The Bite Of 87 Real Novels & Stories

However, all I got in return was their growing lack of boundaries—bolder and more shameless with each interaction. My engagement to Julian was never publicly announced. Half a month later, the engagement party arrived as scheduled. As a minor underboss under the Rossi mafia family, Greg also received an invitation. He walked in arm-in-arm with Sydney, looking arrogant and self-assured. However, the moment he saw me seated at the main table, he froze. Frowning, he strode toward me, irritation clear in his voice. “Zoe, you haven’t apologized to Syd yet, and that means you’re no longer my fiancée. You have no right to attend the Don’s engagement banquet. You either apologize right now and atten

“And they’ve felt the bond too. Whatever is coming… it’s not human. And it’s close.” I swallowed, my hand instinctively brushing the bite on my shoulder. Heat radiated from it like wildfire. My body screamed in recognition, in longing, in fear. I wanted him. I wanted to run. I wanted to fight. And above all… I wanted to know if he would accept me, fully, despite the lies, the stolen bite, the betrayal that had marked every step of my life. But before I could ask, a low rustle came from the treeline outside, and I froze. Shadows shifted unnaturally.

All the while, he spun a silver lighter between his fingers, as if he were performing a trick. Across from him sat two of his friends. One of them was Marcus Thorne, the top student in the school. He was strikingly handsome even by movie-star standards. The other was Asher Prescott, the school bully who had never lost a fight and whom even teachers avoided. "I want to dump Sabrina," Caleb said lightly, as if he were talking about something trivial.

Or both. “Stay,” I rasp against her ear. “That’s a fucking order, Sienna.” I can’t do the full bite. That’d kill her faster than whatever’s already eating her alive. So I do the stupid, reckless, half-measure thing. I bite her shoulder. It hits her like a live wire. For one heartbeat, there is nothing. Then the bond snaps taut—violent and ugly, as if someone has tied our souls together with razor wire and yanked.

I look up into his dark, piercing eyes. “Before you say yes,” Clay says, and his voice gets rough and serious, “I want you to hear this clearly. You know my reputation. I run around with a lot of females. But if we do this, if we walk into that temple on the Blood Moon Celebration, that life ends. I will never make you look stupid, and I do not want a fake marriage. I like to joke, but this is real. I want a true mate bond. In every single way. Do you understand me, Lamia?”