Gretchen had already gone ahead, completely ignoring the masses. For some reason, Owen had hung back. In fact, since our conversation in front of the rental cabins, he hadn’t left us alone. Owen cocked his head. “This way,” he said.
He led us to a back entrance that opened into the kitchen. The blinding whiteness of the counters and polished steel of the pots and pans made me wonder if they’d ever been used before tonight. But as proof, the space bustled with activity. Pale-faced chefs and apron-clad assistants rushed here and there, slicing and stirring whatever it was they intended to serve later.
Owen led us past all of it and straight up a back stairwell. It was narrower and less opulent than the one in the entryway, but it was still plusher than anything at home. The adults were waiting for us on the second floor in a room Owen referred to as the parlor. The snobby way he said it made me snort.
We had drinks—the adults had snifters of brandy while the teens had club soda—until it was time for dinner. It all felt so organized, so political, so fake.
“See?” Charlie whispered over the rim of her glass. “I’m glad I changed.”
“I thought you looked fine,” I grumbled and suddenly wished I’d worn sweatpants just to prove my point.
After an hour to “dress,” dinner was held in a dining room the size of a football field. Okay, so that was probably not true—but it sure felt like it as I stepped through the grand double doors. The table was long—I counted seating for twenty easily. The walls had old paintings on them that depicted familiar faces, and I wondered how many of them were authentic. Had Gretchen Rossi really been alive in the time of ruffled collars? Had Blaine Rossi really worn plate metal armor and jousted? It was hard to tell how much was myth, and how much of it was PR meant to scare us.
As intimidating as the room, paintings, and even the marble sculptures were, it was not nearly as surprising as the fact that the vampires had dedicated so much space and money to having a dining room at all. I imagined that they ate their victims in places more like dungeons. But there was nothing dungeon-like about the tall, airy windows and red velvet drapes, and even though they did illuminate the room with candelabras, they had a few electric lights near the kitchen to keep things from being too dark. The three-piece orchestra I’d heard earlier had found its way to the balcony outside the dining room. They were playing something I recognized as Mozart with skill. I guess you can get pretty good at violin if you have a century or two to practice.
Blaine and my dad took seats at the opposing heads of the table. Gretchen drifted to her husband's side and rested a hand on his shoulder. "How fare negotiations?" she asked in an empty voice.
"Well enough, my dear," he said without so much as looking at her.
She continued standing as we each took our positions at the table. I was seated between Carter and Charlie near the middle of things—and too far away from either set of elders to hear anything important. I scowled into my water glass. I would have much preferred to sit close enough to hear what the Rossi queen and her dinner partner whispered about as they cast dark glances in my direction. But each seat was marked with a name card, so I didn't have much of a choice.
I scanned the dining room, keeping an eye on all the shadowy crevices that weren't illuminated by candlelight and the long corridors that led into darkness.
I didn't like the gloom in the hallways. Not one bit. It would be way too easy to mount a sneak attack. I had promised Charlie there was no way the vampires would make a move on us on their home territory, but the words weren't quite so comforting now that we were actually here. I actually found myself hoping I’d spot my vampire visitor—and maybe even find a minute alone to ask him what the hell was going on and who was after my family.
Charlie paused at the head of the table to greet the Rossis with her usual grace, giving a dimpled smile and a light laugh at something they said to her. If she was afraid, she didn't show it. She’d changed into a red dress with a high neckline and low back that made her look elegant, and a lot more grown-up than usual. Her hair was twisted into a complicated knot.
“Your eyeballs are going to fall out,” Carter whispered as he took his seat. “Stop glaring at the vampires.”
“Sorry,” I said, but I didn't mean it. If I didn't watch Charlie, who would make sure she didn't get eaten? After a moment, she joined us. I felt a lot better having her at my side, within arm's reach. She eyed the crystal goblets set in front of the fashionable square plates. “How, exactly, do vampires drink blood?” she asked me in a low voice without ever losing that charming smile.
