Chapter 30 #2
This is what it means to be chosen.
“You’re a good man,” I say softly, hoping it doesn’t sound as corny out loud as it does in my head.
A smile curves his lips. His hand comes to rest at my hip as I turn back to Bex.
“Can’t wait!” I say brightly.
She takes a sip of champagne, eyes sweeping the crowd. “Is that guy European too?” she asks, tipping her glass. “He’s got a serious staring problem.”
I follow her gaze and spot Elliott leaning against a pillar, eyes locked on us. He doesn’t even bother pretending not to stare when we catch him.
“You don’t recognize Dr. Faulkner?” I laugh, elbowing her. “He’s super famous, babe.”
She scrunches her nose. “The slutty little glasses are kinda cute. Though he looks like he could dissect me with a salad fork.”
“Don’t tempt him,” James murmurs. “He’s been known to use less.”
Bex cackles, then loops her arm through mine. “Introduce me?”
“Sure,” I laugh.
The three of us cross the dance floor, eyes following us the whole way. When we reach Elliott, he straightens, inclining his head in greeting.
“You’re the one who invented the instant-heal cream, aren’t you?” Bex blurts, as if she’s just connected the dots.
Elliott just stares at her.
“That stuff is like black magic,” she gushes, ignoring his silence. “Can you invent something to heal period cramps that fast? Because I’d buy a gallon.”
He continues to stare at her blankly.
“Wow. Talkative,” Bex snorts.
I elbow her, but she just keeps boldly staring back at Dr. Faulkner, still awaiting an answer. The weirdest part is that he hasn’t looked away– the dude usually has serious eye-contact issues when he’s up close.
“If you’re looking for a donor tonight, this one’s more trouble than she’s worth,” James interjects.
“Hey!” Bex protests.
I bite back a laugh. Bex and James may snipe at each other, but I swear they’re slowly becoming almost… friendly. It’s adorable.
“Did I hear you’re looking for a donor?” a smooth feminine voice asks, and I turn to see Francesca gliding toward us in a red dress that probably cost more than my old apartment, her dark hair slicked into a severe twist.
“I was actually just leaving,” Elliott mutters, tossing back the rest of his drink. He finally shifts his gaze from Bex to James. “You know I can never last very long at these things.”
“Thank you for making an appearance,” James says diplomatically. “Still planning to come for dinner next week?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he replies eagerly, eyes bright.
Dr. Faulkner has been coming by every week to check in on our bond, fascinated by each new development. Since we have to keep it secret from everyone else, it’s kinda nice to have friends that are in on it and we can be ourselves around.
He steps away, melting into the crowd, while Fran drifts closer.
“Congratulations,” she says, gaze flicking between James and me. “I just heard about the upcoming merger. Are you both available to debrief Monday?”
James now involves me in all things Bite-related, which I don’t mind at all, given his history with Francesca.
“Of course,” he answers curtly. “We’ll come to you.”
She nods, catching his dismissive tone, then drifts away, leaving the three of us alone. Not for long– two blinks later, Lucien approaches.
“Sire,” he murmurs, bowing his head to James in deference.
“Lucien,” James replies, voice edged with warning.
Lucien dips his head to me next, though he doesn’t meet my eyes. Whether out of respect for James or the fear of being the only other vampire alive who’s tasted me, it’s probably for the best.
“Hi,” Bex chirps, stepping forward and offering her hand.
Lucien’s lips quirk in a grin and he takes it, bringing it to his lips and bushing a kiss across her knuckles.
“Tiffany,” she purrs, fluttering her lashes.
Uh oh. I know that look. She thinks he’s cute.
“It’s a pleasure,” Lucien drawls, releasing her hand. His gaze slides down her figure, catching on the silver bracelet at her wrist. “Are you on the menu tonight, beautiful?”
Bex cocks a hip, biting her lip seductively. “I could be.”
The two of them peel off, and James’ hand slides into mine. He squeezes gently– a steady anchor in the sea of bodies and noise.
My own bracelet is long gone, replaced with the glittering five-carat diamond on my ring finger. A hell of an upgrade, if you ask me.
