Wicked Webs

by CoraLee June

  “You’re not going to accept,” he actually had the audacity to say.

  A humorless laugh burst out of my chest. I saw red. I wanted to punch him in his godsdamned face and take a photo for our dear ol’ dad. “You don’t have the authority to dictate what I do or don’t do.”

  His hands fisted at his sides. Our blue eyes locked, fury brimming in both pairs.

  “Wow, this is tense,” Cheryl chirped.

  Both of us slowly turned our heads to look over at her.

  She had her hands on her hips, watching us with a curious look on her face.

  “The invitation said formal wear,” Stiles snapped at her. “You obviously shouldn’t accept either. Spector doesn’t want people who can’t read simple instructions.”

  Cheryl’s nose wrinkled. “Oh my gods, Stiles, I can read,” she huffed in annoyance. “I just didn’t want to get makeup on it. My mother always says to wait until the last minute to slip into your dress. It keeps it in pristine condition. Just wait like three freaking seconds while I get dressed.”

  Stiles’s frown deepened, but he didn’t say anything else as she sashayed into the closet. I arched a brow at him. “Now you’re trying to get her not to go either? Gods, what is it with you and Spector?”

  He levelled me with a look. “I just know what sort of supes can handle Spector, and you two can’t.”

  I reared back, his words offending me so much that my fangs started to come down. “Fuck you. I can handle anything.”

  “I can handle Spector, too,” Chery called, her voice slightly muffled. “I even have the perfect dress for tonight,” she said as she pulled something from a hanger. “My best friend got it for me while on vacation in Paris. She had to bribe the boutique to give it to her because they were reserving it for the lead singer of Bite Me. Do you know her? Charlie Rogue? I met her at a party once, and she was lovely. You know she told me I had a pretty voice? We sang on stage together and—”

  “Can you just finish getting dressed?” Stiles interrupted. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

  Cheryl just waved at him dismissively while tapping her lips in thought at which heels she would wear. “Shoes are like, really important, Stiles. You can’t rush these decisions. One time, my cousin was in New Orleans, and she wore shoes totally wrong for the occasion. I told her not to wear platform boots to a Sunday soiree, but did she listen to me? Nope. Oh, and then she—”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Stiles growled. “I am going to leave without you.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Cheryl flashed around, her figure just a blur, and then she was standing there, perfectly poised. “Ready,” she said cheerfully, beaming up at Stiles.

  “Great,” he said sarcastically.

  I looked her up and down. “That’s what you’re wearing?” I asked.

  I looked at her ridiculous violet dress. It was so short one stiff breeze would show her vagina off to the masses. And I knew this with certainty, because there were zero lines indicating any usage of panties going on under there.

  She jetted out her hip and inspected her nails with practiced coolness. “This is couture, Motley,” she told me. “Gods, I just can’t even with you.” She looked at Stiles. “We going or what?” she asked, as if he and I were the ones holding us up.

  Stiles’s jaw tightened. “We’re going.”

  “Super. And where exactly are we going? I have a fur coat for cooler climates, but it goes better with the black Valentino. And will there be dancing? I have a higher pair of heels—”

  “No. Just...no,” he cut her off. “No more changing clothes, no more questions. We’re already late.”

  “Fine, sheesh.”

  Stiles reached up and grasped both of our arms, and then he flashed us away. Since he was in charge of the movement, it was slightly dizzying and felt like I was being pulled through the air at warp speed. He stopped right outside an unused classroom, and I had to straighten my dress from where the rushing air had tangled it around my legs.

  I followed behind Stiles and Cheryl as they walked inside the classroom, where there was a portal waiting. There was an instructor sitting boredly beside it—an elemental teacher, I think—who barely gave us a second glance once he saw that it was Stiles leading us.

  I braced myself before entering it, not knowing what would be on the other side. Cheryl latched onto Stiles, wrapping her willowy arm around his and digging her sharply pointed nails into the thick fabric of his tux jacket. He led Cheryl through, and I took a deep breath before heading in after them.

