Page 37 of Kissed the Mark
“There is no bounty posted for Melanie,” thewoman said, her voice croaking, eyes half-lidded. The werewolveswould be nocturnal, like the majority of Mayfair’s occupants, sothis was far past their bedtime. A breach of etiquette Idesperately hoped could be overlooked.
“There isn’t,” I conceded. “I wasinvestigating the werewolf from Chicago that had passed.”
“May he rest in peace,” the woman said.
“May he rest in peace,” the others in theroom echoed.
“There is no bounty on him any longer,either,” the woman said. “What is it you want?”
“I am not defined by my occupation,” I saidirritably.Calm, Olympia. Get what you want.“I suspect thatthere was foul play involved in her turning that maybe wasn’treported to anyone.”
Again, utter silence. I was scared to lookup, but I could feel the weight of all those gazes on me. I had noidea how many people were in the room behind me.
“You may seek answers from us,” the womansaid, nodding her head as if giving me permission to ask. I couldhear the restlessness of feet moving around—not the reaction theyexpected her to have, then. “My name is Delilah.”
“Thank you, Delilah,” I said, licking mylips. “Um. I guess I’ll cut right to it.” If only there were just afew less witnesses to this. Anything that happened in this pack waslikely to make its way all around, though. “I need to know if shewas bitten by Bill Dyer as a last resort to heal her because shewas severely injured.”
People murmured behind me. I could hardlybreathe. So it was true. Leandra had attacked her.
Or maybe notLeandraLeandra?
The woman’s eyes were wide open now. “Thisstatement is true.”
Fuck. “Do we know who the perpetrator of theoriginal attack was?” I asked, finally looking around at a numberof shocked and upset faces. “Has anything been done to clear BillDyer’s name? This isn’t common information.”
“People here don’t know him,” the man whohad tied me up said. “There is nothing to clear up. His pack hasbeen notified of his valiant death.”
“May he rest in peace,” the woman saidagain.
“May he rest in peace,” the others repeatedagain.
Not that there was anything wrong withrespecting the dead, but this pack was so bizarre compared to thewerewolves I was used to interacting with that they almost gave mecult vibes. Like what humans think Mayfair actually is. At leastsomeone here was living up to expectations.
“We think we have identified the perpetratorby appearance and smell,” the woman said finally. “We do not have aname for them, nor do we intend to seek retribution.”
This was surprising to me, but maybe thatwas my fairy side kicking in with its assumptions. If somethinghappened to one of our kind, everyone worked hard to curse them orbring them the worst misfortune they’d ever experienced. Afterconsidering whether the question would be received well, I feltbold enough to ask, “Why not?”
“It is Melanie’s wish,” the woman said.
“Is there any chance I could speak with her?Or get the description of the attacker?”
The woman chewed on the inside of her cheekfor a moment. “Melanie! Get your ass in here!” she shouted.
A curtain at the back of the hut parted, andMelanie came forward. She was slender and red-headed, with eyes toobig for her face and a nose too small. She couldn’t have been olderthan nineteen, twenty.
“Did you hear the request?” the manasked.
“Yes,” she said. Everything about herreminded me of a deer, from the wobble of her knees to the skittishway she observed me. “She looked like a vampire. Long dark hair,tall, pale, big—um. Big breasts.”
Definitely Leandra. Shit, shit, shit. “Whatwas she wearing?”
“Something abnormal,” Melanie said, her eyeswidening. “How did you know?”
“Describe it for her,” the womaninstructed.
Melanie played with a bracelet on her wrist,not making eye contact. “She was wearing this weird, old-fashioned,champagne-colored dress. It was dirty.”
Yes. “She attacked you with herfangs?”
