Page 84 of Blood Lust

Oz and I have our place to ourselves, though coven members come and go as they please. It isn’t unusual for me to find at least two or three randomly strewn about. It is kind of like having the kids come home to visit.

As our new leader, Oz is quite impressive. He made it official with the council representative who came by. Apparently, it is common for someone to go into a city and address the coven leader to get information on changes in the area. It isn’t frequent, though they do make a point to stop by when rumblings reach them about a death or, in this case, many deaths.

His name is Nathaniel, and I feel tense around him for reasons I can’t quite explain. He praised Oz for removing Emerson, a feat he’d admitted they should have undertaken long ago. Something about that bothers me. If the whole point is to keep our existence a secret, why had they not moved against him at any point in time since Roanoke?

Was it because he was Leland’s? Did that grant him some immunity? Is there an unspoken rule about letting makers take out their maligned children?

It tickles the back of my brain and makes me wary, and when I’d shaken Nathaniel’s hand, he gave me chills. I haven’t voiced my concerns to Oz yet, wanting more information before I bring it to him, but I did ask Rolando to look into it. He’s agreed to keep it between us for now, at least until he has something to report about it.

My fears of being recognized so far have prove to be unfounded. I didn’t grow up here, and my parents live two hours away. My work was in the next town over, and while some of the people I worked with might live here, I doubt we’d interacted enough for me to leave a lasting impression.

Today I have a meeting with someone, and I’m not sure if I should be doing this. Instead of talking to Oz about it, I decide to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. A week ago, a letter told me to be at Lorenzo’s, a local Italian restaurant at one o’clock for lunch.

Sneaking out while Oz had been sleeping was easy, and I’ve resigned myself to telling him about the meeting when it’s over.

Stupid?

Probably.

Approaching the host, I reference the letter I was sent for a name. It may be the millionth time I’ve read it, but I still have no idea who it is. My research in our archives didn’t find them, and I hesitate to ask Rolando to keep another secret from Oz.

“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked, all chipper and filled with sunshine. Her bronze-colored name tag reads, “Becky.”

“Yes, I’m meeting someone. It should be under Leblanc.” I try to keep the edge out of my voice. My nerves are firing all over my body, and as the hostess leads me to a table, I shudder involuntarily.

At the table sits a beautiful woman. Her skin is sun-kissed and tan, and she has a Mediterranean look. Dark thick hair twists behind her head, and her full lips are painted red. She stands to greet me, and I see that her clothes are casual but nice. Dark linen pants that flare at the knee, swallowing her calves. A plain white blouse tucked in neatly. She’s wearing no jewelry beyond a sun-shaped pendant on a gold chain around her neck.

“Miss Butler,” she greets as if this meeting has been planned for ages. “How lovely to see you!” Turning to the hostess, she adds, “Please bring us some water. That will be all for now.” As Becky leaves to fetch our water, Ms. Leblanc gestures to the table, indicating I should sit.

“Ms. Leblanc,” my voice is plain, void of warmth or recognition, and I sit warily. Her smile seems forced now like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Please, call me Sophie.”

“Okay, Sophie. Who are you, and what the hell am I doing here?” I want to get to the point. I want to get back home. Something is gnawing at me, and I don’t like the feeling I’m getting from this woman.

“Wren,” using my first name since apparently we are so well acquainted now. “I want you to know that I, and my coven, mean you no harm.”

Coven?

I look her over. She definitely isn’t a vampire. I can hear her heart beating. At the same time, she gives off the vibe of a predator.

“You’re not like me,” I state. “But you’re more than human. What are you?”

Whether she means no harm is something I will find out later, but right now, I want to know more about Ms. Sophie Leblanc.

Becky returns with our waters, and Sophie sips hers. My impatience for an answer must be plain because Sophie seems to scramble to answer.

“I am, for lack of a better term, a witch.” Her voice is low enough that no nearby patrons can hear, but I can hear her perfectly fine with my heightened senses.

Air hisses into me.

Reading the archives, I learned that many supernatural creatures existed—demons, fae, werewolves, witches. Pretty much anything humans ever feared going bump in the night is real. We are all trying to coexist and keep our presence a secret. Despite the common goal, all the texts and journals I’ve read make it seem like our kinds don’t mix much. I’m still not sure what being a witch means, but I can guess.

“So why ask to meet me?”

Ask isn’t exactly the word. She’d more or less commanded me to be here. Curiosity and the unease I feel about the council are why I came.

“I have a proposition for the vampires, one I think you are in a unique position to listen to, given who your mate is.” Ah, the crux of it. She wants the vampires for something. Likely, she doesn’t think Oz will meet with her at all. I, the newborn mate of the vampire coven leader, am a much safer bet to invite and at least be heard out.

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