  Magic coated my skin in gentle waves, pulsing through my body as we traveled through the sickly sweet energy. It was only about ten seconds of walking through nothingness, but while in the haze, Stiles turned to look back at me, displeasure clear on his face, while determination was on mine.

  I can handle anything, I’d told him. I just hoped I was right.

  I wasn’t exactly sure where in the world the portal had brought us, except that the huge room was decorated elaborately and the lighting was dim. There were banners hanging from the fifty-foot ceiling that draped between the chandeliers, all of them with an S symbol for Spector Inc. It was a snake in the shape of an S, but at the bottom curve, the snake was clearly wrapping around to devour itself in a never-ending loop.

  Well, that was a cheerful logo.

  Cheryl sucked in a gasp. “Oh my gods, is that George Loom?” A tiny squeal of distress escaped her. “I should have worn the Valentino dress,” she cursed before looking over at me. Her eyes took on a tragic look as she eyed my dress. “I should have let you try to squeeze into one of mine. You probably would’ve had to take out a few inches of zipper because I’m much slimmer than you, but that would’ve been better than what you have on now.” I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. She was just secretly jealous that I had bigger boobs than she did. “Well, it can’t be helped now. Sorry, but I can’t be seen with you.”

  “Bummer,” I drawled.

  She shook her head, her eyes continuing to scan the room. “Is that Vang Lewis?” she asked, stretching her neck to better see a group of men across the room, speaking with Headmaster Torne.

  I followed her gaze and saw that she was right. I recognized him from the articles I’d read. “It is...but I’m surprised you know who he is,” I told her honestly. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in the shifter with one of the largest peaceful packs in the continental United States.”

  She smoothed down her blonde bob. “He’s super hot, Motley,” she said in irritation, as if that should’ve been obvious. “Though I’d never date a shifter. Coital bliss between the species is such a social faux pas. Nothing wrong with a little flirting, though.” She winked.

  “Oh. Right. How silly of me,” I deadpanned.

  Cheryl scampered off in her heels, a flurried trail of excitement lifting each of her steps as she went up to Vang and started flirting with him. Huh. I guess she wasn’t a stickler about sticking to her own kind like most everyone else.

  “She sure is something,” Stiles mused.

  “That’s one way to describe her.”

  The further we walked into the room, the more others turned to look at us. The gathering was an odd mix of students and professionals in the supernatural community. Necromancers, elementals, shifters, and vampires were all milling around the lavish room, drinking cocktails and eating finger foods that passing servers offered them.

  I saw a couple dozen Thibault students aside from Stiles and myself. Some of them I knew, some of them I didn’t, but all of them looked surprised to see that I’d been invited. I could see it in their raised brows and pointed looks, and then came the whispers.

  What’s she doing here?

  I thought this invite was exclusive. What’s with the charity case?

  Why is Stiles Trant with her?

  And on and on it went. My peers were so friendly.

  I fixed my expression into a mix between oblivious professionalism and resting bitch face. Basically, the
same face I’d worn my entire academic career.

  Stiles kept at my side, tense but seemingly oblivious of the numerous eyes on us. “Can’t you go away and ignore me like you always do?” I hissed, while smiling over at a creepy necromancer in a glittering tux.

  Stiles glanced over at me with irritation. “It’s not like you don’t ignore me too.”

  “Of course I ignore you,” I said with exasperation, careful to keep my voice at a low murmur. Never underestimate the power of supernatural hearing. “You made it clear from the start that you’re not interested in being my brother or even my friend. So just scurry off and leave me alone to fend for myself against the wolves like you always do. You’re good at that, just like your father.”

  The skin around his eyes tightened at the words your father, but for once, he didn’t argue. Deciding to ignore him, I turned away, watching everyone and trying to gain a sense of what this corporation was all about. I’d rather gnaw on my own foot than try to get answers out of Stiles. He’d just hold it over me like a bone to a dog.

  Maybe if I mingled a bit, I could pick up some clues? I was well informed when it came to the supernatural community, especially powerful organizations. I had to be because I intended to work for one. So the fact that I’d heard nothing about Spector Inc. had my interest piqued.

