Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
TAYLOR
Iused to be all nerves before donor galas, dreading that first step into a room where I’d be immediately perceived as prey. Tonight, as I recline on a plush velvet couch in the upstairs lounge above the ballroom, I’m pretty sure I could survive an assassination attempt without batting an eye.
My usual team of stylists has sculpted me into a work of art.
The black dress I’m wearing hugs every curve of my body, the open back dipping to the base of my spine.
I look the part of the blushing fiancée of a vampire king– so much so that I keep running my tongue over my teeth, half-expecting fangs to sprout.
Through the glass doors to my right, I can hear the gala in full swing; a lush, rhythmic hum of music and laughter, punctuated by the occasional predatory cackle.
The air above the ballroom is so thick with pheromones and perfume that even up here, behind a closed door, it’s sweet enough to make my stomach churn.
Perks of the enhanced senses, I guess. I’m still getting used to them.
We’re hosting this event in our home– the first since the night James and I met.
The guest list is impressive, boasting vampire politicians, a few minor celebrities, and all of Bite’s top-ranking donors.
Fran called it ‘the event of the season’.
The look on her face was priceless when I flashed my ring and told her every event would pale in comparison to our royal wedding– not because I actually want a big wedding, but solely for the pleasure of watching her mask crack.
I probably shouldn’t be so damn smug, but every time I see her ridiculously perfect face and body and clothes, I have to actively remind myself that even though he could’ve had her, he chose me.
James sits across the lounge, perched on the edge of the desk in an immaculate black suit with a glass of whiskey cradled in his palm.
He’s on the phone discussing something about Belgian investments.
Or maybe Belgian investors. I haven’t really been listening, but now his tone is clipped and deadly, the kind of voice that says if someone screws up this merger, he’ll drain their entire family tree and hang the bodies in the foyer.
I should probably be paying more attention since this is my world now, but instead my eyes keep drifting to the diamond on my left hand, marveling at how it catches the candlelight.
We haven’t set a date yet. Every time the subject comes up, one or both of us ends up distracted by a different kind of hunger. Not that I’m complaining. My future husband fucks like it’s the only thing keeping him out of hell, and frankly, I hope he never finds salvation.
I flick my gaze at the clock. The party started an hour ago; we should probably head down soon.
Leaning back, I roll my neck and let my thoughts continue to wander. It’s strange to think how much has changed in the month since me and James bonded. I still remember the first time I walked into this house as a paid donor– anxious, defensive, unsure if I’d end up dead or just ruined.
Now, everything is different.
The bond has changed me. And I don’t just mean the freakishly fast healing of the bruises James leaves behind or the dreams that seem to bleed into waking life. I mean the way my entire body feels rewired, like every cell just got the memo that I’m alive, wanted, radiant.
I still have the scars of my past and the anxiety that paces the length of my ribcage some nights.
But I also have a cat with more attitude than Bex on a bender, an immortal fiancé who worships the ground I walk on, and a bestie who regularly sends me vampire memes at three in the morning just to make me smile.
This is the happiest I’ve ever been.
James’ voice drops to a lower register, and I feel it vibrate in my chest before the sound even hits my ears.
“Of course,” he says, each word iced with precision. “But if the numbers haven’t improved by next quarter, I’ll be forced to take more drastic measures.”
A pause, a sip of whiskey.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
He ends the call, and the room immediately feels lighter, the tension dissolving on a dime.
He doesn’t move right away– just stares off into space, swirling the last inch of his drink.
I study the hard line of his jaw, the fall of his platinum hair into his eyes, the curve of his bicep where the sleeve clings.
If he weren’t already mine, this would be a truly embarrassing display of thirst.
A prickle dances along my scalp– the unmistakable warning that James is about to speak without moving his lips. The telepathy thing is real, and he’s gotten very good at it. I haven’t mastered it yet, but I can’t deny how much I love the way his thoughts slip into mine.
Gorgeous.
The word drops into my brain like a pebble in a pond, and I look up to see him grinning. He sets the glass aside, smooths his hair back, and crosses the lounge to me in a few easy strides.
“That’s cheating,” I say, smirking up at him.
He arches a brow. “If we’re not going to use telepathy, then what’s the point of even having it?”
“I told you, it makes me feel like I’m being haunted by a horny ghost.”
