Page 27 of Bite Me

I swallow. Waiting.

“Emma Osborne provides an interesting opportunity for us. Imagine, for a minute, if she were to endorse the Donor Program. She’s the perfect prospect for the gala coming on the autumn solstice.”

My back hits my chair. I can’t form words. Fuck. Fuck.

You have to be kidding me. Of all the people he could choose, why her?

I should have seen this coming. Of course he would want to use her at the Donor Program Gala. She’s the perfect candidate. Every autumn, the program holds its biggest gala of the year. They auction off items and blood for charity. It’s all arranged via contract marriage.

Gala donors will pay just about anything for good blood for their family lines, especially when it makes them look good by “donating to charity.”

He continues. “I’ve been looking for a suitable prospect for some time. The Osborne name has achieved fame that even money can’t buy, so I found myself looking at all the sisters recently. Emma is undoubtedly the best candidate to provide the leverage I need to win over her father.”

“She . . .” I run my hands over my face. “They won’t agree to an arranged marriage. That, I’m sure of. They aren’t that type of family.” Like mine. The fucked-up shove-your-children-off-against-their-will-to-make-business-deals type.

“Make her feel at home in the culinary club. Butter her up. Do anything and everything to gain her trust, and I’ll do the rest. Then, when the time comes, she can be used as the face of human and vampire cooperation at the gala.”

Use her. My fingernails indent the wood of the chair.

“Dacre, you’ve done so well, even as you matured in the last few years and lost some discipline. Your talent has made me very proud. You’ve always been a worthy heir.”

That’s the only reason I’ve held on this long, knowing there is a light at the end of this tunnel. My grandfather won’t live forever, and then at least I’ll have something to show for all this shit. That’s been the plan as long as I could understand. No one else in the family has lived up to his high standards. Not even my father, who dedicated his whole life to the business side of our family.

“Although the business with your sister has caused me to doubt you at times.”

“Doubt?” I bite back the venom.

As if I haven’t been tested enough? Prodded. Pruned. “I won’t apologize for taking care of my little sister.”

He nods, and the edges of his lips curl into an unexpected smile. “Do you know why I picked you as the heir?”

Oh, I’ve wondered. My brothers, though not skilled in the culinary world, are equally capable and perhaps buckets more loyal.

“You’re levelheaded enough to know when to lean into your instincts and when to let logic take the lead. That’s something your brothers never had. I can respect you wanting to protect Florence. That’s why I thought asking this of you would be . . . reasonable. Unless there is a reason you’d like to object? This is your one chance to tell me.”

There was never another option once the words passed his lips. I should be worrying about my own tragedy, but for some reason, I’m thinking of Emma.

She should never have come to Doxlothia. This place isn’t for people like her and her family. Why do I care? Shouldn’t this be an easy request?

It’s the perfect time to come clean about Emma and me being scent-matches and eliminate any remaining secrets between us. I imagine the smile stretching across my grandfather’s face as I give him yet another thing to twist and manipulate in his grand scheme. But I can’t get myself to say it.

I’m going to accept.

Because I always accept.

Because there is no other choice. My grandfather’s will is law.

And when I accept, there is no going back because I will make it happen. This is what I’m good at. Skill has nothing to do with it. It’s a force of will to stay on my grandfather’s good side through every test, and I’ve never said no. I have people I need to protect.

“No objections.”

Chapter Ten

Emma

The look on Dacre’s face is seared into my brain. The darkness in his eyes, his spine straightening as he leaned over me. I should have just pushed him. Done something other than gawk like an idiot. And I’m an idiot for reading anything more than blind hatred in his eyes. But he’d seen me.

It was like staring into the sun while my skin was unprotected, balmy and hot, barely wearing the skimpiest bikini. As if he could see every curve, every inch of skin—of me—no one else could. Now I’m imagining Dacre actually staring at me in a bikini. Those dark eyes raking over me centimeter by centimeter till they’re focused on my neck. I don’t think he realizes how often I see him staring there.