  “I’m gonna go get a drink,” Stiles said. “How do you take your blood?”

  I turned to glance over my shoulder to see who he was talking to, but there was no one there. I raised my brows. “You’re offering to get me a drink?” I asked suspiciously. “Why? You gonna spit in it?”

  He sighed and yanked on his tie. “Do you always have to be so fucking difficult?”

  “I think it’s a family trait,” I retorted.

  He muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch. “Can you just tell me what kind of blood you like?”

  I snorted. That was such a rich thing to say. “Uhh, just red and warm.”

  He blinked in surprise. “You don’t have a preference? Supernatural breed? Blood type?”

  “Stiles, I’m a scholarship student. Aunt Marie and I barely scrape by. You actually think I get to pick from exotic blood flavors like you? Come on, you’re smarter than that,” I said, patting him on the shoulder patronizingly. “And don’t bother. I can get my own blood.”

  He made a sound that was half-sigh, half-muttered curse, before he turned and stalked away from me. I watched his retreating back, filled with a mix of relief and disappointment. Being siblings, even if it was only half, always made things complicated between us.

  A rush of air at my back was the only warning I got that told me vampires had just flashed over.

  “I’m surprised you got an invite tonight, Motley,” the first unwelcome voice said behind me.

  “She probably sucked the Spector president’s cock,” another voice chuckled.

  Oh, goody. My classmates had decided to come chat.

  They’d always been eager to remind me I didn’t belong, and I guess tonight would be no exception. I tilted my chin up, pointedly ignoring them as I pulled some red lipstick from the clutch I was carrying and applied it to my lips. Fuck them. It was always such a predictable cliché—tormenting the poor scholarship girl for not having a rich daddy or a connected mother. Yawn.

  “Of course she did. I heard that’s how she got into Thibault, too. She fucked every supe on the school board,” a third voice added.

  Irritated, I spun around to face the three jackasses talking shit. I frowned when I found a familiar black-haired vampire in the middle. I’d once had the displeasure of wasting twenty minutes of my life on him. Terrible decision on my part, but I’d been horny and hungry. It was a bad combo for a vamp, and it tended to make me a bit skanky.

  “Oh. Byron. I didn’t notice you there,” I said, pasting a thoughtful look on my face. “Wait a minute, didn’t I say the same thing to you when you were fucking me?” I asked with a smirk.

  The other two vamps let out surprised laughs, while Byron’s face mottled with anger. The funniest part? I wasn’t even joking. For all his cockiness, this dude was a terrible fuck with a tiny dick, and his blood tasted like chalk. Probably too much in-breeding with other high-up vampires trying to hold on to their purer bloodline bullshit.

  He straightened his spine so he could better look down his nose at me. “Yeah? I’m not surprised you couldn’t feel anything. You’re just a bitch with a loose pussy,” he shot back at me, making the vamps who’d laughed at him, turn around and laugh harder at me. No fucking loyalty.

  I pressed my lips so hard together that some of the clay-like lipstick I’d just applied matted and fell in powdered crumbles down my chin, leaving a streaky line down the front of my dress. Godsdamned you, cheap fucking makeup. This shit didn’t happen with name brands.

  I dismissed him with a shake of my head and pushed away from the trio. Maybe I could find a bathroom and take a minute to myself before I had to face anyone again. I didn’t want to be in a bad headspace before Spector did their presentation. Before I could make my escape though, Stiles intercepted me.

  He stepped in front of me and held up two champagne flutes full of fresh blood. By the looks of it, he’d grabbed the clotted cheap shit for both of us. My eyes flickered up to his in surprise. Had he done it to make me feel more comfortable? That was...weird.

  His eyes zeroed in on the line of makeup on my dress. “Something wrong?”

  I knew full well he probably heard what happened from across the room, but he was testing to see if I would complain about it. But I wouldn’t. Not to him. Talking about those dumbasses gave them power, and I preferred to keep my power to myself. I wasn’t ashamed of the fact that I liked to fuck and did it whenever it pleased me. Vampires were sexual creatures, and yet they always liked to be judgmental about it. I didn’t understand the point.

