Chapter 4 #2
Outside, the city rushes past in a blur of glowing storefronts, flickering signs, and cracked pavement. Matt navigates the streets with easy confidence, his grip shifting on the wheel as he glances back at me every few seconds.
“Does it hurt?” he finally asks.
“What, the bite?”
He jerks a nod.
“Only for a second,” I say, my fingers drifting unconsciously to the pulse point in my neck. “After that, it’s almost… nice.”
“Nice?” he repeats, arching a dubious brow.
I laugh under my breath, trying to figure out how the hell to explain it. “Yeah. It’s a rush, I guess. Your whole body just kinda melts into it.”
His eyes flick to mine again, curious but cautious. He doesn’t push for more details, which is probably for the best, because I still don’t fully understand it myself.
I probably shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do.
Matt shifts the conversation away from vampires after that, and the rest of the drive passes easily. Before long, we’re pulling up in front of a familiar townhouse with low, golden light glowing through the tall windows. Matt shifts the car into park, the engine settling into a soft idle.
“See you in a bit!” I say as I reach for the door handle, already feeling that familiar spark of anticipation humming beneath my skin.
“Be safe,” he murmurs, glancing back at me over his shoulder.
I flash him a quick smile, then slip out into the night.
My heels click against the pavement as I start for the front steps of the townhouse, only making it halfway up before the front door swings open.
Henry’s got the whole silver fox thing mastered to an almost unfair degree. Perfectly combed salt-and-pepper hair, a charcoal suit tailored within an inch of its life, and a jawline that could cut glass.
Yes, daddy.
“Right on time, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping aside to let me in. His voice is smooth and warm in a way that instantly settles the restlessness inside me.
There’s something timeless about Henry. Refined in a way that feels practiced over centuries.
I step into the foyer and immediately relax as the scent of sandalwood wraps around me. The antique furniture and Victorian décor creeped me out the first time I came here– I felt like I wandered into a haunted museum or something– but now, it’s strangely comforting in its familiarity.
Henry leads me into the living room, where a crystal tumbler of whiskey is already waiting on the table beside the chaise lounge. Soft jazz crackles faintly from an old record player in the corner, warm golden light spilling from the lamps around the room.
“You look lovely tonight,” he says, giving me a slow once-over that instantly sends heat creeping into my cheeks.
“You’re too kind,” I reply as I sink onto the chaise, the velvet upholstery impossibly soft against my bare thighs.
He hands me the whiskey, his fingers brushing mine. “Kindness is underrated,” he murmurs, moving to settle into the armchair across from me. “How have you been?”
“Good,” I reply, swirling the whiskey around in the glass before taking a small sip.
He studies me for a moment, then tips his head. “I worry about you.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “You’re the only one, then.”
“I doubt that,” he murmurs, watching me drain nearly half the whiskey in one go. “You remind me of someone I once knew. Someone who had no shortage of admirers.”
I lower my glass, warmth settling in my belly. “Wanting someone and actually caring about them are two very different things.”
“True,” he agrees easily. His gaze drifts over me again, lingering briefly on my bare legs stretched across the chaise before returning to my face. “Any new tattoos to show me?”
“Not this time,” I say with a smile. “Been busy with engagements. Spending less time at the shop.”
“A shame,” he murmurs. “One should never abandon their passions.”
“I’m not abandoning it,” I reply defensively, taking another sip of whiskey. “Just… taking a detour.”
Henry watches me quietly, like he’s trying to see the truth beneath my words. Then he gives a slow nod, accepting it without pushing further.
I finish off the rest of the whiskey in one final swallow, warmth spreading through my chest as I set the empty glass aside. Across from me, Henry rises smoothly to his feet and starts in my direction.
The anticipation hits instantly.
I lean into him on instinct when he settles beside me on the chaise, my body reacting before he’s even touched me. This is our routine: whiskey, easy conversation, then the bite. Predictable in the best possible way.
He lifts a hand, brushing my hair away from the side of my neck with practiced gentleness. His fingers graze my skin as they settle lightly over my pulse, my heartbeat jumping traitorously beneath his touch.
“Are you ready?” he asks softly, always the gentleman.
“Of course,” I breathe.
A faint smile curves his mouth, then his fangs extend with a quiet pop that sends a thrill skittering down my spine. I hold my breath as he leans closer, already knowing what’s coming and craving it like oxygen.
I flinch instinctively when his fangs pierce my skin, but the sting quickly melts into something warmer.
A slow wave of heat unfurls through my body as the venom takes hold, spreading outward from the bite in pulses that light up every nerve ending in their path.
My heart races, lips parting on a breathy gasp.
The sensation sinks deeper, pooling low in my stomach until my entire body feels charged. His hand slides to my waist, keeping me steady as he drinks.
Never rough.
Never greedy.
Always refined.
That’s the thing about Henry– even something as barbaric as a bite somehow feels elegant when he does it.
My fingers curl into the velvet cushion beneath me as warmth floods through my limbs, everything narrowing down to the feel of his mouth at my throat and the rhythmic pull as he feeds.
And, just like always, he stops before I want him to.
The loss hits immediately. A dull ache settles beneath my skin as he withdraws his fangs, his tongue sweeping slowly over the puncture marks to seal them with the enzymes in his saliva.
The gesture sends another involuntary shiver through me.
Then he leans back, his dark eyes meeting mine as his tongue darts out to catch a stray drop of blood at the corner of his mouth.
“Delectable, as always,” he murmurs.
Heat creeps up my neck as I huff out a breathless little laugh. “Glad to be of service.”
And I’d happily service him in other ways, if he ever asked.
But Henry’s never requested more than a simple feed, which is a damn shame.
He gives me a minute to collect myself, his hand remaining steady at my waist while my pulse slowly levels out. Then he rises gracefully to his feet, offering me a hand.
I take it, letting him pull me upright.
“Promise me you’ll try to spend more time on your art this week,” he murmurs as he walks me toward the front door, his palm firm against the small of my back.
“I’ll try,” I say, glancing up at him with a coy little smile.
Henry slips a cash tip into my palm as he opens the door, his gaze briefly flicking toward the black car waiting at the curb before he steps aside to let me pass.
“Until next time, Tiffany.”
“Looking forward to it,” I reply with a wink as I move past him, the front door clicking shut behind me as I start down the townhouse steps.
About halfway, the feeling hits. That unmistakable sensation of being watched.