“From the tap,” I responded with confidence, as if I knew what I was talking about. To be honest, I had never seen vampires in a social setting before. I’d only seen them feed in battles. And “from the tap” was too cutesy for the reality of those feedings—I had watched them rip out the throats of pack members and drink the gushing blood like it was a water fountain. They weren't neat about it. They were monsters.
Charlie toyed with her fork as a server filled our water glasses from an icy pitcher. “Do they eat real food?” she asked when the server moved on.
I didn't know the answer to that, so I just shrugged. “Guess we'll find out.”
A line of waiters came out a moment later. To my shock, they weren’t vampires. Their skin was too warm, and they didn't smell nearly scary enough. I sniffed the air. Humans. My inspection sharpened as they moved, but they didn't look abused. There were no visible bruises, at least.
They carried trays covered by metal domes on their shoulders, and they set each platter in the center of the table before unveiling it.
Maybe vampires didn't eat food, but that didn't mean they couldn't cook. They’d roasted a whole pig. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the servers distributed the food. Everyone was served, including the vampires, and then Blaine stood and raised his glass. The contents were dark red. Probably wine. I hoped.
“Ladies and gentleman, members of the Vuk pack, welcome to our home. I’d like to take a moment and thank our guests. Not only for letting us show hospitality but for first showing us trust by leaving what was familiar and coming here. May your visit be pleasantly surprising in more ways than one. To peace.”
There was a collective murmur of agreement as we all lifted our glasses.
“To peace,” I murmured. I found Owen watching me from across the table and looked away.
Blaine returned to his seat, picked up his fork, and speared a piece of roasted pork. He brought it to his mouth and I held my breath, watching unblinking while he chewed and swallowed. I wasn’t the only one. Charlie let out a small gasp, tearing my gaze from the elder vamp and meeting her shocked expression.
“Did you see that?” Carter whispered beside me.
I caught Owen’s small smile before he ducked his head and dug into his own plate.
The food was delicious. I couldn’t deny that. The courses were endless and the servers prompt with refills of both food and drink. My mother had once taken me to a five-star restaurant for my birthday. I’d been amazed at not only the flavor but the creative way it had been displayed on the plate; like a work of art, I’d almost felt bad eating it and messing it up. This felt like that. Each plate served was its own creation, from the array of coloring to the placement on the delicate china. I ate slowly, not wanting to waste the one enjoyment I’d found in coming to the home of my enemy.
Throughout the meal, and the mandatory after-dinner drinks, I remained alert. My singular goal for putting up with the schmoozing my dad and Sheridan insisted on was to hopefully spot the vampire I’d come here to find. I searched the faces of everyone present, nodding and smiling as introduction after introduction was made, without really hearing any of it.
I scanned faces but never saw the man. I’d taken a break from my searching and hand-shaking to slouch against the wall in a dimly lit corner. I stared at the room without really paying attention.
My mind drifted to my mother again and that same birthd
ay dinner I’d remembered earlier. I could still picture her that night. She’d worn a dress—something my mother rarely ever did—and her hair up. It was a simple bun but it had made her eyes bigger and I remembered thinking how beautiful she looked and wondering why I’d never noticed it before. Her beauty had been the simple kind. Her personality had matched; direct, to-the-point, but caring. I missed her so badly in this moment, my chest ached.
“I can see how happy you look from across the room. Try to contain yourself,” Carter said, slouching beside me.
“I’m tired,” I said to cover my reminiscing. “All this smiling and pretending I don’t want to kill them takes it out of me.”
His expression softened, and I knew he hadn’t bought it. He didn’t press me, though. I liked that about Carter. He let me have my space. “Where’d your sister get to, anyway?” he asked.
“Um…” I scanned the room for Charlie but I didn’t see her. I frowned. “I don’t know. She was just here.” I started to straighten, intending to go look for her. Carter’s hand on my wrist stopped me.
“Relax, I was testing you. I heard her say she was going up to bed like twenty minutes ago.”
“She left?” How had I missed that?
“I saw my dad walking her out. She’s safe.”