  When I wasn’t keeping to myself or studying, I was indulging. Zero strings. Zero attachments. I was a loner through and through—but with a healthy appetite for sins of the flesh. And despite the way those three vampire assholes had acted just now, I knew without a doubt, that if I turned around and invited them for a little suck and fuck, they’d jump at the chance. They were bullies, yeah, but they were still males with dicks. But talking about any of this to my half-brother who could barely stand me? Yeah, hard pass.

  “Nope. Nothing’s wrong at all.” I shook my head in answer and tilted my glass back, drinking the blood with a hearty gulp. The buzzing power of cheap, regular human blood hummed appreciatively in my chest. Stiles watched me with a contemplative look on his face, but I didn’t want him to look at me like that. I wanted him to keep on ignoring me with disdain from a distance, probably brooding over having to share DNA with me. That, I was used to.

  “You have thicker skin than this, Motley. I know you do.”

  I turned to look at him, setting my glass down and crossing my arms in front of me. “You don’t know me, so don’t pretend like you do. We’ve been enemies for our entire academic career. Don’t try to give me advice. I’m fine. I’m not some fucking weak damsel crying in a corner. I’ve been dealing with bullshit like that my whole life, so I don’t need a fucking pep talk from you. I just needed a drink, a second to regain my chill, and then I’ll have my head high again. I always do.”

  When a look that resembled pity crossed his features, it made my blood boil.

  I was about to open my mouth to ream him some more, but Headmaster Torne had spotted Stiles, and he walked over with a group of supes and stopped at our side.

  “Ah, Stiles.”

  Stiles looked over, one hand casually in his pocket and one holding his glass. “Good evening, Headmaster,” he greeted smoothly.

  Headmaster Torne beamed at him. It was no secret that he had a fiscal hard-on for the Trants, so my brother was somewhat of a golden child in his eyes.

  “I wanted to introduce you,” Headmaster Torne said. “We were just discussing your potential on the council.”
>
  “Good potential, I hope,” Stiles joked, making the other men chuckle.

  “Stiles, I hear you did very well on the last council meeting. When Torne here told me you were present tonight, I knew I needed to meet the Vampire Paragon,” the tall vampire to our left greeted. He had dark skin and black eyes, and even without the telltale scar across his neck, I would’ve recognized him anywhere.

  “Oh! You’re Edmund Pike,” I said as I took a step forward, feeling a surge of excitement.

  His dark eyes swept over to me. “I am.”

  I couldn’t contain the smile that broke out across my face. I never dreamed I’d ever be in the same room with this man, let alone get to talk to him. “Can I just say, I loved your speech at the council’s symposium last year. Your ideas about splicing necro genes to counteract the effects of bloodlust in vampires was revolutionary.”

  I’d pored over that speech for days, picking apart every fragment of his research. It was work like his that could help vamps like my aunt.

  Surprise flitted over his features, and he turned to face me more. “What is your name?”

  “Motley Coven, sir,” I answered.

  “Hmm. One of yours, Torne?” he asked, looking over at my headmaster.

  Headmaster Torne had his gray hair slicked back, and his dark eyes bore into me. He was a strong elemental with equally strong bloodlines, and he looked at me like a bug stuck to his shoe.

  “Yes,” he answered coolly, as if my mere presence was a bother. “She’s one of Thibault’s financial fellowship recipients. She received her scholarship for all five years of her attendance.”

  “Ah,” Mr. Pike said, his eyes already dimming from their earlier interest in me. “Anyway, as I was saying, the council…”

  And just like that, I was dismissed. My fingers curled into my palms, two fists at my side my only defense against the discrimination in the world.

  Stiles shot me a sideways look, but I pulled away from the group. I stalked over to the bar and snatched up another flute of blood, downing it all in one unladylike gulp. I snatched up some dainty finger foods from a passing waiter, shoving three cucumber sandwiches with blood cream into my mouth.