Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
The bed is too big.
That’s the first thought I have when I wake from the best sleep I’ve ever gotten in my life, the sheets spilling around me like I’ve drowned in silk and the mattress swallowing me whole.
There are no uncomfortable futon bars to contort my body around, no too-thin blanket to pull tighter against myself while fighting the chill from drafty windows. Just softness, warmth, and silence.
Not city silence, either. The mansion hums with the kind of stillness that’s almost aggressive, devoid of even background noise.
There are no neighbors yelling through paper-thin walls, no music bleeding from passing cars outside.
No shouts from Bex for me to open up while pounding on my door at three in the morning.
All I can hear is the faint tick of some unseen clock, as if the house itself is keeping track of my heartbeat.
I yawn and stretch, instinctively bracing to bump into a wall, but there’s only air around me.
Well, that, and a tiny bundle of black fur curled up against my hip.
The curtains are drawn tight, the room dark even though it has to be late morning or early afternoon.
My body feels well-rested, but my mind’s already restless.
Memories of last night slowly seep back in like grains of sand through an hourglass.
The bite, the feed. The humiliating way I practically begged James to touch me, and how my body reacted when he did.
Sitting across from him at the dinner table afterward was painfully awkward, every scrap of small talk straining against the silence while I picked at the most ridiculously indulgent meal I’ve ever tasted.
Then he muttered something about a conference call and disappeared, leaving me to stumble back to my room and drown in the confusion he’d left behind.
If I stay in bed replaying it all day, I’ll lose my damn mind.
Kicking off the covers, I drag myself upright, padding barefoot across the rug until the cold bite of the wood floor jolts me fully awake.
The en-suite bathroom feels more like a spa, and I take a long, scalding shower that does little to wash away the thoughts still clinging to me.
By the time I pull on leggings and a soft sweatshirt, finger-combing my damp hair, I’ve decided there’s no use in hiding.
I might as well explore the mansion while I wait for the sun to go down and my vampire benefactor to emerge.
This place is massive. Wandering the halls feels like sneaking through a museum after hours, each step too loud, each glance too intrusive.
Everything gleams– polished wood, heavy drapes, crystal fixtures that catch the light and scatter it like frozen rain.
The portraits on the walls glare at me, strangers in old-fashioned clothes painted as if they’d rather bite me than smile.
Are they all vamps?
Was James ever one of these somber figures, dressed in antiquated finery and staring down from a gilded frame?
The thought of it makes my stomach knot. I don’t know his true age, and I can’t decide whether asking outright would be some grave breach of vampire etiquette. There’s so much I don’t know about this world, and the more I learn, the more out of my depth I feel.
I don’t belong here. The house practically whispers it at me as I tiptoe through the hallways, but curiosity keeps me moving.
I trail my fingers along the carved banister of the sweeping staircase, peek through open doors at studies and sitting rooms so immaculate they look staged.
This place almost feels frozen in time; perfectly preserved rather than actually lived in.
Eventually, hunger wins out, and I make my way toward the kitchen, half expecting to be greeted by the same whirlwind of staff I saw yesterday.
Instead, it’s empty. Chrome appliances gleam, white marble countertops shine, and the cabinetry probably cost more than my yearly rent at my old apartment.
It’s a little much for a home belonging to someone who rarely eats actual food.
A sleek tablet waits on the island, a reminder of James’ instructions about ordering meals. I glance at it, then walk right on by. No way I’m bothering a team of chefs when I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.
I half expect one of them to materialize and swat me away from touching anything, but the room remains silent and empty as I pull open the refrigerator.
Of course, it’s fully stocked. Every shelf is crammed with fresh produce, cheeses wrapped like gifts, and jars arranged in precise little rows.
It’s the kind of fridge you’d expect to see in commercials, not real life.
Shaking my head, I snag some cheese and turkey, then fish a loaf of bread from a wooden box on the counter. A sandwich feels almost rebellious here, but simple seems safest. With my luck, I’d pick the one ingredient that ruins some five-course masterpiece the chefs had planned.
Back home, my knives could barely cut through a tomato without squishing it flat, but the one I pull from the block on the counter is razor sharp. It glints menacingly under the lights as I shift it to one hand while fumbling the bread with the other.
