Page 16 of Bite Me

It’s seconds before I regain my senses and turn toward the door and knock into a few people in my retreat. The memory of Dacre’s unbroken stare keeps replaying, his lips grazing the neck of that girl as he drank in the haze of alcohol and smoke.

Heat floods through me as my heart pounds in my ears.

“Where are you running to?” Kitty catches me.

“I’m going to bed,” I say, chugging the punch left over in my cup and chucking the cup into the trash.

“No way, the karaoke just started!”

“I’ll catch up later. I’m dead on my feet.” My voice is drowned out by the next singer onstage.

After hours of volunteering, my normal classes, and the mental load of analyzing our interactions over and over, I’m exhausted.

My heart is still pounding when I reach the living area. It’s usually spacious, but now it’s closing in on me as I beeline for the fountain that splits the stairs.

Luxxia is the only house that doesn't have men and women living on the same floor. I think they just wanted more space in the layout. This whole place looks as if they couldn’t stop designing, from the carved marble figures that differ in every room to the intricate tile work beneath my feet.

When I reach the top of the stairs, the sound of feet clacking up the steps forces me to turn.

Dacre’s leaning over the railing, swaying.

“I knew you were stalking me,” I say.

I wait for the scowl, but all he gives me is soft-eyed interest. That’s the only way to describe how his attention settles on me. It must be the alcohol making him softer, but he’s not flirting. I don’t think he can.

“Might I remind you that I was in Luxxia first?”

“But you never come to these events.”

“Do you often find yourself looking for me across the room?” He takes another step closer.

“No, I’d just know if I’d seen you because it’s really hard not to notice a drunk idiot making a fool of himself.”

Those eyes rake over my face. He says nothing.

“What?”

He shakes his head, and heat rises in my belly when he stares at my lips. My attention shifts to his chest. It’s glistening with sweat. He’s close enough that I can smell him . . . And why does he smell so damn good, and how can I find the name of his cologne?

We stay fixed. Staring. Almost as if it’s a contest to see who will break their composure first. My hand on the banister slips as I let my breath settle in my chest. When he’s looking at me, he isn’t looking through me. It’s as if his full, undivided attention is spent on watching every mannerism of my face, and there’s not a single thing he’d rather do than stand there, waiting for me to speak. There’s something about it that makes me feel hot. Uncomfortably so.

“Enjoy the show?”

“I . . . No. I didn’t.”

“Really? Because you stood there for a good ten seconds before running away.”

“I was shocked. I wasn’t expecting to see you drinking in the middle of the common room.”

“Hmm . . . But it interested you enough to stare?” I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off before I can say anything else. “Tell me, have you ever had anyone drink from you before?”

My breath hitches. “I haven’t, and I don’t want to.”

“You’re not curious what it feels like? The total submission to another person, giving them . . . something to live off. To sustain someone. Be . . . enveloped by them.”

“No. It sounds . . . miserable.”

“I’m sure your sister has told you about it. You strike me as the curious type who would love to hear all the dirty details of such a thing.”