Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
Iwake to the persistent tickle of whiskers against my chin and the warm, familiar weight of a cat on my chest. Tiny paws knead lazily against my sternum, and my fingers move automatically, stroking through soft fur.
My eyes are still closed, but my senses slowly awaken as consciousness creeps in. Sound first– the rumble of Ozzy’s purr, the faint tick of a clock. Then scent– cedarwood and snow, embedded in the sheets and still clinging to my skin.
James.
I inhale deeply, breathing in that scent like it’s mine to keep, allowing myself to just sink into it for a moment.
When I finally blink my eyes open, reality crashes down.
The bed is empty except for me and Ozzy.
There’s no large masculine figure lying beside me, no piercing blue eyes watching.
No evidence he’s even been here except for the way his scent lingers, curling around me like smoke and whispered fragments of memory.
I don’t recall when James left, or how Ozzy got back into the room, or even how and when I fell asleep. All I remember is him. His hands on my body, his fangs in my flesh, his voice rumbling in my ear like gravel and sin.
I shift my weight, sucking in a breath through my teeth at the twinge of pain the movement elicits.
Every muscle in my body is sore, but in the best way, a reminder of how completely James wrecked me last night.
It was both everything and nothing like I imagined– filthy and raw, erotic and primal.
Heat pools low in my belly at the thought, and then, just as quickly, unease slithers in.
I gave in too easily. Enjoyed it too much. Indulged in the fantasy as if it could actually become my new reality.
I press my palms to my face, trying to scrub away the memory, but it floods back anyway– the way he manhandled my body, the sharp sting of his bites, the way I surrendered completely and shamelessly begged for more.
I swore I wouldn’t lose myself in this world, but that’s exactly what’s happening.
I’m slowly losing touch with reality while cushioned in the ease of luxury living, chasing the thrill of danger, experiencing the kind of pleasure that I never knew could exist outside of fiction.
I’m slowly losing myself to this place; to him. And it terrifies me.
I throw the covers off with a frustrated groan, sore muscles protesting as I push myself upright. The room spins, bright spots pulsing at the edges of my vision. Cool air skims over my bare skin, and that’s when I realize I’m completely naked.
When did that happen?
My cheeks flame even though there’s no one here to see me– which is ridiculous considering an entire room of people got an eyeful last night. But I was a different person then. I was Marilyn. Today, I’m back to being Taylor, and Taylor’s got a whole lot more shame.
Forcing my body to move, I crawl out of bed, muscles burning under the effort.
Hamstrings, glutes, even the shallow flexors in my hip joints– all shredded by hours of rough handling.
The ache between my legs is raw and tender, every tiny movement a reminder of the way I was both worshipped and ruined by a vampire king.
I try to ignore the pain as I pad across the floor to the en-suite bathroom. The mirror waits in judgment, and I almost don’t look. Almost.
Then I do, and my reflection doesn’t lie.
Bruises bloom around my hips in deep blues and purples, fingerprints branded into my flesh.
Bite marks dot the hollow of my neck and the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
My hair’s a disaster, the low bun I styled last night half undone and drooping onto my shoulder.
I look absolutely wrecked. Thoroughly claimed. Owned.
Panic flares brightly in my chest at the realization that the game has now changed. Before, it was all nervous anticipation, the thrill of chasing the unknown. Now, I know exactly what it feels like to belong to James Devereaux– and how terrifyingly easy it is to get lost in that feeling.
I tear my gaze away from the mirror and twist the shower on, stepping under the spray before I can think too hard about it and spiral even further. Hot water needles over my skin, coaxing the ache from my muscles, but it does nothing to wash away the unease curling in my gut.
By the time I step out, I feel no steadier.
I towel off, then snatch up the little tube of Rapi-Gen cream from the counter, dabbing it carefully over each bite mark on my skin.
I know I should be grateful for how fast it works, but the way the marks vanish within hours almost makes me feel like I imagined them.
And maybe that’s worse.
Back in the bedroom, I tug on black tights and a soft gray sweater dress, covering up the bruises and scraping myself into some version of decency. My phone waits on the nightstand, screen dark. When I tap it awake, the clock indicates it’s already afternoon.
Apparently last night’s activities required a half day of recovery.
Opening up my contact list, I scroll to Bex’s name, thumb hovering.
