15

EZRA

Isla’s perfume still lingers in the air, sweet and artificial, like roses suffocating under frost. I sit behind my desk, eyes fixed on the grain of wood. But I'm not seeing it.

I'm seeing her.

Not Thea. Isla.

When she sat opposite me. Pale and brittle. Like glass that's already cracked.

The elders said having a mate that's not an Aureate— Aureates are the naturally fated mate for turned vampires— will stabilize me. 

Control the hunger Ezra. The council knows best.

They sent her to me like a gift wrapped in cute wrapping and ribbon, like a council sanctioned offering, the second daughter of the twelfth elder of the vampire council.

And I was starving.

Thirsts of monsters like me can't be satisfied by randoms or Sanguara. It can only be managed.

And to satisfy it, she needs to be marked. By me.

So I placed a temporary bond in desperation. In instinct.

It worked until it didn't. 

Because it nearly killed her. I almost drained her. And even now, the memory of her limp body in my arms, her silent screams, everything, it still haunts me.

That's the only time I'd managed to curb the thirst.

The door creaks open, pulling me out of my reverie.

Her scent hits me before my eyes lands on her. 

Thea. My newest curiosity.

She smells like vanilla and spice. From here, I can hear her heart beating fast, her breath, the thump of her pulse, and her footsteps.

I turn to her, watching as she walks toward my desk.

“You need to tell your wife to stop talking about me like I'm a competition.” She snaps, placing her hand on my desk and leaning on it, fixing me with a glare.

Wife.

This woman.

She never fails to amuse me. Every. Fucking. Time.

I huff out a laugh. “But you called me her leftover.”

Her eyes widen like saucers before she gulps audibly. I watch her throat move. Then, her mouth parts, “How… Isn't that what you are?”

I sigh and rise slowly, walking around the desk, my steps measured, and deliberate. “Have you seen us?” 

She blinks, her eyes darting to my waist and back to my face. She holds my gaze like she's trying to keep her eyes from wandering.

I'm getting good at reading her.

“What?”

“Me and you. Have you seen us on the net?”

Her eyes widen as she shakes her head. “Why will we be on the net?”

Of course, why will we be? I should have made it subtle but I fucked up. The first fuck up in two centuries, after the one with Isla. That also coupled with the reason Isla stormed in here. 

“You and me. Have you seen the way we looked at each other at the gala? They talked about the things ‘we don’t say’ when we looked at each other.” 

“You were the one that smirked that day.” She says, voice quivering.

My voice drops as I step closer. “And guess what you did? You held my gaze. You could have waved, you know…”

She stiffens.

I take another step closer. “Did you know what's happening now?”

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. The heat in her eyes, the flush on her skin, the way her breath catches—it’s answer enough.

But I don't touch her. I won't.

Because the last woman who let me in paid with her blood.

So, I stop meters away from her, her scent piercing my lung, the sound of her beating heart like music in my ears. 

“The board members are in uproar.” I say.

And it's true.

Those fucking paparazzi had released the news since the night of the gala. And maybe it was even partly my fault.

When she entered this morning, I'd expected her to confront me again. But she looked like she's unaware. 

Strange.

She inhales a shuddering breath. “Why will the board be in uproar. The only thing we did was exchange glances across a room.” She murmurs.

I tilt my head, fighting a grin. “Is that it?”

Her mouth parts again, definitely to drop another snarky comment. I shove my hand in my pocket and walk forward.

I didn't know her eyes could widen more than that.

I chuckle as I walk past her toward the lounge area of my office, where they were seated before Isla entered. I grab the remote control on the glass table and switch on the flat screen TV. I connect it to my phone, playing the gossip livestream I'd screen recorded.

She jerks, spinning toward the screen. Her image flashes across it, all glossed up and donned in a black silk gown.

Red will look good on her.

She’s mid-sentence in the clip, another woman standing before her. 

A slow-motion replay of the gala.

My eyes harden. The camera caught everything. My smirk. Her stare. The pause. The tension. The storm in her eyes. The twitch of her fingers.

Another angle: Me leaning slightly forward, gaze locked. Her lips parting. 

“Everyone saw it,” I murmur, remote still in hand. “Even the cameras.”

She turns back to me slowly, stunned. “This… this was recorded?”

“They analyzed every frame. Called it tension. Chemistry. Even quoted your expression.”

They called it a chronicle of an ‘ambitchious’ woman. Said we were fucking, that it was even evident on the camera.

They said I have a type. Women like Isla. And Thea. Ambitious. And they all mysterious vanish after public flings.

And now that Isla is back. Maybe that particular news will be null.

But I didn't tell her that. 

I turn back to her just to see her cheeks flush. “That’s insane.”

I tilt my head. “Is it?”

Silence stretches between us. I walk back toward her, slower this time. She gulps and takes a step back. A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips and I can't fight the urge to tease her.

She smells delicious.

“You think you're immune to me?” I ask softly.

“I think you’re married,” she shoots back, but her voice has lost its edge.

“I’m not bonded,” I correct. 

Fuck. I shouldn't have said that. 

But I continue anyway. “And you’re not competition, Thea. You’re the reason they think—”

She coughs loudly, interrupting me. I chuckle before saying something else,

“And like I said earlier, the boards are in an uproar.”

She flinches. “What are they talking about?”

I don't answer her.

She thought she's the only one this rumour is affecting just because I refused to comment about it. If only she knew.

Instead, I say.

“We should give them what they want.” 

Her lips quiver just as her back meets the edge of my desk. 

I smirk and place my hand on either side of her but I refuse to lean in too close. But I'm close enough, close enough that all I can breathe in is her, close enough for my fangs to dig into the flesh of the insides of my bottom lip.

I suck on my blood, trying to keep myself tethered.

The last woman who let me in paid with her blood.

“What do you mean?” she splutters.

“We should give them what they want, Ms. Carlisle.” I whisper. “Play along. It’ll kill the rumors about you sleeping your way up to this post.” And it'll shut them up about me, too. About how I fuck my employees, can't hold a relationship longer than a press cycle, and was transferred here because of that same reason.

But I don't say it out loud.

She stiffens. But I continue before she can fire back.

“You clean your image.” I clean mine. “Investors back off, the press gets a new toy, and the board stops breathing down your neck.” I lean closer. “Fake dating solves your problems. Tell me that doesn't sound like good business.” I ask mockingly and raise my hand. I want to touch her lips, want to feel how supple they are, check if they are as soft as they look, know if my fangs graze them just a tiny bit, it will draw blood.

But my finger just hovers a little bit away from her lips. Maybe I don't want to cross that line. Maybe yet, maybe never.

It never ends well. Or…

Her eyes flick to my lips, then back up. “Ezra…”

I stop just short of touching her. “I won’t kiss you.”

“Good,” she breathes, lips trembling, brown eyes glossy. “Because I don’t want you to.”

My lips pull up in a grin as I inhale her scent one last time and pull back. “Liar.”