Page 54 of Bleed

The alcohol in my system takes that statement about as well as you’d expect. I set my fork down, glaring across the table at James.

“So I don’t matter, is what you mean,” I bite out. “I’m human, so I’m worthless?”

“Not worthless,” James says. “Just worth less.”

“James!” Taylor admonishes, whirling on him.

I whip my gaze toward her, pointing at James. “Do you hear this shit?”

“Taylor’s different,” he reasons.

I snap my attention back to him. “Why? Because she’s yours?”

“Yes.” He lifts his chin arrogantly. “If anyone challenged my claim, I’d rip them apart.”

“Like that Sebastian dude?” I scoff.

James goes still, the temperature in the room dropping instantly.

Oops.

Though in my defense, he probably shouldn’t have torn the guy’s literal head off at a public event if he didn’t want people talking about it. I wasn’t there, but Taylor painted me a vivid enough picture afterward.

“Whoa, can we pump the brakes?” Taylor interjects, holding up both hands. “We’re all supposed to be on the same side here.”

“Tell that to Dracula,” I mutter, reaching for my whiskey. “He’s the one insulting the entire human race.” I frown down into my empty glass, then look up at Taylor. “Which you’re still a part of, by the way.”

“I’m simply stating how things are amongst my kind,” James replies evenly. “My personal beliefs don’t necessarily align with vampire society as a whole.”

“Sure they don’t,” I snort.

Beside me, Elliott remains silent, though his fingers tighten slightly around the stem of his wine glass.

“Bex,” Taylor warns.

“Whose side are you on?” I fire back.

“The side of whatever doesn’t get me killed!”

That knocks a little of the fight out of me. Not all of it– just enough to remind me this isn’t some hypothetical debate. Taylor actually has to live in this weird vampire world.

And apparently, so do I.

The silence that follows stretches for a few beats, and the last person I expect to break it is the man beside me.

There’s a sharp clink, the stem of Elliott’s wine glass snapping clean in half. The last sip of wine splashes across the white tablecloth as he catches the top of the glass a second too late and it settles awkwardly in his palm.

Taylor gasps dramatically, and I whip my head toward him. Elliott doesn’t so much as blink.

Calmly, he sets the broken glass down and removes the napkin from his lap, dabbing at the spreading stain as though shattering crystal at the dinner table is a perfectly normal occurrence.

“Beatrix is not worth less,” he states, gaze firmly fixed on James.

I glance between them, suddenly very aware of the tension crackling across the table. Neither man moves. Neither looks away.

Then James inclines his head, studying Elliott for a long moment before he speaks.

“No,” he agrees. “She isn’t.”