Page 22 of Cloak of the Vampire
Jada gave an amused huff and spilled a bit of sauce on her hand. She licked it absentmindedly as she said, “Not all vamps here have fixed jobs.” She sucked on her thumb before she washed her hands, picked up a saucepan, and poured the contents over the enormous bowl of pasta. “Some of us, like me, refuse to hold a single job for long.”
I frowned and, with shiny silver tongs, picked up a duck dumpling as I mulled over her words for a moment. “So you’re like the League’s freelancer of sorts?”
“I prefer the term jack-of-all-trades.” She grinned. “I’m lucky, you know. I haven’t heard of other Lords who allow for such leeway.”
That made more questions pop into my head, but Lon’s shout of “Move your asses, or I swear to God you’ll be working in the kitchen until the day you cease to exist!” interjected before I could say anything.
Jada and I quickly finished our duties, and then all the servers stood in a row. “We’re here to serve only the higher-ups—Lords, their Lieutenants, and anyone with a director title and above,” Jada whispered to me. “I suggest you keep your mouth shut unless they speak to you; then take their orders and serve them their food.” She paused and gave me a serious look. “Never take orders from anyone not seated at a leadership table.”
Sounded fun. “All right.”
A boom sounded from the kitchen, and then Lon strode toward us. “Five and six,” he told one of the servers, then continued down the line in the same manner. “Seven and three. Four and ten. Eight and nine.” He then stopped before me and gave me a stern once-over, his eyes examining me up and down and then left to right. “One.”
He moved on, and Jada gave me a pitying look and murmured, “You’ve got real shitty luck, Aileen. You better be careful. Table one is the worst.”
Oh. “I’ve got only one table, though,” I whispered back, relieved. Maybe Lon was going easy on me since I was new.
“It’s like ten tables combined, unfortunately,” she hissed back, then muttered half to herself, “Eight and nine again. Fuck me ...”
“Who sits at table one?” I asked her, sure it couldn’t be all that bad.
She gave me a rueful smile. “The Lord, his Lieutenants, and anyone worthy enough to eat with them.”
Fucking wonderful.
CHAPTER 8
It was 1:30 a.m., and table one was still empty. I kept my distance as the rest of the tables filled up around me and waited not so patiently for the vampires I was assigned to serve showed up.
As I did so, I couldn’t help but feel a stifling, awful aura about the cafeteria. There was something ominous now that hadn’t been there before. It was as though the place had done a one-eighty in the past few hours I’d spent in the kitchen, and now it was this cruel and unyielding jail. The smell of food did not help the nausea creeping into the pit of my stomach.
When the table-one guests finally walked in, there were only a few other people left in the cafeteria. Jakob, Gus, Zoey, and a couple of other classmates sat at a table near the kitchen. They were so deep in conversation that they didn’t notice me, but they all turned their attention to the door at the very same time.
The first guest I saw was one of the best-looking men I’d ever seen. His burnished golden hair and brilliant honey gold eyes drew me to him. His sun-kissed bronze skin and body roped with muscles on a six-foot-fourish frame made him impossible to ignore. The way he walked, self-assured and confident like an experienced model on the runway, was hypnotizing. He was really terribly beautiful.
Next to him, Margarita walked. Her catlike green eyes were bright, matching the emerald color of her dress, and her waist-length dark-auburn curls bounced effortlessly with every step she took. She moved with theconfidence of someone used to getting their way, laughing at everything the man said.
But they weren’t alone.
Logan accompanied the two, head down as if he had heavy things on his mind. The trio settled in at table one, chatting, while the beautiful man whispered in Margarita’s ear, making her smirk as though he was the funniest person in the world.
Reluctantly, I walked to the table, aware of the other servers’ pitying eyes following me. When I reached the table, I took out a small notepad and a pen from the apron’s pocket and asked, “Ready to order?”
The group of three turned to look at me. I made sure my face was passive and relaxed as I waited for them to speak. I noticed the beautiful man raking me with his gaze, then turning back to Margarita, seemingly uninterested in what he saw. Margarita’s face twisted as if I had asked the dumbest possible question, then turned her attention back to the man. The chatty woman from two days ago was gone, it seemed.
Logan was the only one who responded, though he did so without looking up at me. “We’re waiting for our Lord.”
His dismissive tone caused my spine to stiffen, and I nodded rigidly. As I backed away from the table, I could hear Margarita murmuring loudly enough for me to hear, “I can’t believe Ragnor gave the Imprint tothat.”
The beautiful man whispered a response in her ear while looking right at me, but I couldn’t hear the rest.
Margarita sneered and said, “No, Magnus.” She took another look up and down my entire body this time, before shaking her head in disbelief.
Just as I was about to head to the kitchen and escape the scrutiny of those two and the disdain of Logan, the doors to the cafeteria opened. In walked Ragnor Rayne.
He wore his signature trench coat, black trousers, a black shirt, and black boots. His dark-brown hair brushed his shoulders, a little wavy as though he hadn’t bothered blowing it out after his shower. Ashe walked, again in that predatory way, he cast his midnight blue eyes around the room like he owned it. I was so struck by his presence at that moment. My heart beat like a war drum in my chest, and I could feel an angry flush coating my cheeks. I remembered my last encounter with him a couple of days ago at the Vampire Resources office. It made my blood boil.
Here he was walking into the cafeteria without a care in the world while I was stuck here, working a job I didn’t choose, living the life he’d forced on me.
