Chapter 22 #2
“And here I thought you were the pickiest among us,” the female vamp purrs, her bright green eyes snapping to me.
She’s got fiery hair and a mouth made for cruelty, the sheer fabric of her black dress leaving nothing to the imagination.
“She must be delicious,” she adds, gaze cutting over me with slow, predatory delight.
“She is,” James agrees, his hand closing around my hip possessively.
“Don’t be greedy, then,” another man drawls, leaning forward with a grin that shows the faint flash of fang. “Give us a taste.”
James’ expression doesn’t change, but his grip on my hip tightens. “She is mine,” he repeats, the words cracking like a whip.
The woman rolls her eyes and turns away, already bored, while the men chuckle and lift their glasses in lazy acknowledgement.
Apparently James takes that as our cue to move on, because his hand presses to the small of my back again, urging me deeper into the room. We don’t make it far before a man and woman intercept us– both stunning, both radiating that beautiful, dark timelessness that screams vampire.
“James,” the woman greets, gliding forward to press a kiss to each of his cheeks, quick and practiced. She glances my way as she steps back, eyes narrowing. “Who’s the blood bag?”
“Marilyn is my exclusive donor,” James drawls, a flicker of possessiveness tightening his voice. “Her blood is mine.”
She titters a laugh, waving him off. “Yes, yes, we all heard you the first time.” Her eyes slide back to me, amusement curling her plum-painted lips. “Lucky girl.”
I offer a tight smile, unsure whether I’m supposed to bow or curtsy or thank her. I’m tempted to flip her the bird, but I somehow doubt that’ll go over well.
“Marilyn, meet Maximus and Aurelia,” James cuts in, saving me from myself. “The king and queen of the Upper Midwest.”
Aurelia extends a hand, her coffin-shaped nails polished matte black.
“It’s a pleasure, your majesty,” I say as I take it, figuring I’m better off overdoing the respect than risking a faux pas.
Her lips curve faintly. “I’m sure. Brave of you, to willingly step into a room of monsters.”
“Don’t scare her off, my love,” Maximus chuckles, voice a rolling baritone. “They only just arrived.”
Aurelia scoffs a laugh. “I’m sure James has broken her in properly.”
I’d be annoyed by the implication if I wasn’t so distracted by the nearest donor on the table– a pale boy no older than twenty with three vampires latched onto him.
One’s at his throat, another at his wrist, the last between his thighs.
His eyes are glazed, dick standing at attention, mouth slack with pleasure or shock or both.
James exchanges a few more pleasantries with the royal pair, then steers me away, his touch a steady anchor against the chaos as we make our way around the room.
He introduces me to the king of the Lower Midwest– a stoic man with a face carved from granite and a handshake that could pulverize bone– then to the queen of the Northwest, a statuesque woman whose eyes are so black they seem painted on.
There’s a rhythm to it, a circuit of power and politeness, but I can barely track the words exchanged. The air hums with low voices, wet feeding sounds, and the soft, obscene music of pleasure. Bodies shift and writhe on the table; others entwine in the shadows, lost to appetite.
Heat pools low in my belly as I take it all in, revulsion and fascination twining together, impossible to separate.
James seems to sense my distraction. Every few steps, his hand grazes the small of my back or tightens briefly on my arm– just enough pressure to remind me that I’m not alone. A reassurance that I’m safe, so long as he’s with me.
The air feels warped somehow. Too thick, too alive. Perfume and smoke mingle with copper and sex until it’s impossible to tell one from the other. Somewhere nearby, a donor moans– a low, breathy sound that cuts through the chatter. I follow the sound before I can stop myself, eyes widening.
A leggy brunette is splayed out at the head of the table, her body trembling while a vamp drinks from her wrist and thrusts into her with feverish rhythm.
Blood gleams at his mouth, the dark stain spreading as he licks the wound on her wrist closed, then laughs in delight, driving harder into her until she cries out.
The sight hits me like vertigo, my pulse tripping over itself.
I tear my gaze away, but the room doesn’t relent. Every corner holds another scene, another gasp or shudder, until I feel like I’m drowning in it.
James must realize I’m two seconds from losing my shit, because rather than continuing his circuit of the room, he suddenly steers me into a shadowed alcove. Crowding me back against the wall, he raises a brow in question, silent but attentive.
