first time he’s ever undressed me without the intention of fucking me, but somehow this feels far more intimate.
Vulnerability threads through my skin like fire, and I realize it isn’t just my body he’s seeing– it’s me, all of me, stripped bare in more ways than one.
After directing me to sit on the edge of the tub again, he steps back and begins to undress.
I watch as he strips off his own shirt, then the blood-soaked pants, and finally his black boxer briefs.
I should be embarrassed by how shamelessly I stare at him– at the expanse of lean muscle, the way sinew and bone shift beneath flawless skin– but I can’t look away.
He’s inhumanly beautiful, yes, but he’s also frighteningly real; close enough to touch.
James turns off the taps, then scoops me up like I weigh nothing and lowers me into the center of the full tub.
The water’s so hot it shocks my system– I gasp as I sink into it, letting the heat wash over me.
He immediately follows, climbing in behind me and settling me between his spread legs, my back resting against his chest.
The world shrinks to the size of the tub. I’m adrift on a sea of bubbles and heat, the thrum of my pulse and the press of his body the only thing anchoring me to reality.
He gathers my hair, drapes it over one shoulder, and starts to wash me– slowly and methodically, like I’m some delicate thing that’ll shatter if handled too roughly. His hands trace my arms, brush over my collarbone, and glide down the soft slope of my stomach, erasing the blood and grime.
He doesn’t say a word, but the silence isn’t oppressive. It’s oddly comforting; a quiet intimacy that feels heavier than words. My body relaxes into his, safe and warm and content.
He dips a washcloth in the water, wrings it out, and starts on my legs– one, then the other, careful around the bruises already blossoming. By the time he’s finished, I’m putty in his hands. My skin prickles where the air meets water, goosebumps rising despite the steam.
James releases a long exhale, then reaches for my shampoo. “Lean back,” he directs, voice a low hum.
I do. He cradles my skull, fingers threading through my hair as he massages the vanilla-scented shampoo into my scalp. The touch feels almost devotional, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden urge to cry. Nobody has ever handled me with this much care. I don’t even know how to process it.
He rinses the suds from my hair, then repeats the process with conditioner, his thumbs tracing slow circles at my temples. I’m one ragdoll sigh away from dissolving into the warmth that’s holding me like a cocoon.
The only sounds are the soft slosh of water and the steady beat of my own heart. We could be the only two people left alive in the world right now, and I’m not sure I would mind.
When he’s satisfied that I’m thoroughly clean, he releases me and begins scrubbing the grime from his own skin. I stay where I am, head tipped back and eyes closed, letting the warm water soothe my aching muscles.
“You should know something, Taylor,” James rasps, his chest vibrating against my back.
I blink my eyes open and turn just enough to see his face over my shoulder. “What?”
He brushes a wet lock of hair behind my ear, then rests his hand at the nape of my neck. “I’m not good at this,” he admits quietly. “At explaining my motives or answering to anyone.” His thumb drags a slow line along my jaw. “But I owe you honesty, at the very least.”
My throat is tight, but I manage a whispered, “Okay.”
He’s silent again for a long moment, as if gathering his thoughts.
“You’ve occupied every corner of my mind since the first night we met,” he murmurs.
“When I requested to feed from you, that’s all it was meant to be.
But from the first taste, I knew you were different.
” His fingertips ghost over the hollow of my throat, pausing where his bite mark lingers on my skin.
“Your blood is unlike anything I’ve ever known. And now I understand why.”
I twist slightly, holding his gaze as the air seems to thin between us.
“It’s called vinculum sanguinis,” he says, the Latin rolling off his tongue like something sacred.
“An ancient blood bond between human and vampire. According to legend, there was a time long ago when every vampire was paired with a human counterpart. They would share blood, and through it, power.” His eyes darken, almost reverent.
“I always thought it was a myth. But the more I drank from you, the more I began to wonder whether those old stories might be true.”
My brain fumbles over the information, tripping on the word ‘bond’. “You think I’m your soulmate or something?” I blurt– half incredulous, half horrified.
A ghost of a smile curves his lips. “Soulmates are a romantic notion. This is more… biological.” His tone is measured, as though he’s trying not to frighten me.
“It’s believed that these bonds were so powerful, they altered both parties on a physical level.
That when a vampire fed from their bonded, their strength multiplied– senses sharpened, abilities heightened.
And if the human drank in return, the bond would fuse, tethering their souls for eternity.
The human would begin to change, too– sharper senses, faster healing, greater strength and speed.
Their life force would entwine with the vampire’s, so they’d never age.
Never die. Not while their bonded still lived. They’d remain human, just… more.”
I blink hard, shaking my head. “I– I don’t understand,” I stammer. “What makes you think that I’m… that we’re…”
He catches my trembling chin, gently angling my face toward his.
“As I fed from you, I began to notice certain changes in myself that aligned with this phenomenon. So, I started investigating.” His tone softens, almost apologetic.
