11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Dacre
I’ve showered twice every day for four days to get the smell of her blood off my skin, and it still feels as if it’s sitting in my pores. I steady myself as I lean back against the wall.
I swear it’s making me dizzy.
“You’re not drinking?” Darien’s voice jolts me from the thought. He’s overdressed for a party. The guy wears cuff links to breakfast.
“Nope.”
I’m still riding the high of simply being in the same room as Emma’s fresh blood. I wondered if I’d ever lose control if I was put in the wrong position at the wrong time, but once I smelled her blood, I didn’t even think about the taste or the potency.
All I could think of was getting her somewhere safe.
Then, once I had her somewhere safe . . . Well, that doesn’t count. My first instinct was to protect her, which is a problem for me. Because now things should be easier.
I’ve been trying to keep her away, and now my task is to do the opposite. The Osbornes are actively being sought by people like my grandfather.
That’s why I’m at this party.
We’re standing on the fringes of the Solexxa House party. Ambient jazz pop plays, and unlike Luxxia House parties that are so loud that it feels as if my ears are bleeding, I’m actually enjoying the calm.
Solexxa House was designed by one of the most influential women in Vviveren at the time.
She was said to have an adoration for emerald green, plants, and fish, which is why two of the biggest fish tanks in Vviveren are located on campus.
They’re costly to maintain, but Doxlothia has no shortage of donors.
I know Emma is here because I smell her. Traces of her are littered everywhere. The walls. Shoulders. Coats.
When I find her, she’s drunk and twirling around in a dress that’s open in the back and shows her perfect, creamy skin.
I wonder what it might feel like to run my tongue down the center of it.
Her hair is straight, and she’s got on thick, winged liner that I’ve never seen her wear and body glitter covering anywhere that’s exposed.
Luther comes into view, spinning her with a bottle in his other hand, and I’m suddenly rethinking that drink.
I don’t know what his game is, but I don’t fucking like it.
Luther is a legacy family son as well, which means he will likely get married off somewhere down the line.
That also means he doesn’t have any interest in partners apart from fucking them.
Which is none of my concern. But even with Parker and Olivia and the other Osborne sister whose name I always forget here, I’m afraid to take my eyes off her.
Darien would be the one to pick me out of the crowd. I swear that he looks for opportunities to annoy me.
I sigh. “We don’t need to talk.”
“I thought we were friends.”
I don’t have friends, and for good reason. The Dacre who thought friends were a good idea died years ago.
“The only thing you can trust is the bond of family,” my grandfather had told me one night. That was the first time I’d ever seen him with watery eyes after his best friend betrayed him. It’s a long story.
“Is there a reason you’re pestering me?” I snap, desperate to be alone again.
“Just wanted to lend a helping hand with the Osborne sister this semester.”
Emma?
Darien’s been working his way into having the Osbornes and Parker tucked in his pocket by helping them and then using that to shoot himself higher in social status.
He’s somewhat of an information broker. It’s working now that he’s been photographed with the most popular couple in Vviveren multiple times.
“I heard news that the girls’ lack of interest in the Donor Program is drawing more and more attention, what with the newfound fame they are gaining thanks to Olivia’s linked mate bond.”
“Attention from whom?”
That sounds strangely similar to what my grandfather told me.
“Just heard it fluttering about in certain circles.”
I fight another sigh. He keeps his hands clean; that’s how he’s able to move people around to do things that benefit him. It also makes him a great source of information.
“And you think I care because . . . ?”
“Am I supposed to ignore your obvious infatuation with the youngest Osborne sister? I have a radar for those types of things.”
Whatever. As if he’d be able to prove that in any capacity. Plus, this infatuation is a direct result of being scent-matches, and that’s something I don’t need anyone to know.
My attention turns to Emma again. That glowing smile.
“Fine. Thanks for the heads up. Now, what do you want?”
“My father needs a sizable donation for his upcoming charity ball, and I mentioned your grandfather as a possible donor.”
Our families have never gotten along. His father thinks my grandfather is a tyrannical asshole, and well . . .
I chuckle. “If you think I’m going to be able to get something like that from my grandfather, you’re drunk.”