The music shifts, strings swelling as the orchestra prepares for the first formal dance of the evening. James bows in an exaggerated, mocking gesture, and I curtsy back because I know it amuses him when I indulge his old-timey antics.
We take the floor. For the next three minutes, it’s just the two of us. The rest of the word falls away– the politics, the predatory smiles, even the crush of bodies at the edge of the floor. A hundred eyes watch us, and they’re not just watching their king tonight.
They’re watching their queen.
Hours later, the ballroom has shed its glamour like a snake shrugging off dead skin.
The string quartet is gone, replaced by a playlist that leaves much to be desired.
The air in here is a cocktail of expensive perfumes, spilled wine, and the iron tang of blood.
Many of the donors now have smeared lipstick or bite marks, while the vamps bare their fangs with abandon and press their mouths to flesh openly, forgetting manners and reverting to their baser instincts.
Not long ago, the sight of public feedings made me shiver and shrink. Now, I barely register it as anything more than ambiance. Maybe that means I’ve gotten in too deep. Or maybe it just means I finally know which world I belong to.
I linger at the edge of the party, watching James entertain a trio of European investors.
He’s in full host mode– charming, sly, every move calculated for maximum impact.
I can’t help admiring the way he shifts between dialects, his voice dropping to a seductive hush as he steers the conversation.
He glances up and catches me staring, his lips parting in the barest suggestion of a smile, eyes dark with promise.
A warm hand closes over my shoulder. “It’s dying down,” Bex sighs, appearing at my side with fresh bite marks at her throat. Her lipstick is half-erased, but her green eyes are sharp as ever. “You holding up?”
I nod, looping an arm around her waist. “Are you kidding? I’m thriving. I could stay up all night.”
She snorts a laugh. “You say that now, but wait till the hangover hits.” She pokes me in the ribs, then narrows her eyes, casting a quick glance over the ballroom. “Where’s your vampire overlord?”
“Glad you asked,” James murmurs, seemingly materializing from out of nowhere. Bex startles, but I just sink into him as he steps up behind me, banding an arm around my waist and drawing me back into his chest. “Ready to head out?”
“Uh, yeah,” Bex says, backing up and throwing a thumb over her shoulder. “You two be gross. I’m gonna get going.”
She quickly flees, blending into the crowd before I can even give her a proper goodbye.
“Aw, is playtime over?” I pout, glancing up at James over my shoulder.
He smiles, slow and wicked. “Oh, darling. It’s just beginning.”
He guides me through the thinning masses, across the open foyer and up the grand staircase.
The lights are dim up on the balcony, shadows pooling in the corners.
Below, the party seethes on, but the intensity of James’ presence makes everything but him fade to background noise.
He draws me to the edge of a railing cloaked in shadow, chest pressed against my back, his body enveloping mine.
I rest my head against his shoulder and for a moment, we just stand there in silence, watching the night unfold beneath us.
It’s beautiful. It’s monstrous. It’s ours.
His hand settles at the small of my back, fingers splaying across the bare skin left exposed by my dress. “You’re enjoying yourself,” he murmurs. Not a question, a statement.
“Is it that obvious?” I tease, glancing up at him.
He chuckles softly. “You’ve come a long way.”
“Thank you for noticing,” I purr, arching my spine against him.
There’s a lull in the music below, a shudder of anticipation rolling through the crowd as the next song builds. I glance down, surprised at how many faces are turned upward; how many eyes are seeking us up here in the dark.
James leans in even closer, the weight of him settling against me. “You know,” he drawls, “Every person in this room wants you. Your body…” he trails off, tracing the curve of my breast with his fingertips. “Your blood…” he leans in, lips grazing my throat.
A shock of want ripples through me, so intense my knees nearly buckle. He steadies me with a hand at my waist, my hands gripping the ledge, the diamond on my ring finger glittering even in the dark.
“Are you going to bite me right here?” I whisper.
He laughs, the sound curling around my nerves like a velvet rope. “Not unless you ask nicely.”
I consider it for a moment, but there’s something else I want even more.
“Touch me,” I breathe.
