Page 17 of Bite Me

“I don’t ask.” I do ask, but Olivia is really private.

“I guess that means you haven’t given any more thought to my proposal.”

My heart jolts at that word. “Proposal” makes me think of marriage, and somehow, asking me to be his source seems more intimate than that. I don’t know why—Donor Program students do it all the time. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me, or maybe it’s the fact that he smells so good that I wonder what it might be like to lick his neck, but when I think of donating to Dacre, it’s as if he’s asking me to make out with him. A ridiculous notion.

About as ridiculous as imagining licking the sweat from his neck, which is disgusting.

“The answer is still no.”

“How will I ever find another little blonde who wants to be my source?” He waves his hand and turns on his heel to leave.

I was right. He didn’t think I would accept. Then why ask? Why torture me?

“You won’t find any blood like mine,” I quip.

That stops him. When he turns toward me, his gaze is darker.

“I know my blood is valuable to you . . .” His lashes flutter when I mention that word. Blood. “And maybe that’s the only reason you asked me, but I think there’s more to it than that. I’m not as naive as you think. I’ll figure it out.”

With grace, he moves up each step until he’s towering over me. He takes his middle finger and runs it from the tip of my elbow down to my hand. I’m frozen as the heat of his finger warms my cold skin. I didn’t know I was cold until Dacre’s hot skin started caressing my arm. He flips open my palm.

“How’s the hand?”

“Better.” I’m vaguely aware I should yank my hand away, but I can’t thaw from the shock of his proximity. Dacre is . . . touching me.

His thumb traces over the freshly healed cut on my hand, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“What are you doing?”

I snatch my hand back and try to move around him, but he stays standing in my way. He’s got his blazer on, but his chest is open and exposed.

He leans down, hinging at the hip, till his face is inches away from mine. “I’m just thinking about how satisfying it will be to walk into the culinary club tomorrow and not see your face.”

I scoff, basking in the glowing spotlight of his attention and letting it warm me for a few seconds further before breaking away and bumping his shoulder on the way out.

Chapter Seven

Dacre

I wake up holding my crumpled-up blazer. What the fuck?

Emma’s scent, though faint, lingers on the fibers, and I chuck it across the room. Now I remember—I couldn’t sleep because her smell was in my room.

I kept waking up, almost believing she was there in my drunken, sleepless haze. It’s just giving me a headache, along with the hangover that’s keeping me from moving more than an inch in any direction. I decided drinking was the perfect opportunity to get a break from Emma’s scent for the night because ever since I smelled the freshness of her blood in the air, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.

The feeling of her warm skin against mine and the drumming of her pulse are on constant repeat in my mind. It’s torture at this point to be in the same room as her. Impossible not to think about her.

My phone vibrates next to my head, and I jump. I know who is calling me without looking. 6 a.m. Wow.

“Yes?”

I barely open my eyes to greet my sister on the video call. I’m not surprised she’s up this early. Rowing practice gives her all the incentive she needs to call me while she’s getting ready. Florence has her phone propped up on something on her bed while she puts on her makeup. In one hand is a mirror and in the other is mascara.

“You’re not in the kitchen.”

“No, I’m in Luxxia.”

“It’s a bit late to sleep in, isn’t it? I’m surprised.”