Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
The weirdest part about my best friend living here isn’t that it looks like a castle. It’s not even that it’s filled with actual servants, or that she’s residing with a vampire king she’s blood-bonded to. No, the strangest thing of all is that instead of a guard dog, Taylor has an attack cat.
As soon as we step through the door, Ozzy launches himself at us from out of nowhere– or more specifically, at Elliott.
The cat hits the polished floor in a streak of black fur and misplaced confidence, hissing as he claws at the leg of Elliott’s suit pants. The man barely reacts. He just flicks an annoyed glance downward and brushes Ozzy away with the nonchalance of removing a piece of lint from his jacket.
The cat immediately comes back for round two.
This time, Elliott stares him down and pops out his fangs, which is evidently enough to send Oz running for the hills. He lets out an offended screech and bolts up the staircase, his back arched and fur standing on end as he disappears around the landing.
“And here I thought he only did that to James,” I muse, chuckling as I watch after Ozzy with amusement.
Elliott retracts his fangs and straightens one of his cuffs. “Cats and vampires have always been at odds.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Why?”
“They recognize us as predators.”
I turn toward him, arching a dubious brow. “You’re saying house cats are challenging vampires for dominance?”
“Essentially.”
I snort. “That might be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
One corner of his mouth twitches. He holds my gaze for a beat, lips parting like he’s about to say something else. I almost wait to hear it, but then the memory of our conversation in the car resurfaces, along with the raw sting of his jabs.
Right.
I’m still mad at him.
I huff out an annoyed breath and turn away before he can say whatever was on his mind. Thankfully, before the silence settles into something awkward, Taylor’s cheerful voice cuts down the hall.
“You’re here!”
I turn to see her poking her head out of the dining room doorway, grinning so wide I can’t help but smile back.
“I’m here!” I chirp, holding out my arms.
She laughs and starts toward me.
It’s honestly unfair that she gets more beautiful every time I see her. The girl is practically glowing, cream-colored silk gliding over her skin as she moves and her chestnut hair styled in glossy waves that bounce with every step.
Maybe it’s immortality.
Maybe it’s the blood bond.
Or maybe she’s just God’s favorite.
James follows her out of the dining room at a more measured pace, the two of them coming to greet us in the foyer while their butler disappears silently into the shadows somewhere.
Taylor throws her arms around me without hesitation, smelling faintly of expensive perfume and her signature vanilla shampoo.
James and Elliott exchange a quiet handshake while we pull apart, then we all drift toward the dining room together.
It’s ridiculously elegant. The table’s already set for four with polished silver gleaming beneath candlelight and crystal glasses catching reflections from the chandelier overhead. The smell of garlic, butter, and fresh bread wafts in from the nearby kitchen.
“This is fancy as fuck,” I remark, nudging Taylor.
“If our younger selves could see us now, hm?” she replies with a smirk.
“They’d think we became hookers.”
She winces. “Not entirely inaccurate.”
I bark a laugh and she immediately dissolves into giggles with me, James side-eyeing us like the judgmental bastard he is.
Yeah, this is exactly what I needed.
James murmurs something to Elliott and gestures toward the fully-stocked bar occupying the far side of the room. The two of them head that way, leaving Taylor and I lingering near the doorway. She pivots to face me, her smile slowly fading.
“How are you?” she asks, brows pinching together in concern.
“Never better,” I lie, my fingers absently fiddling with my Bite bracelet.
“Bex.”
“Seriously, I’m good,” I chuckle, waving her off. “Can’t really bitch about living in a downtown penthouse, eating like a queen, and having more free time than I even know what to do with. I’ve done more drawing over the past week than I have in six months.”
Now that I’m saying it out loud, it feels ridiculous to be anything but thrilled about this whole thing.
I mean, what’s there to complain about? That I’m financially secure for the first time in my life?
That nobody’s exploiting me for my blood?
That I somehow landed on easy street and still haven’t figured out how to enjoy it?
My gaze drifts across the room, landing on Elliott.
He’s standing at the bar with James, one hand resting against the polished wood while the other adjusts the cuff of his suit jacket in a restless, absent gesture.
His eyes flicker in my direction, and I instantly avert my own, dragging my attention back to Taylor.
“Probably helps that you can draw what you want now instead of cliché shit for tattoo clients, huh?” she asks, smoothing her hair over one shoulder.