“Your dad?” I echoed.
“Brent tried but she complained and Dad didn’t want the bad press.” Carter’s mouth thinned. “I can’t blame her for refusing his help after that stunt he pulled at the Test of Strength.”
I nodded, my skin heating as I remembered. Despite allowing my victory, I was just as disgusted at the way he’d cheated her. “No matter which of us wins, he’s going to be removed from guard duty,” I said.
Carter met my eyes and I smirked. “I’m sure we can find some patrols that need running out near that sewer treatment plant Sheridan always insists has vulnerabilities.”
Carter shook his head, but didn’t argue.
I settled back against the wall, still frowning. I felt guilty for not noticing Charlie’s exit. I’d been so wrapped up in my own investigating I hadn’t watched her as closely as I should have. At least she was safe in bed. I went back to scanning faces and trying not to think of my mother.
A face caught my eye and I straightened from my slouch against the wall. It was a split second, nothing more, as the man passed outside the door, but I recognized him instantly. He was dressed more casually than the other guests and I knew he hadn’t been at dinner. Or invited here all.
“What is it?” Carter asked. I ignored him and took a step toward the door. “Regan?”
“It’s him,” I murmured. I began walking toward the door, slowly, trying to appear nonchalant. Carter followed.
“Him who? Where are you going?”
I stopped, huffed out a breath. Carter was drawing attention. I needed to slip out fast. And I didn’t have time for the full explanation. I gave him the shortest version of truth I could think of. “The day Charlie and I went into town, there was a man—a vampire—following us. I just spotted him here.”
I started walking again. Carter matched his pace to mine. “Do you think he wants to hurt you?” Carter asked.
“That’s what I intend to find out,” I said.
“That’s what we intend to find out,” he corrected.
I wanted to argue, to tell him to stay behind, but doing so would only draw more attention. And if I was being honest, I wanted the backup. I was tired of doing this alone. Instead, I bit my lip, nodded, and slipped out with Carter on my heels. I looked up and down the deserted hall without stopping. I headed in the direction I’d seen the man going. Left, toward the kitchen.
We passed several wait staff carrying trays of snacks and drinks as they headed toward the gathering we’d left behind. I continued up the hall in silence. Carter started to speak but I cut him off with a look. The back door I’d used earlier clicked closed just as we reached the kitchen. I rushed toward it with Carter close on my heels.
My heart pounded as we raced out into the night. The answers I’d been looking for since Mom died suddenly felt just within my reach. They felt attainable—if only I could catch this guy long enough to make him tell me. I wasn’t even sure when I’d started trusting his word, but I did. And I intended to make him talk.
Chapter Eight
Charlie
It was hard to focus on dinner when my mind was so focused on Owen. Every nerve in my body sang, like iron filaments stretching toward the magnetic force of his smoldering gaze. Was the food good? Yeah. Probably. The meat was hot and juicy and I had to be careful not to embarrass myself by dribbling gourmet sauces on my dress. But it all tasted like ash to me.
My promise to act natural had seemed so easy at the time. How hard could it be to act like I didn't know Owen, when we had only met so recently?
Turns out, really freaking hard.
Throughout the meal, I kept my head bowed and my eyes on my food without really seeing it. I kept shooting glances at the vampire prince from the corner of my eye. Every time I looked up, he was talking to someone else—forcing a conversation with a werewolf at the table, or giving a thin, polite smile to one of his parents. But as soon as I looked down, I knew he watched me. I could feel his eyes burning through my skin.
“Are you okay?” Brent asked, brow lowered over his eyes. He’d somehow ended up on my right even though I’d tried switching out his name placard with Sylvia’s. After what he’d pulled at the Test of Strength, I had nothing to say to him. But I knew Dad would be livid if I caused a scene here.
I swallowed and dabbed at my mouth with a cloth napkin, ready for this thing to be over. “I don't think the food's agreeing with me,” I said, stiff with the effort not to tell him to go to hell.
“It's rich,” he agreed, and I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was disgusted at having to eat it.
