Page 81 of Soulmates
“None of your business.”
Trajan leans toward Jacques, bracing himself on his elbows, his eyes shooting sparks. “Then we’re even. That’s the last favor I’m doing for you.”
My knowledge of vampire lore isn’t nearly as complete as it should be, but I have a vague notion that the scion owes his sire some level of service indefinitely.
Still, the way that Jacques rolls his eyes and tries to laugh hints that either I’m wrong or they have a different arrangement. “Oh, all right. I’ll do it. Trajan, I’ll call you tomorrow with the date.”
Trajan stands, hands still on the table. “See that you do.”
Connor and I follow his lead. Connor’s “Thanks for the dinner” is a lot more polite than anything I’ll come up with, so I keep my mouth shut. Since the waiter hasn’t actually served our food yet, I catch him on our way out so we can take it to-go.
I tell him to give the bill to the guy in the fierce suit.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
WE HAVE A date, and bless Jacques’s frozen, undead soul, he’s making them come to me. My best guess is the LA location was just something he tossed in there because he wanted to be an asshole, but whatever the reason, I’m glad.
On May first, we’re going to meet at a place in the desert that’s known for quasi-legal pit fighting, and we’re going to have it out. That gives me time to work out the two big flaws in my plan:
I need to find a second, and I need to shift.
I’m back in the lotus position, staring through the window at the ocean’s ebb and flow and pondering my two capital-P Problems. Most of the drapes are closed—because vampire and sunlight—but I’ve got a three-foot strip open for the view.
I’m not stressed about things—or at least I’m telling myself I’m not stressed—but solutions need to present themselves. Soon. Like, ten minutes ago soon. My wolf is strong enough to shift multiple times in a day. Surely he’s strong enough to appear with a vampire and a phouka keeping the rest of me intact. There’s only one way to find out, but I can’t bring myself to try.
It’s too early for Trajan to rise, and Connor and his laptop have taken over the dining room table. I’m distantly aware that a phone is ringing, but manage to ignore it.
It’s harder to ignore the doorbell.
Connor answers the door, which gives me a heart attack becausewho the hell is here?Then Abby walks in. Mom is right behind her.
Mom and I don’t talk much. It’s nothing personal. Mom doesn’t talk much to anyone. She’s a poet and something of a mystic. She lives alone in a small house with a view of the ocean, surrounded by trees. For her to travel to Seattle is a big flaming hoo-haw.
For her to travel to LA means Armageddon is on the horizon.
I unravel my legs and stand facing them. My internal crevasse where the pack used to be has apparently swallowed my vocal cords, because words won’t come.
Abby approaches, the set of her shoulders radiating caution. She’s about my height, her hair a lighter shade of brown, and she takes my hand and brushes a kiss over my cheek. I swallow hard. The best I can do is to give her fingers a squeeze.
Mom stays halfway across the room. She’s shorter than me and slight, with long curls she pulls back from her face in a loose knot. I can’t imagine how Abby got her here. They must have come by car. Once, Mom told me she has to stay in one place long enough to catch the words that come out of the air.
Flying would be moving her too fast.
She meets my gaze, though, and her smile is a balm for my hurt. “There is a cancer,” she says, her voice rippling over the words the way water tumbles over rocks. “You need to find the cure.”
I still can’t find my voice.Damn, but this is hard.Everything I lost, every damned thing, stands represented by these two. Abby, my sister and my closest friend, and my mother, who…damn.
When it becomes clear that I can’t respond, Abby clears her throat. “What she means is, you’re not alone. The pack is divided, and by challenging Uncle Brendan, you have the chance to bring us back together.” She makesthe face, the wrinkled-nose-pursed-lips face that I’ve seen so many times, the one that means she’s about to say something unpleasant. “At least you’ve shown us who needs to be culled.”
“You must win.” Mom says it like the outcome has been foretold, which, hey. Maybe her talking air spirits have given her some info that the rest of us don’t have.
Connor comes around the fireplace and although my voice is shaky, I manage to get through introductions. Abby’s cheeks flush pink when he shakes her hand. She always did have a thing for guys with beards. He takes a step towards Mom, but her corresponding step back clues him in, and he stops.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, putting my manners to shame.
“I’ll take a pop if you have it,” Abby says, still somewhat starry-eyed.
Mom’s attention has been drawn to the view of the ocean. “Tea please.”
