Page 58 of Brutally Mated
“How many have been lost to vampire attacks in the last month?”
He stiffens slightly. “A few.”
“Tabby can call down the sun on those creatures,” I say. “I haven’t brought my mate here to plan a wedding. I’ve brought her here to make a difference. To fulfill the prophecy.”
He pauses for a long moment, looking at me consideringly. Probably trying to work out if this is bullshit or not.
“Have you brought a mate, or a weapon?”
“Both,” I say.
“I’d like to see this power demonstrated,” he says. “And of course, meet the female who has become your mate.”
“And you will.”
Tabby
I’m splashing in the bath happily. Second bath in just a few days feels amazing. Being kidnapped is almost worth it. This bath is even better than the first one. I wonder if the next one will improve somehow again, or if I’ve peaked now.
A light tap on the door indicates the presence of someone.
“Yes?” I call out.
The door opens just a crack, and a refined voice speaks. It’s Wesley again.
“The lady is required at dinner. I have laid out a few dresses I think you might find to your taste and fit.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I get out of the bath, glad I elected to keep my hair out of the water. When I go out to the bedroom, I find three pretty gowns on the bed. One is blue silk, one is a snug black velvet, and the other is green and frilly.
I am being given a choice in how to present myself for the first time. There can be only one choice.
The black dress.
It cups my breasts and it snugs in at my waist, and it falls to the floor. There are shoes to go with it, shoes with a heel and a strap that wraps around my ankle and are conveniently in my size.
There is a dresser with hairbrushes and things on it. I go there and I pull my hair up onto the top of my head, letting a few curling red strands fall down the sides of my face. There are cosmetics, and I use them to make my lips red and my cheeks blush and my lashes dark.
Then I am ready.
Wesley is waiting outside when I emerge.
“Come with me,” he says.
I go with him.
He leads me to a dining room that is warm and cozy, with a fire burning behind the chair at the head of the table. The room has paneled walls and many portraits of people who must be relatives because they all look more or less the same, male and female alike.
One of those portraits is of Skor. He was painted seriously, with a scowl of determination I have seen many times. Another of the people in the portraits is standing at the head of the table. An older man, clearly Skor’s father.
Skor’s eyes widen as I enter the room. He looks surprised in some fashion. I hope I look good. I think I must. He does not take his gaze from me as I am escorted to a chair opposite him, and next to his father at the head of the table.
“This is Tabby,” Skor says. “She is my mate. Tabby, this is my father, Lord Skar Vertigen.”
“Hello, Mr. Vertigen,” I say.
“Nice to meet you, Tabby.”
