Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Ican practically taste the money in the air as I stand beneath a glittering chandelier in the grand ballroom of the Orpheum hotel, the stems of a million crystal droplets humming above my head.
My slinky red dress clings in all the right places– at least according to the team of stylists who spent three hours prepping me– and I swear the fabric is magic with the way it seems to shimmer and vanish depending on how it catches the light.
I’ve already polished off two glasses of champagne, the bubbles prickling my tongue as I watch the endless swirl of bodies around me.
Vampires in tuxedos and gowns; donors dressed up in every flavor of red.
I haven’t seen so many beautiful people in one place since the last donor gala I attended– or so many predators.
For the past hour, I’ve been pretending not to be bothered by the weight of stares from those who’d like to be me, devour me, or kill me.
This isn’t the first event I’ve attended as James Devereaux’s shiny new donor, but I’m still not used to the attention being on his arm garners. I doubt I’ll ever be.
The vampire king hasn’t left my side all night.
He’s dressed in one of his expensive suits– crisp black with burgundy lapels– the tailored lines making him look both lethal and obscenely expensive.
His hand rests possessively at my hip, and every time I shift my weight, he adjusts with me, as if we’re locked together by an invisible thread.
I hate how much I like it.
Since Dr. Faulkner’s visit, we’ve slowly fallen back into our old patterns.
He feeds, then fucks me into oblivion, making me come so hard that I forget all the reasons why I shouldn’t trust him.
I’m probably playing the world’s most dangerous game of chicken, but I can’t control how damn attracted I am to James Devereaux.
Despite everything, I still want him; still come apart beneath his touch every time.
If he’s the king of vamps, I’m the queen of bad decisions.
My eyes glaze over as I stare out at the dance floor, contemplating how the hell I got tangled up in this mess to begin with. It was just supposed to be about money, but now… god, it’s so much more than that. Way more than I have the emotional bandwidth to process.
“Are you alright?” James murmurs, the low rumble of his voice vibrating through me. He’s leaning in so close that I can feel his lips against my ear when he speaks, but tonight, it doesn’t send a chill down my spine. It feels… safe.
Or maybe I’m just drunk enough to believe it.
“I’m great,” I chirp, draining the rest of my champagne in a single gulp and flicking a glance up at him over my shoulder. “Who wouldn’t want to spend an evening as arm candy for the King of the Undead?”
His lips curve in a rare smile. “You know that’s not my title, darling.”
I set the empty glass down on a passing waiter’s tray, then fold my arms across my chest, aching for something solid to hold onto. Like him.
“It should be,” I fire back. “It rolls off the tongue a lot easier than the Latin version. Sanga…” I trail off before I can butcher the pronunciation.
“Sanguinis Rex,” he supplies, voice silky smooth.
“It sounds so much fancier when you say it,” I huff, pouting my lip. “Guess only a beautiful dead man can do a beautiful dead language justice.”
He cocks a brow. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“You know you’re beautiful,” I scoff.
James gazes down at me thoughtfully, thumb gliding along the exposed skin at my waist, courtesy of the cutouts in my dress. “No beauty in this room compares to yours, mea dulcis,” he croons.
A smirk tugs at my lips. “Is that why you really keep me around? To make the other vampires jealous?”
“No, but it’s definitely a perk,” he replies, banding an arm around my waist and drawing me in closer. He hooks his chin over my shoulder, voice rumbling in my ear. “I like seeing the way they look at you, wishing they could have you but knowing they never will. Knowing you’re only mine.”
Heat licks up my spine, my pulse kicking up a notch. “Hate to break it to you, but it isn’t me they’re looking at. You’re the main attraction here, your highness. I’m just an accessory.”
“Hardly,” he murmurs.
“It’s true,” I insist, sinking back into him despite myself. “If I wasn’t on your arm, I wouldn’t be getting all this attention.”
“As I recall, you sometimes enjoy being the center of attention,” he muses, fingertips trailing up my side. “You come alive with the right audience.”
I swallow thickly, suddenly far too flustered to be standing this close to him. Luckily, a passing waiter gives me the perfect excuse to step away. Snatching a fresh flute of champagne off his tray, I try my best to ignore the flush climbing up my neck as I take a greedy sip.