He closes the remaining distance and sinks onto the couch beside me, one arm draped along the back, fingertips brushing my bare shoulder. “Are you implying I lack subtlety?”
“Absolutely not.” I lean into him. “Just try to keep it clean tonight, huh? The last time you did it in public, I almost came in the middle of a charity auction.”
“That was intentional,” he purrs, fingers tracing idle patterns down my arm. “You wanted to bid on that awful cat painting. I had to distract you.”
“But it looked like Oz,” I pout– though the memory of how he distracted me makes my teeth catch my lip.
“Having that creature living here is quite enough. We don’t need to glorify him in art.”
“But it would’ve looked great above the mantel,” I tease.
He gives me a long, unimpressed look before shaking his head, dismissing the idea entirely.
I giggle softly as I glance down at myself, smoothing my skirt. “Do I look okay?”
James doesn’t even hesitate.
“You look ravishing, darling.” He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Absolute perfection.”
I blush despite myself. His compliments never get old. It’s not even what he says– it’s how he says it, the way he looks at me like he’s undressing me with his eyes.
After glancing toward the clock, James stands, smooths his jacket, and offers me his hand. I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. Together, we cross to the double doors that open onto the balcony overlooking the ballroom.
The noise swells as we approach, the music shifting from classical to something orchestral with a pulse, the slow build like a growing storm.
I glance up at him, eyes tracing the sharp lines of his profile. “Ready to face the monsters?”
“You and I both know we’ll be the most dangerous things in that room,” he replies with a smug smile. “You have your weapon?”
I part the slit of my skirt, revealing the small silver dagger holstered to my thigh.
Not that I’ll need it– we’ve managed to keep our bond under wraps– but still. Just in case.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, then pushes the doors open.
We step out onto the balcony, hand in hand. Conversation dies mid-sentence, a hundred vamps and donors turning their heads upward in unison.
Dresses and tuxedos in all shades of red spill across the dance floor, distinguishing the donors as prey. We’re clad in black, meant to blend with the predators. Not that we ever could really blend as the hosts of this particular soiree.
James’ arm slips around my waist, guiding me toward the grand staircase. A month ago, I would’ve been terrified of tripping in front of all these people. Now, I practically glide down the stairs, like I was made for this. I guess that in a sense, I was.
At the bottom, the crowd parts, creating a clear path through the glittering chaos.
Smile, darling. Show them you’re not afraid.
James’ voice brushes through my mind, low and velvet-smooth, his lips grazing my temple.
“I’m not,” I whisper honestly, lips spreading into a genuine smile.
As long as he’s beside me, I know I never will be.
We cross the room together, and the first to break ranks is Bex. She charges toward us in a sinfully short red dress with a champagne flute clutched tightly in one hand.
I barely pivot in time for her to launch herself into my arms.
“You look like a Bond villain’s girlfriend,” she breathes, squeezing me tight before stepping back. “Which is obviously a compliment.”
“You look like a walking felony,” I shoot back, giving her a slow, dramatic once-over.
“Don’t distract me with flattery,” she laughs, waving me off. “You’re still not off the hook for skipping our last shopping trip.”
“I was busy helping plan all… this,” I say, waving toward the glittering room.
“Don’t you two have people for that?” Bex asks, wrinkling her nose.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but I wanted to help out.”
“Noble of you,” she mutters, scanning the space. “Well, you’ve outdone yourself. I took a wrong turn earlier and ended up in a bathroom with a velvet chaise lounge that definitely wasn’t there last time.”
“Some guests require amenities,” James cuts in dryly.
Bex makes a face. “Yeah, I ran into one on the way out,” she says, nodding toward a woman in emerald across the room. “She offered me a line of coke and asked if I’d ever been fisted.”
“She’s from the European contingent,” James murmurs. “They tend to be… unfiltered.”
“Noted,” Bex snorts, then turns to me, brows raised. “So, we still on for our in-home spa weekend?”
I blink. “Our… what?”
James leans in, voice pitched low. “Thought you could use a little relaxation while I’m away on business.”
Something hot and bright pulses under my ribs. It’s the little gestures– the way he always takes care of me, the way he makes room for the people I love, the way he lets Ozzy crawl into our bed at night… all of it adds up.