“Sorry, this is… a lot,” I whisper, resting a palm against his chest to ground myself as I gaze up at him through my eyelashes. “I feel like everyone here’s looking at me like I’m a snack on the menu.”
His eyes darken as he leans in closer, face hovering right above mine. “You’re not on the menu, mea dulcis,” he growls, voice roughened at the edges. “You’re with me.”
The weight of his possessiveness wraps around me like armor, the declaration settling me more than it should.
“I… I think maybe I just need some air,” I croak.
He nods once, slipping an arm around my waist and swiftly guiding me from the alcove toward a side door off the dining room.
There’s a cluster of vampires right beside it, circled around a woman in gold, her presence seemingly pulling them in like gravity.
She’s older than the rest, at least in appearance– silver threads through her dark hair, faint lines creasing the corners of her mouth.
There’s nothing maternal about her, though.
Her eyes gleam like polished sapphires, and her fingers glitter with enough jewels to buy the room twice over.
“James Devereaux,” she drawls, halting him in his steps before we can make it past. “What a delight. And you’ve brought a companion.”
James swivels in her direction, bowing his head in deference. “High Councilor.”
Her mouth curves, revealing the faintest flash of fang.
“Lilith,” she corrects. “No need for titles tonight.” Her attention shifts my way, the weight of it enough to make me squirm.
“Our James has a reputation, you know,” she muses.
“Never drinks from the same human twice. Yet here you are.” She cocks her head, blue eyes studying me with cool amusement. “What’s your secret?”
I glance up at James, searching for some kind of cue, but his expression is schooled into a blank mask.
“Just lucky, I guess,” I manage, shifting my weight uncomfortably.
Her responding smile is equal parts humor and warning. “Indeed,” she hums, turning back to James. “Have you finally settled for mediocrity like the rest of us, or is this one special?”
“She’s chosen,” he states.
My belly flips. It’s not just what he says– it’s how he says it, absolute and unwavering.
Lilith narrows her eyes, inclining her chin. “Chosen by whom?”
“By me,” he replies simply. “Who else?” His hand brushes my hip, drawing me closer.
She studies me for a beat longer, then apparently decides I’m not worth her time, dismissing us with a curt nod and turning back to her hangers-on. But James’ word choice hums under my skin like electricity.
Nobody has ever chosen me before. Not my parents, who died and left me to the state. Not the foster families who treated me like a defective rental. Not the boyfriends who drifted in and out, always searching for someone shinier, easier, less broken.
But James did.
I don’t know if it’s a comfort or a curse, but my throat tightens with anxiety nonetheless.
He guides me away from the press of bodies with a strange sort of urgency, the two of us slipping out the side door and into a narrow hallway. Once we’re alone, he pauses, turning to face me.
“That was the High Councilor of North America,” he says, voice pitched low. “You handled yourself well.”
His praise sinks into me like sunlight through cold water. I look up at him, dazed, still reeling from the noise and the stares and the taste of power hanging in the air.
“Come.” He brushes his thumb across my cheek, the world narrowing to that single point of contact. “Let’s get you some air.”
I put up zero resistance as he leads me further away from the bloody spectacle of the feast, passing dark, vacant rooms before arriving at a pair of French doors at the end of the hall.
He pushes them open and guides me onto a private balcony, the air outside so crisp and cold that it instantly clears away the fog in my head.
A fire pit flickers at the far end, flames painting restless shadows across two black sofas and a low marble table.
Beyond the railing, the forest stretches in every direction, silvered and still beneath the moonlight.
James leads me over to the nearest sofa and sits, drawing me down beside him. His arm slips around my shoulders, and I lean in– half for comfort, half for warmth. We just sit there for a while, watching the fire spit and crackle as I try to gather the scattered pieces of myself.
“You seem overwhelmed,” he eventually says, thumb tracing slow circles on my bare shoulder.
“I am,” I admit.
He studies me for a moment, expression unreadable. “Another lesson, darling. Never let them see your fear. Vampires tend to be aroused by the scent of it.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “I can’t exactly turn that off.”
His mouth curves in the ghost of a smile. “You’re tougher than you look, Taylor.”
Something in the way he says it– the absolute conviction– makes me want to believe him. Makes me want to lean even closer, let him be the shield between me and everything that hungers for a pound of my flesh.
It’s a dangerous feeling.