“I do have more information to offer if I can get the guarantee of a bid.”
“There’s more?”
“What do we say, five hundred grand as the lowest offer?”
“Fuck off.”
“I don’t know. A certain Osborne might need a helping hand,” he says, taking a long sip of his drink.
It is about Emma. And he’s torturing me.
“Fine.” I draft an email to my grandfather’s assistant and show it to him. “Happy?”
“Glowingly. In a group chat I frequent, there was talk about some paperwork that will be landing in front of her soon, and it would be in her best interest not to sign.”
“Five hundred grand should buy a little more than that.”
“I think loopholes might lead to some unpleasant doctor visits. The kind that dredges up bad memories for them.”
“Someone is trying to trick her into signing up for the Donor Program?”
I know about Emma’s mother. Once a normal program participant, she became a darling after her death, and she died too young. I don’t need to ask to know that’s why none of them are in the program.
If Darien is telling the truth, and I believe he is, that’s really fucked up.
He shrugs. “I’m no detective, but I’m sure the truth will come to light very soon.”
I send the email and glare while he wraps an arm around my shoulder.
“Ah, how lucky am I to be friends with an Everhart?”
“Yeah, yeah, asshole.”
As he slinks away into the shadows like the snake he is, I notice the emptiness in the air. Emma’s scent is gone.
I find her on the other end of the house, dancing on a table, her hands in her hair, and twisting her hips. Fuck, she’s beautiful.
A momentary lapse in judgment.
Her family is nowhere to be seen, while the culinary club members around here are taking pictures and cheering her on.
“Dacre. I didn’t know you were coming.” Luther’s wide-eyed expression is all I need to see.
He’s planning something.
“Move.” I nudge him out of the way.
I steady Emma as she wobbles on top of the table.
“Did your family leave you here?”
“No. I told them to leave without me. I’m fine here.” She giggles.
“Yeah? While you shake your ass for the forums?”
“She can make her own decisions. Besides, you’re just in time. It’s initiation night,” Luther says.
“I thought I vetoed that.”
“You lost the vote. Two to one. Verity wasn’t going to kill the one fun tradition the culinary club has.”
It’s not fun. It’s cruel, boring nonsense. I stopped coming to initiations since Luther became the vice president. It completely slipped my mind that he’d want to initiate Emma.
Luther turns his attention back to her, tugging at her leg to rest his head on her thigh. “Want another drink?”
She nods, and he watches her as she grinds her hips and flips her hair. The feeling in the air shifts. He wants her, and that awakens a primal urge I’m not ready for.
I’m not a fighter, but I contemplate taking him to the ground.
Luther disappears for her drink, and she stumbles.
“Come on. Time to go.” With one arm, I haul her over my shoulder and off the table.
“Wait, no. What about the initiation?”
“You were about to fall off the table before you made it there.” Plus, she needs water if she’s going to make it through.
When we reach the kitchen, I dump her onto the floor, and she falls headfirst into my chest, leaving a smear of glitter on my shirt collar.
Every house has some sort of kitchen for general snacks and cooking.
Tonight, Solexxa’s is being used to prepare the initiation dinner.
Both Verity and Luther are from Solexxa House, so it comes as no surprise that they’ve hired chefs for the meal.
I make sure we’re tucked in the corner under warm, dim lighting as I hand her a bottle of sparkling water.
“You’re worried about me.” She smiles.
“No.”
Her smile vanishes as quickly as it came. “Then why would I want to stay somewhere I’m not wanted?”
I stop her retreat with my arm on the doorframe. “Come on, there’s no way that hurts your feelings.”
“It might . . .” Her golden eyes sparkle in the overhead lights. “Because why do you still hate me?”
“The better question is: why do you want to talk to me when I’ve never been anything but cruel to you?”
“Not the other day.”
“I thought we had a silent agreement that we were never going to bring that up again.”
She shrugs, her attention drifting to a couple making out in the corner.
“Answer my question,” I demand. “Why do you care what I think?”
“I guess that I just . . . wonder what version of me I need to be to get you to like me. It kind of . . . bothers me that you don’t. Not that it makes me sad or anything, more like, it’s just super annoying that I can’t figure it out.”