That’s when Ozzy chooses to make his grand entrance. He launches onto the counter with a triumphant meow, chest puffed out and tail twitching.
“Jesus, Oz!” I yelp, jerking back. The knife slips, pain slicing across my index finger. “Shit!” I hiss, dropping the blade with a metallic clatter.
Blood wells instantly, bright against my skin. I shove my finger into my mouth, eyes darting around for a paper towel. Not finding one, I turn… and freeze.
James’ imposing figure fills the doorway– pale hair disheveled, broad chest bare, dark sweatpants riding low on his hips.
Those silvery blue eyes lock on me with a sharpness that steals my breath, and my own betray me, dropping to skim the ridges of muscle, the ladder of his abs, the monochromatic ink adorning his skin.
He looks unreal, like someone carved him out of marble as a gorgeous work of art. My brain short-circuits, my pulse flatlines, and all I can do is stare.
“What happened?” His voice cracks across the room like a whip, sharp enough to snap me back into my body.
I ease my finger from my mouth, blinking at him. “You’re… up?”
One brow arches. “Contrary to popular belief, we don’t combust in sunlight.
” His gaze flicks to my hand, and I swear the temperature in the room drops.
“Before humans knew of our existence, we used the cover of night to hunt,” he says calmly as he begins crossing the room to me, each step raising the hairs on my arms. “Now, many of us remain nocturnal out of habit.” He stops in front of me and tilts his head, eyes narrowing.
“Honestly, do you know nothing about vampires at all?”
Ozzy hisses from the counter, puffing up like he’s ready to take James on. His tiny claws scrabble against the marble, his bravado almost laughable… if I wasn’t so rattled, that is.
I scoop him up, cradling him against my chest with my good arm while slipping my finger back into my mouth to staunch the bleed. “I just cut my finger a little,” I mumble around the digit.
“You’re bleeding,” he murmurs, eyes zeroing in on my mouth. His nostrils flare, nothing disguising the hunger underneath.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying for nonchalance even though my heart is hammering like a war drum.
His eyes flick to the bread, the cheese, the knife. “What were you doing? We have staff for this.”
I slip my finger from my mouth again, curling it against my palm. “I can make my own lunch,” I mutter, setting Ozzy back down on the counter. “What else am I supposed to do all day?”
“Whatever you’d like.” He says it like it’s obvious, as if freedom is a luxury someone like me can afford. “What do you enjoy doing– besides carving yourself up?”
The question hollows me out. My mouth opens, but no words come. What do I enjoy?
My life has been nothing but bills, rent, and scraping by. I don’t have hobbies, or passions, or anything that fits into polite conversation. Just survival.
A flush crawls up my neck, embarrassment burning hotter than the sting in my finger. I drop my gaze, hating the way the silence stretches.
James notices, but his expression doesn’t soften. If anything, it sharpens, as though he’s cataloguing my every weakness.
Then his hand closes around mine– cool fingers, steady grip. Before I can pull back, he lifts it to his mouth, tongue grazing the cut.
I gasp.
Then he sucks my finger inside his mouth, lips closing around it in a way that feels filthy and far too intimate.
“Oh…”
The sound escapes before I can stop it. My world shrinks to sight of him– lashes lowered, tongue dragging slowly over my skin as if he’s savoring. It’s obscene. I should pull away, but I’m frozen, trembling, staring as heat curls low in my belly.
“James…” My voice cracks on his name.
He pulls back just long enough to sweep the knife and food aside, then scoops me up like I weigh nothing, setting me on the edge of the counter.
My thighs part without conscious thought and he presses in close, hips tight against mine as he lifts my hand between us to examine the cut, no longer bleeding thanks to the enzymes in his saliva.
The cold marble bites against the backs of my thighs through the thin material of my leggings, but the press of his body against mine is hot, heavy, impossible to ignore.
His eyes lift to my face, locking on my lips.
I can still taste iron, and slowly, he leans in.
His lips brush mine teasingly before his tongue sweeps over them, hand cupping my cheek, then sliding to my nape.