Carter’s dad distracted him with a question, and I couldn't help it, I glanced at Owen again.
A chill rolled through me when my eyes met his.
For an instant, there was nobody else in the dining room. There was no long table between us, no gothic candelabras, no politics or roasted pigs. It was just me and Owen, and the oxygen that was rapidly getting sucked out from between us. A smile touched the corner of his mouth. It was a real smile. A smile just for me.
And then the instant ended. The smile was replaced by something much more artificial, and he smoothly rejoined the conversation between Blaine and Sylvia. Something about territory markers.
All the low voices around me suddenly seemed to increase in pitch, like everyone was clamoring and shouting instead of politely murmuring. Owen had a way of putting my senses on edge. I wanted so badly to reach across the table for his hand. I settled for eating a bite of the roasted pork.
It was nowhere near as comforting.
Dinner ended, but courtesy apparently demanded drinks to follow. It was getting late, though nobody seemed to care. Surprise, surprise. Vampires were night people.
Brent kept following me around, so I didn't get a chance to “accidentally” bump into Owen throughout the forced mingling in what Mr. Rossi referred to as the drawing room. For some reason, that made Regan snicker.
I’d been fake-smiling and small-talking with Sheridan and my dad for over an hour before I caught Owen’s gaze again. Our eyes met and he gave a slight jerk of his head toward the exit.
My pulse sped. I made excuses quickly, claiming exhaustion to my dad and Sheridan. She looked irritated but let me go. When I refused Brent as an escort, Dad didn’t even ask why. He reassigned Carter’s dad and tuned right back into Sheridan.
Carter’s dad followed me to my room, but instead of giving me the silent treatment like he’d always done before, he hovered, hands stuffed into his suit pockets.
“Is there something else, Mr. Benefield?” I asked uncertainly.
“You did a great job these past twenty-four hours, Charlotte,” he said, stunning me enough that I let the forma
l use of my name go. “First, that incident with the heart, and now being forced to dine with the vampires, you’ve shown a tremendous amount of restraint and courage.” His gaze softened a fraction. “Your mom would be proud.”
My eyes widened. “You knew my mom?”
“Of course,” he said, stuffing his hands deeper as if embarrassed. “She was a member of the pack until…”
“Right. Until,” I said.
His lips quirked up ruefully. “She was a good friend to me once,” he said. “Introduced me to my wife, actually.”
“Wow, that’s … I mean, no one here ever talks about her,” I said, at a loss.
Mr. Benefield cleared his throat. “The pack doesn’t do well with change. Thill’s a little steeped in tradition and it’s made us all a little slow to see when to outgrow an attitude or a rule. I’m sorry for how that might have made your life more difficult.”
I stared at him, unblinking, and decided to just go for it. This was the first—and maybe last—honest conversation I’d ever have with the man. “I thought you hated me for removing your family from the beta role,” I blurted.
Mr. Benefield’s surprise faded quickly, and I could see he wouldn’t deny it. “You being here isn’t an accident, Charlie. I know you think it’s all a mistake—that you were a mistake—but it’s not true. It’s my hope that you can change the future of things here. I don’t hate anything about that. In fact, between us, I’m rooting for it.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “Even if it seems otherwise,” he added.
I pursed my lips, thoroughly confused. Everything about his behavior toward me until now suggested he despised me—or at least the knowledge that he was losing his beta role. But now … what did he mean he was rooting for me? For change?
Before I could ask, he turned on his heel and strode off. “Good night, Charlotte,” he called as he left.
“Good night,” I mumbled before slipping into my room and closing my door behind me.
I paced the room, distracted by Mr. Benefield’s strange admission, and began to wonder if I’d imagined Owen’s subtle message. Maybe he’d only been nodding at something his father had said or flipping his hair out of his eyes. Maybe he’d meant for me to meet him somewhere else, though I had no idea where else would afford privacy in this place. It seemed everywhere I went, there were bodies. Either vamps or servants or maids—always someone.
Bitterroot Part 3 Page 5