“My initial approach was to hire a genealogist to map out your family tree, see if your lineage could be traced back far enough to substantiate the connection. But much knowledge surrounding the original bonds was lost to time, so genealogy proved to be a dead end.” He pauses, searching my face for comprehension. “I then turned to science.”
“Dr. Faulkner,” I breathe, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Yes. If anyone could prove the bond through empirical means, I knew it’d be him. Eli is one of my oldest friends. I trusted him to be discreet– to keep it just between us.”
“Why?” The word slips out sharper than I intend, brittle with disbelief. “Why hide this from me?”
“Not just from you, darling,” he replies, eyes darkening. “From the world.”
I blink back at him, mind spinning, lost somewhere between terror and awe.
“If a vampire suddenly developed enhanced abilities, they’d be considered an immediate threat to the order of things,” he continues, chest rumbling against my back.
“Our hierarchy is built on strength. Power must be earned, proven. I’m already a king, but with a blood bond…
” he trails off ominously, my stomach twisting in on itself.
“You could be more,” I whisper.
“Yes,” he sighs. “I have no desire to ascend, but the mere possibility that I could threatens those above me.”
“If any of this were even true,” I mutter.
“Dr. Faulkner tested your blood against mine,” James says evenly.
“The results were definitive. Our blood is uniquely compatible. That level of resonance doesn’t exist between ordinary donors and vampires.
” He pauses, watching me absorb his words.
“Eli believes it also explains why my progeny found your blood so delectable. I sired Lucien, so traces of my blood run through his veins. He wasn’t as affected as I am, of course, but the draw is still there. ”
I let the words settle, feeling the weight of them press against my chest.
“I already know that your blood nourishes me differently,” James continues.
“When I drink from you, I’m stronger. And while it runs through my veins, I can feel you.
Your emotions, your pain, your pleasure.
I perceive them as if they were my own.” He tilts my chin toward him, stroking a thumb over my cheekbone.
“All that remains to be seen is whether my blood affects you the same way.”
The realization hits like ice. “You want me to drink your blood?” I choke out, horrified.
“Yes,” he says simply. “It’s the only way to complete the bond. And when it’s done, we’ll be more powerful than either of us can imagine. We’ll be untouchable.”
The idea is both terrifying and seductive. My pulse stutters as I search his eyes, desperate for a lie, a catch, something to prove I’m not already too far gone. But there’s nothing there– just that steady, burning gaze that promises both salvation and ruin.
“You were made for me, Taylor Holt,” he declares, those icy blue eyes pinning me in place. “Can’t you feel it?”
My pulse skips again. The room tilts.
I can feel it– god help me, I can– and that’s the worst part. The notion claws at my chest, frantic and feral, begging me to run before I lose whatever scraps of myself I have left.
James’ expression softens slightly. “Are you alright?” he asks gently.
I manage a nod, though it’s a lie. “Just tired,” I murmur. “Tonight’s been… a lot. Can we talk about this later?”
He studies me for a beat longer, then nods once. “Of course.”
The water has gone tepid, the steam fading.
I shiver again, and he notices. Without a word, he stands and pulls the plug, watching as the dirty bathwater churns and glugs away, the evidence of the night’s sins washed down the drain.
Then he reaches for a towel, wrapping it around my shoulders before lifting me effortlessly from the tub.
He dries me off slowly, each pass of the towel a small act of care that makes my throat ache.
When he’s done, he leaves the bathroom and returns with a fresh pair of pajamas from the dresser.
The fabric is soft against my skin, and I slip them on without protest as he towels himself off and pulls on a pair of dark lounge pants that seem to have materialized from nowhere.
Another vampire trick, or does he actually keep clothes here?
I don’t bother asking. My body’s spent, my mind scrambled beyond coherence.
We cross into the bedroom, Ozzy leaping from the bed at the sight of James approaching and retreating to the shadows underneath.
James peels back the comforter and coaxes me to lie down.
The sheets are cool, the mattress plush beneath me, and exhaustion pulls at every bone.
He lingers at the edge of the bed, expression drawn in hesitation.
“Will you stay?” I whisper, not even sure why I’m asking– or if I truly want him to.
He blinks, caught off guard. “I haven’t slept beside anyone in centuries,” he admits, raking a hand through his hair. His muscles flex with the movement, my gaze flicking down to his bare chest before I can stop it. “But for you…” he murmurs, trailing off.
My eyes ping back up to meet his, my chest tightening.
“I’ll stay for a while,” he says finally. “Until you fall asleep.”
I push back the covers in invitation. He only hesitates for a split second before sliding in beside me, one arm looping around my waist and drawing me into the solid curve of his body.
His other hand smooths down my damp hair, and I feel the tension in him– the way he’s holding himself in check, the way every fiber of his body is wired to feed, kill, or fuck.
I close my eyes. For the first time in what feels like years, I let myself breathe. I feel safe.
Or at least as safe as I’ll ever be while lying in the arms of a monster.