The two of us stand in silence for a while, watching the mingling of monsters and their prey.
I spot a few familiar faces– Sam, Audrey, Lucien– but no Bex tonight.
She’d already committed to a date with the hot bartender she was telling me about last time we went shopping, and she seemed so excited about it that I didn’t have the heart to beg her to cancel for my sake.
At some point, James’ hand returns to rest on my waist, tightening slightly when a group of vamps saunter past. One of the men glances my way, lips parting in a smile that’s all teeth and no warmth.
I meet his gaze unflinchingly, while James’ hand shifts, fingers digging into the curve of my hip as subtle warning to the others: mine.
I should hate that. I do, on principle. But for tonight. I’ll let myself pretend that it’s enough to be wanted by the most desirable man in the room, even if it’s doomed to end in heartache.
I lose track of time in the soft glow of chandeliers and the endless parade of gorgeous people.
Every time I try to drift away from James, he reels me back in, the command in his touch impossible to ignore.
At some point, I stop fighting it, letting myself be carried on the current of his attention.
We work the room together, and I take his cues on when to speak, when to move, when to refresh my drink…
That’s the scariest part. Not how much power he holds over me, but how good it feels to let go and allow him to take the reins.
We’re just edging toward the dance floor when all eyes suddenly pivot to the entrance.
Elliott Faulkner enters, looking sharp in his three-piece suit with his black-framed glasses glinting under the lights.
I perk up at the sight of him, searching the sea of faces for Anna, but I don’t find her. He’s alone.
Our interaction in the library replays in my mind– the way she looked at me with raw, human fear when she delivered her warning.
You should get out while you still can.
Is it possible we were overheard, that her absence tonight has something to do with me? I clutch the stem of my champagne glass hard enough to hurt.
James’ hand drops from my waist, his attention zeroed in on Elliott’s approach. Dr. Faulkner strides straight toward us, the crowd parting for him, every donor and vamp alike captivated by the sight of a celebrity in their midst. When he finally enters our orbit, he inclines his head to James.
“Can we have a word?”
James glances down at me, expression unreadable. “I’ll be right back.”
I paste on a smile that I hope reads as confident and not panicked. “I’ll be here, trying not to get eaten alive.”
He hesitates for a beat, then jerks a nod, turning to follow his friend into the depths of the ballroom.
The instant he’s gone, the illusion shatters. I’m not safe here. Alone in a room of monsters, I’m reduced to prey.
I grab another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and drain half of it. My hand is shaking a little, so I steady myself against a gilded pillar, using it as a shield to catch my breath and scan the room.
Everywhere I look, vamps are feeding. Some discreetly, some not.
In a far corner, a woman lets her donor’s wrist dangle between sips, blood trailing down her fingers like a string of rubies.
A man in a white suit leans over the neck of a girl in red, her eyes rolling back with a mix of pain and pleasure as he feeds from her neck.
Nobody seems at all bothered by what’s happening around them.
Here, violence is just another kind of currency.
I try not to speculate as to what James and Elliott might be talking about.
Maybe Anna’s right, and I’m in over my head.
Maybe the doctor discovered something about my blood and wants to turn me into his next lab rat.
I want to tell myself that James wouldn’t allow that to happen, but he did agree to Elliott taking my blood sample in the first place…
I set the half-empty flute on the nearest tray and slip into the crowd, letting the bodies buffer me from the anxiety chewing through my chest. I want to find James, to ground myself with his touch and hear his voice, even if it’s just to scold me for wandering off.
Instead, I find Sebastian.
He’s leaning against the bar, swirling something red in a crystal glass while looking bored out of his skull.
The brief engagement we had feels like a lifetime ago, but he’s exactly as I remember– hollow cheeks, movie star stubble, and the same glint of arrogance in his eye.
The only difference is that tonight, he’s a frat boy in a suit, the tie undone and the shirt half unbuttoned.
His dark eyes glint with recognition when he spots me, immediately abandoning his glass and pushing off from the bar to stride in my direction.
Shit. The last time I chatted it up with a former client at one of these things, James swooped in to claim me like the world’s scariest caveman. Which… now that I think about it actually doesn’t sound like the worst thing. At least it’d give me some clue as to where we truly stand.