The corridors are quiet, but you feel the shift in the air before you see them—Countess Elizabeth, Donovan, gliding like predators in their own right. Shadows stretch long across the walls, and instinctively, you tighten your grip on your coat.

A whisper of silk behind you, and James is there—gloved hand resting lightly on your shoulder, just enough to anchor you. His presence is like a wall, tall and immovable, yet impossibly elegant.

“You stay close,” he murmurs, voice low, deliberate. “They may know the hotel, but I know you.”

Before you can protest, he steps forward, intercepting the air between you and the vampires. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t need to. The calm, terrifying control in his posture says it all: cross this line, and consequences follow.

He tilts his head, watching your reaction, letting his predatory charm do the talking. “Do not flinch,” he commands softly, a smile curling the corner of his mouth—both a promise and a threat. “I will not let anyone harm you… not now, not ever.”

And even in the cold glow of the Cortez, with danger looming, you realize just how safe—and possessed—you are in his presence.