Page 7 of Bonded to The Boo Hag

“You should take an ASL class with Palmer,” she imparted excitedly. “It would be a great way to bond.”

I nodded. The vows we took said that we would treat each other as equals.

Palmer lifted a perfectly manicured brow.

“She wants you to learn how to sign; maybe we could take a class together?” I offered, the idea appealing more to me as it sank into my brain. “I can find us a class.”

“I would enjoy that,” she replied, her grin wide.

3

Palmer

“Alright, that takes care of the Hannover Pack and the Locklear Coven’s land disputes.” Councilwoman Sable Oxendine declared, nodding to Councilman Victor Attwater, a Bloody Bones who served as our secretary, among other things.

He mainly serves as a pain in my arse.

Even with his glamour, self-generated instead of purchased like mine, he couldn’t hide the rottenness of his being beneath his blond, slicked-back businessman persona. Attwater finished signing the ruling and slid it over for Sable, me, and our final councilman, a Hellhound from Georgia named Pyrrhus Soros, to sign. Soros was new, and we had wanted Lucien Morningstar, but even I could admit I had nothing to tempt the Devil.

I scribbled my slashing signature across my line on the contract.

“How are things going, by the by?” Attwater questioned, his tone oily. “I saw your beau out at the bar with Drake. They are getting along rather well.”

I pretend I don’t know who he is talking to, capping my fountain pen before passing the contract to Soros. I don’t want to lose any of that bespelled blood if I don’t need to.

Attwater continued to probe. “He’s a little old for my tastes, but I can see the appeal. A man like that could make you almost seem delicate––”

“That’s enough, Councilman.” Sable accepted the fully signed contract. “Personal proclivities aside, we don’t question your nature, no matter how––”

“Abhorrent,” I muttered.

Sable sighed, cutting her violently fuchsia eyes in my direction. “––much we may not appreciate your biology. We respect your feeding methods as much as you should respect ours, Councilman. If this is a problem, I suggest you step down from your position.”

“No, no, I did not mean to offend,” Attwater dodged.

“Then, Councilman, maybe you should keep to council business while we are in this room,” Soros suggested, his voice deep and gravelly.

I shivered, appreciating the timbre. Some would find Soros’s steely gray hair and angular face appealing; he appears just as young as the rest of us—the only indicators of how false his appearance are his eyes. When you look into those golden orbs, you feel the oppressive weight of living.

I sincerely hope I die before the same is said about me. One hundred and thirty isn’t that old; I’ve got centuries ahead of me before I even consider…

“Are we done here?” I leaned back in the leather chair, anxious to return to Gatlin.

“I forget you are in your honeymoon stage.” Sable’s eyes glittered with humor. “Yes, I think we are done for the day. I motion to close the meeting.”

“I second.” Soros raised his fingers off the table in affirmation.

“I third.” glancing at Attwater, I smirked, seeing his lips smashed into a thin line. Good.

“Meeting adjourned,” Sable called, tapping the table twice with her knuckles.

“Thank the gods,” Soros said with a nod in our general direction as he disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like a campfire.

Predictably, Attwater waited for me to rise. I would put it off as long as I could, knowing the ass wished to make useless comments about my appearance, my manners, anything really, but I did need to get back to Gatlin.

“Save it, Councilman. How I choose to represent my species is my business.” With that, I left the room with my head held high.

I’m aware of how bizarre I look to others sans my glamour. Though I am beautiful just as I am, this is the best glamour I’ve ever owned. I touched my thumb to the thin silver ring with small crystals clustered in the center located on my middle finger. Not that his opinion matters; he doesn’t have the right to tell me a damn thing. He doesn’t know our true history, and he will never know me.

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