I need to hear her voice. It’s the only thing that’ll ground me, remind me of who I really am. But if I call… she’ll know. She’ll hear how rattled I am in a single word and start demanding answers I’m not prepared to give.
This isn’t a conversation I can have over the phone, so I settle for a text instead.
Hey stranger, what are you up to today? I’ve got a ridiculously big allowance and need someone to help me spend it.
I tack on a smiley face I don’t feel and hit send, holding my breath.
Her response flashes across the screen almost instantly.
Bex
Hell yes! Buy me pretty things, sugar mama. Where are we meeting?
Relief unwinds a tight knot in my chest as I tap out a reply.
Pick you up at your place in 20?
Perfect! See you soon, bitch!
As I slide my phone into my purse, I already feel a little bit lighter. Now I just have to figure out how to arrange a ride.
Slinging my purse over a shoulder, I tug on a pair of black leather riding boots and head for the door.
As soon as I pull it open, Ozzy darts out past my ankles in a flash of fur and rebellion, nails clicking against the polished wood as he barrels toward the kitchen.
His little body disappears around the corner like a shadow before I’ve even stepped over the threshold, and I can’t help but feel a little pang of envy watching his gleeful escape.
If only my life were as simple as chasing my next meal.
I step out into the hall and start toward the sweeping staircase, making my way downstairs slower than usual.
Each step is a reminder of the tender ache coiled in my thighs and hips, my fingers curling tightly around the banister to steady myself.
Below, the grand foyer stretches out, the floor awash with watercolor sunlight streaming in through stained glass.
My timing is perfect, because a member of the household staff happens to be crossing the foyer just as I reach the last few steps. She’s older, dressed in all black with salt-and-pepper hair woven into a tight braid.
“Hi!” I call out, prompting her to stop in her tracks and pivot toward me with a polite smile.
“Miss Holt,” she greets warmly, clasping her hands in front of her. “Do you need assistance with something?”
“Actually, yeah,” I breathe, shifting my purse strap up my shoulder. “Could you call me a car? I need to go downtown.”
Her smile falters a little, brow creasing. “Of course, but… well, I should probably check with Mr. Devereaux…”
I stiffen, fingernails biting into the leather strap of my purse. “I’m not a prisoner here, am I?” I ask, suddenly feeling a whole hell of a lot like I might be.
Color rises to her cheeks. “No, of course not!” she rushes to reply, shaking her head. “It’s just… well, with Mr. Devereaux’s position, there are security protocols for when he leaves the estate. As his donor, I assume those extend to you.”
“There’s no need to disturb him,” I insist, my voice steady despite the way my heart is hammering. Straightening my spine, I tip my chin in the same way I’ve seen James do, trying to project a similar air of authority. “Arrange the car, please. I don’t want to be late.”
Remarkably, it actually works. The woman dips her head and murmurs, “Right away, Miss Holt,” before she hurries off, footsteps soft and quick on the marble.
I dart a glance around the foyer as she disappears from sight, exhaling a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding.
Shit, maybe I’m starting to fit in around here better than I thought.
The ride into the city is a blur of gray skies and even grayer buildings.
My knee bounces anxiously the entire way, keeping time with the nervous beating of my heart.
By the time the car pulls up outside Bex’s apartment building, I’ve rehearsed at least a dozen versions of how I’ll smile, greet her, and try to act passably normal.
All of that goes out the window the moment I see her.
Bex bursts out of the building just as I’m reaching for my phone, oversized sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose and a devilish grin stretching her lips.
The driver gets out to open the car door for her, but she beats him to it, plopping onto the seat beside me like she owns it and yanking the door shut to seal us inside.
“Oh my god, chauffeur service now?” she laughs, sliding her sunglasses up to rest atop her head. “Who even are you?”
“Don’t get used to it,” I say with a wry chuckle.
Her smile fades as her eyes flick over me. “You seem weird. What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t sleep great,” I lie, turning toward the window as the car eases away from the curb.
“Uh huh,” she deadpans, not buying my bullshit for a second. “How many drinks is it gonna take for you to spill? Should we just go straight to the bar?”
I turn back toward her with a slow exhale. “At least three, but we’re shopping first. I need to do something that feels normal.”
Bex snorts a laugh. “Normal? As if we’re the type who could ever afford retail therapy.”