He shifts behind me, hands sliding up my sides. They ghost over my ribs, curve around my breasts, then trail down to grip my hips. I can feel the weight of stares on us from below, anticipation building as he slips a hand inside the slit in my skirt.
Tugging the back panel up, he exposes the backs of my thighs to the air, inch by inch. I suck in a gasp, eyes darting down to the crowd below, but James holds me in place with a firm, commanding grip.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, breathless.
He leans down and presses his cheek to mine, our faces side by side, gazing out over the ballroom. “Giving you what you want, darling.”
Panic rises up in me, followed by the instinct to protest, but I immediately shove it down. I’m not ashamed. I want to be seen.
I grip the ledge, knuckles whitening, as his fingers trace the seam of my panties. Black lace– his favorite. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband and slides them down to mid-thigh, leaving me bare beneath my dress.
The exposure is electric. I can feel eyes on me, real or imagined, and my heart hammers so loud I’m sure everyone below can hear it. James’ hand finds the small of my back and presses me gently forward to lean over the stone, ass perched just so.
He unzips his slacks with a sound so soft I’d miss it if I wasn’t newly gifted with enhanced hearing. I crane my neck, glancing over my shoulder to catch the flash of his grin in the darkness.
“Bend a little more for me,” he commands, tipping his head.
I obey, breath coming in short, sharp bursts as I brace myself against the railing. My skin is on fire, every nerve ending dialed up to eleven.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, sliding a hand between my thighs and teasing along the slickness already gathering there.
I bite my lip to stifle a moan as he replaces his fingers with the velvety head of his cock, nudging at my entrance before slowly pushing inside.
It’s different like this– public, forbidden, the risk of exposure thrumming in my veins alongside the pleasure.
He fucks me slow at first, each stroke measured and deep, designed to tease rather than satisfy.
I try to keep quiet, but it’s hopeless– the whimpers and gasps escape me, lost somewhere amongst the music as they float over the crowd below.
I glance down, and in that instant, I catch someone looking up. Francesca Fox. Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles, sharp and knowing.
Instead of shame, I feel a burst of power.
Let them all watch. Let them know who I belong to, and that James Devereaux belongs to me.
He grips my hips harder, his own restraint starting to fray. I can sense it in the way his breath grows ragged, the way he pulls me back against him with every thrust.
In the privacy of my mind, I hear his voice break through.
Mine.
You’re mine, Taylor.
Say it.
I bite my lip, swallowing the moan that threatens to break free. “I’m yours,” I choke.
He ruts into me harder, the rhythm losing all pretense of control. I’m so close– so fucking close– that it takes everything not to collapse. He’s right there with me, his own need a fever pitch that pours through the bond, flooding my senses with white-hot hunger.
Come for me, he orders, the command a spike of pleasure in my brain.
And I do.
I come so hard I nearly black out, stars bursting behind my eyes as every muscle in my body tenses, then lets go. James buries himself deep, following me right over the edge. The world constricts to a single point of contact– our bodies, locked together and on display.
We stay like that for a long moment, the party below fading to white noise. Eventually, he pulls out and tucks himself back into his slacks, tugging the back of my dress down to cover me. Then he draws me back against his chest, wrapping his arms snugly around my waist.
“Did you enjoy that, mea dulcis?” he murmurs, brushing a kiss to my temple.
I laugh, breathless and dazed. “Clearly. Did you?”
He nips my earlobe. “Immensely.”
We linger on the balcony, watching the crowd thin and just soaking up the moment. I feel untouchable– high on adrenaline, sex, and the simple, astonishing fact of my survival. This is my world now. These are my people. This is my monster, and I am his.
James rests his chin on my shoulder, eyes fixed on the threads of dawn creeping at the horizon through the windows. “You’re not afraid anymore,” he says.
“No,” I agree. “I’m not.”
He kisses the side of my neck, soft and reverent. “Good. I want you fearless. You’ve stepped into your power, regina mea.”
My queen. That’s what he told me it means in Latin, and I basically melted into a puddle when he did.
We stand together in the dying light, and for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m trespassing in someone else’s story. I belong here; to him. I’m not just surviving in danger, I’m thriving. And the night is over, but our story isn’t.
It’s only just beginning, and we’ve got forever to go.