His fingers tangle in my damp hair, holding me in place, and when I feel his tongue against the seam of my lips, they part instinctively to let him in.
It’s a kiss, but it’s not. And still, I kiss him back.
My eyes fall closed as our tongues glide together, his fingers tightening in my hair.
My blood turns molten in my veins as he claims my mouth, his hips grinding subtly against mine, his hardness pressing between my legs.
His tongue explores every corner, and when he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, dizzy, aching for more.
“You’re not ready,” he growls, voice rasping low and dangerous.
“For what?” I pant.
“To be fucked by a vampire.”
The statement should humiliate me, but he isn’t wrong. I’m not ready– not for this, not for the way I surrender to him at the slightest touch. And yet… it’s also a challenge, a dare that ignites something fierce and electric within me, pulsing through my veins faster than blood poured from my cut.
Desire.
I want him.
Jesus, have I lost the plot?
His mouth drops to my throat, lips dragging, teeth grazing. A soft pop, then a bite– sharp enough to steal every thought from my head.
One hand clamps firmly on my hip, the other still on my nape as he drinks in slow, indulgent pulls. I whimper, squirming, grinding my center against the hard ridge of him pressed to my core.
“Hold still, mea dulcis,” he murmurs against my skin between greedy sips, fingers tightening on my hip.
And I do. God help me, I do.
The pull of his mouth is overwhelming, pleasure and pain blurring together until there’s nothing but ecstasy.
Staying still feels impossible, but my body obeys.
My body loves it. Shame spikes in my chest because I know I shouldn’t want this– I shouldn’t want to be pinned, restrained, controlled.
But I do. I suddenly want it so much it aches.
He feels the shift– I know he does. His mouth curves against my neck, his grip intensifies. He tests me with firmer pressure, a sharper bite, pushing just far enough to make my body betray me with small, desperate squirms.
“Good girl,” he groans against my throat, and the words unravel me.
A surge of fresh heat rushes through my body, tangled with fear, want, and something darker I can’t name. I should push him away, but I don’t. I can’t.
I let him hold me still, surrendering completely.
His fangs retract, but his mouth lingers at my throat, as if savoring the last taste. Every fiber of me strains toward release– until he pulls back.
The sudden absence is brutal. My body arches helplessly, chasing his touch, but his hands are already lifting away, leaving my skin stinging with loss.
A sound slips out– half whimper, half protest– and frustration takes hold the second I hear it.
James studies me for a moment, seemingly unbothered by the way he just unraveled me only to deny me everything. His pupils are blown wide, lips stained red.
“You enjoy submission,” he says at last. Not a question, a verdict.
My mouth opens, but no denial comes. My cheeks burn hot, skin tingling everywhere he touched and aching everywhere he didn’t.
He tilts his head, gaze narrowing like I’m a puzzle he’s almost solved. Then he leans in, slow and deliberate, tongue flicking over the last smear of blood at the corner of my mouth. The obscenity of it makes me shudder.
“Soon, my darling,” he murmurs, as though granting mercy I never asked for.
I can’t even look at him. My body trembles, every muscle wound too tight, need pulsing so hard I swear he can hear it.
James straightens, casually adjusting the front of his sweats before stepping back like nothing happened. “Next time, perhaps you’ll remember that we have staff to prepare meals.”
The words are infuriatingly nonchalant– as if he didn’t just pin me down and drink from me until I forgot my own name, leaving me wrecked and trembling on his kitchen counter.
My legs may still be shaking, but I force my chin up, glaring back at him defiantly. “Maybe next time you’ll remember I’m more than just a meal.”
A single brow lifts, dark intrigue sparking in his gaze.
Ozzy suddenly reappears, leaping onto the counter with a fierce hiss and planting himself beside me in solidarity. James flicks him an annoyed glance before his eyes return to mine.
“Use Rapi-Gen on that cut,” he says, gaze dragging over me one last time. “And eat something. You’ll need your strength.”
Before I can even blink, he’s gone, moving through the doorway so fast that his form blurs.
The silence he leaves behind feels cavernous. My chest heaves, my throat burns, and I can’t tell if I’m furious, humiliated, or desperate for more.