“I mean, I still have to get those done,” I mutter.
Her brow creases. “Huh?”
“I didn’t quit my job at the shop,” I explain. “Just cut back my hours. Took this week off to settle in, but I’ll be back next week.”
“But why?” she asks, looking genuinely baffled by my life choices.
“Because I like it,” I reply with a shrug. “Besides, Ronnie and the guys would be lost without me.”
Taylor huffs a laugh, but her attention shifts past me toward the bar. She watches the guys for a second before leaning in, eyes wide. “Does he know?”
“Who, Elliott?”
She gives me a pointed look like the ‘he’ should be obvious.
“Yeah,” I scoff. “He knows. Well, his assistant knows, anyway. He said he’d work my schedule in the lab around it.”
Taylor’s brows lift.
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she murmurs, averting her gaze in a way that’s too damn cagey for my liking.
“Tay.” I level her with a deadpan stare.
She glances toward the men again, then sighs as she turns back to me. “I just… I guess I’m surprised. You’re his source now, and vamps are crazy possessive over what they deem as theirs.”
“You mean your vamp’s crazy possessive,” I correct. “Because you’ve got that weird bond shit going on and you’re basically dosing him with supernatural steroids every time he bites you.”
She wrinkles her nose. “God, when you put it like that, it sounds so…”
“Accurate?” I supply.
“Cynical,” she counters, frowning. “But then again, you’ve never trusted love stories.”
“Because there are very few real happy endings,” I mutter wryly. “I have every confidence you’ll get yours, though.”
She folds her arms, arching a dubious brow. “Uh huh.”
“What? I do,” I insist, hooking my arm through hers. “James knows I’ll stake his ass if he breaks your heart.”
As if on cue, James cuts me a glare from across the room.
Damn vampire hearing.
Taylor covers a laugh while I grin unapologetically back at him, winking.
“C’mon, I need a drink,” I say, tugging her toward the bar.
She goes willingly. Probably because she’s already hit her limit of being beyond touching distance from James.
Lovesick idiot.
Two glasses of smooth whiskey later, we’re seated at one end of the long table while the kitchen staff begins bringing out the first course. Taylor and I make respectable attempts at eating our salads as the vampires mostly push food around their plates and pretend to participate in normal society.
The whiskey settles warm in my stomach, taking the edge off the lingering irritation from the car ride and leaving me pleasantly loose around the edges. Not quite drunk yet, but close enough that what little filter I have evaporates entirely.
By the time the main entrée arrives– a chicken dish that looks like it was ripped straight from one of those absurd cooking competition shows on TV– Taylor and I are carrying most of the conversation while James and Elliott contribute the occasional comment from behind their brooding vampire personas.
At least until the conversation shifts toward the bond. Then Elliott’s attention sharpens so abruptly it’s almost startling.
“Any further developments with the telepathy?” he asks, eyes darting between James to Taylor behind the lenses of his glasses.
Yeah, because on top of everything else, now they’re apparently reading each other’s minds.
“He’s better at it than me,” Taylor admits, blushing a little as she spears a bite of chicken with her fork.
“The human mind is just easier to slip into,” James reasons, his hand sliding across the table until it settles over hers. “I’ve had centuries to fortify my mental shields, darling. The fact that you can get in at all is a testament to our bond’s strength.”
I watch their fingers intertwine automatically, a soft smile curving Tay’s lips as she gazes back at him adoringly.
Elliott reaches for his wine glass, subtly leaning away as he draws his arm back so it doesn’t accidentally brush mine. For some reason, the contrast between our side of the table and theirs irritates me.
“How does the bond thing actually work?” I ask, realizing I’m the only one here who still doesn’t fully understand whatever ancient blood bullshit is tying these two together.
I mean, I know the basics– that Taylor’s blood supercharges James’ vampire abilities and she gets to share in some of those traits to a lesser degree– but there’s a lot that still confuses the hell out of me.
“We’re soul-tied,” Taylor replies, as if that’s a totally normal turn of phrase.
“Yeah, but how?” I press.
“That’s what we’re still trying to determine,” Elliott murmurs.
I glance his way. He’s leaning slightly forward now, one forearm resting beside his plate, eyes bright with interest. Typically, dragging information out of him feels like prying open a bank vault. Now he’s suddenly volunteering it, and while the urge to point that out is strong, I resist.