That’s a real answer. The alcohol definitely has her guard down.
“Emma.” When I say her name, her eyes widen. “Why are you here?”
“Don’t I look like the partying type?”
“No.”
She likes to hang out with her friends and drink, but she almost never gets drunk.
Every night after drinking, she goes to Luxxia’s kitchen and drinks her water and recovery potions before sleeping, telling her friends she’s got to go because she has to get up early.
Emma is too busy to wake up with a hangover; she’s always up early to study and volunteer and takes more classes than most students I know.
Something in her scent catches my attention. It’s better today. So much so that I understand why I was fantasizing about licking her back earlier because I’m doing it again. She must be close to ovulating.
“I know why you’re here . . . And I know it’s not for the party because you hate parties and you have no friends.” She smiles, so self-assured.
I think she’s trying to get under my skin with that very well-known fact, but it doesn’t land.
“Do tell.”
“All of this . . . You pretending to take care of me. The proposal. All of it is just because you really want to bite me, but you don’t want to admit it.”
“The words of a drunk.” I scoff.
She shakes her head playfully. “It’s true. It’s all you think about. I see you staring at me all the time. You want something from me.”
Can she read minds now? What the fuck?
“Yeah? You like that, huh? What exactly do you think I think about, Em?”
She smiles. “I like that more . . . when you call me by my nickname.”
“I’ll be sure not to use it then, thief.”
Her eyes brim with fire. “You know what I think . . . I think you think about me all the time. Getting me alone . . . to taste my blood. That’s your master plan.”
“I’ve already had you alone. Many times.”
“But not like you want it . . . right?”
Emma flutters her lashes at me, pushing out her chest. She’s fucking with me. Teasing me as if I were some feral dog, and I hate that it’s working. I hate that I’m falling into her hands like soft, squishy dough. But she’s falling into me, too. Her scent is growing stronger with arousal.
I don’t dare touch her. That would be a betrayal of everything I’ve established, a crack in the wall I’ve built so this wouldn’t happen.
The truth still stands. There’s this deep ache in my gut from the knowledge that Emma being in my life will lead to ruin.
“What is the best way to taste blood?” She moves her hair from her neck and moves in till she’s below me, looking up through her lashes. I can see down her shirt.
Our height difference is not that extreme, so I’m staring at her neck.
“Go on. Tell me. Is it the neck . . . or the wrist?”
I swallow, all the while fighting the urge to tug at the back of her hair and lick her neck. She’s flirting. At least she’s drunk and has a good excuse; I’m just the definition of pathetic.
I test brushing my fingers over her neck, right where her pulse drums, and she arches. So much for my no touching rule.
Her scent tells me she’s into this. Emma likes me touching her. A simple fact that seems to rearrange the stars all at once.
“Like this?” She angles down her dress strap so I have an unrestricted view of her collarbone and the top of her breast. We’re making a scene. There are probably pictures being taken, but stars above, I want to rest my lips on her skin. My dick is throbbing against my zipper.
When I don’t say anything, she smiles.
“This is embarrassing for you.”
“Yeah? Is that why your heart is pounding and your eyes are dilating when I touch you?”
She blushes as my touch runs along her collarbone. I’m in a fucking trance. My dignity is nowhere to be found, but as the seconds tick by, I care less and less. How can something so complicated become so simple? She wants me to touch her, so I do.
“Either you like this, or you’re scared, and I know better than to think Emma Osborne is scared of me.”
I finger the strap of her dress. She watches, breathing through her nose and shaking her head.
“I’m drunk. You’re drunk. It’s nonsense. You hate me.”
And yet, for some reason, she doesn’t hate me.
“You sure? I don’t hate the way you smell. Or the way your pulse is getting louder and louder. There are lots of things I don’t hate about you, even if you are a thief.”
The thing I love the most is the fire in her eyes when I call her that.
“I’m not as naive as you think.”
“Let me walk you back to Luxxia.” I make one last attempt as she waves Luther over.
“Now, why would you do that when the fun is just about to start?” Luther says, grabbing another beer off the counter.
“Oh? Fun?” Emma’s smile brightens with excitement.
She won’t be smiling in a few minutes.
“It’s time for initiation.”