Page 4 of How to Stake a Vampire
I eyed the woman’s hand before taking it. “Please, call me Abby.”
Surprise darted briefly in Daria’s dark eyes, so quick I would have missed it were it not for my wolf’s senses. She watched me with an inscrutable expression. “How refreshing.” Her handshake was firm and brief. “I must admit I have yet to meet a Hawthorne as friendly as you are.” She glanced pointedly at a stony-faced Victoria and a tight-lipped Samuel before turning a steady gaze on Bo. “I hear he’s part werewolf.”
“Which part?” someone muttered from the shadows.
Bo ignored the insult and wagged his tail hesitantly where he stuck to my side like glue. “You smell like engine oil.”
Daria blinked, apparently disarmed by my four-legged goofball’s charm. “My broomstick is getting repaired, so I had to ride the bike tonight.”
Bo brightened, his tail speeding up. “You mean the Harley is yours? Cool!”
Daria arched an eyebrow. “You know what a Harley is?”
“Yeah. Just so you know, I’d never barf on one. Unlike Marshmallow.”
Daria’s eyes glazed over a little. “Who’s Marshmallow?”
“The Saint Bernard who lives the next street over from our apartment,” I explained.
“He’s a butt sniffer,” Bo added helpfully.
Someone choked in the gloom.
I clocked Victoria and Samuel’s accusing stares. “In Bo’s defense, Pearl didn’t teach him Alliance etiquette.”
We looked at the cat.
Pearl flicked her tail irritably. “What?”
Victoria guided us to a cluster of empty chairs before I or my dog could say more socially incriminating things. Daria looked a little relieved as she returned to her seat.
I finally got my first good look at the rest of the Alliance.
Portia O’Keefe, the head of the Amberford banshees, nodded a regal acknowledgment across from us. Her expression indicated we were never to mention what had happened at the Holt ball in her presence.
Next to her was a man I didn’t recognize. He was tall, pale, and had eyes that suggested he’d seen empires rise and fall, probably while complaining about property taxes the entire time.
Victoria introduced him. “That’s Cornelius Heathwood, head of the fae.”
Cornelius inclined his head with otherworldly grace. “Ms. West. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Trust me, I wish it didn’t,” I said levelly.
“On the contrary,” a melodious voice said from farther down the table. “Reputations can be quite useful, when they are properly managed.”
The speaker was a stunning woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a Renaissance painting. All flowing auburn hair, wispy dress, and ethereal beauty, her scent indicated she was fae too. But there was something else there. An undertone that made my wolf pay attention.
“Melody Flowers.” She introduced herself with a smile that was probably illegal in several states. “I’m temporarily representing the local covens.”
This earned her a wary side-eye from Portia and several other Alliance members.
“What happened to the Lincoln sisters?” Victoria asked, unable to hide her surprise.
“They’re out of town,” Melody replied smoothly. “It seemed recent events were too taxing for them. We decided they needed a well-deserved…break.”
I swallowed. The way she said “break” made it sound like the Lincoln sisters had been fed through a wood chipper. Judging from Samuel’s frown, he was thinking the same thing.
I was beginning to understand why the very mention of an Alliance meeting made the Hawthorne alpha’s eye twitch.
