Page 49 of Forbidden Devotion
“What’s up, Sparky?”
“Don’t call me Sparky, Know-it-all.” At least some things never changed.
She ignored this, like she always did. “You ready for tonight?”
“As I’ll ever be. Ready for it to be over anyway.”
“Ah, not with that attitude. Come on, champ, you’ll do a great job. I’ll be cheering for you from the crowd.” She lowered her voice. “Mitchel, Mitchel, Mitchel—”
“Moon’s sake, donottry to start a chant from the audience. I’d be mortified.”
She punched his shoulder. “Just kidding, Sparky.”
“How did you get out of presenting anyway?”
“Eh, too abrasive?” She shrugged. “I’m not for everybody.”
He felt a little guilty for asking. “Hey. You did a great job organizing all this so quickly. Turnout’s huge. Parking lot is nearly full already.”
“Is it? Cool.”
“Has Ramsey arrived yet?”
“He and the other alphas have one of the meeting rooms booked in the main hall. He was there last I saw him. Probably still is. He never gets far without a line of people waiting to talk to him, so he’s stuck there.”
“Guess I’ll go take a spot in the line, then.”
“Mind company?”
“Nope.”
Her eyes grew wide, and she scrunched up her nose. “You smell like a vampire. Did one of them accost you on the way in?”
“No, I drove one of them here. I imagine he smells like me too,” Mitchel said.
“You drove one here?” She gaped at him. “Why?”
“Yeah, uh, Sinclair Davis? He’s studying at Borson. Lives with my pack. Part of an exchange program.” Mitchel wanted to say more, but Erika wasn’t the first alpha he should tell about his newfound friendship, and this wasn’t the appropriate time.
“You have a vampire living in your pack?” Her curious expression gave way to a grin. “Mitchel Edgehill?”
“It’s not that big of a deal, Erika,” he said, even though his initial reaction when first he saw Sinclair among his pack was that it was, in fact, a big deal. So much had changed since then.
“He’s studying supernatural history. Bit of a nerd. You’d like him. I’ll introduce you at the banquet dinner if you’d like. If I can find him in this crowd after the speeches.”
“Well, look who’s being a shining example of peace at a convention for peace. Well done, Sparky. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised too,” Mitchel admitted. “But don’t call me Sparky.”
* * *
Sinclair
His hair was askew,and his clothes were a bit rumpled, but such was a small price to pay for his parents’ affections. Sinclair had been hugged, kissed, and hugged a few more times for good measure. It was a nice feeling to be missed. And he’d missed them in return.
He lounged next to his father on one of two black leather couches in the sitting room of his parents’ suite. His father’s second, Alder, took the couch opposite, and his mother hovered in and out of the room, tending to the details of unpacking their extensive luggage.
The air smelled of lemon-scented cleaner common to hotel rooms everywhere, but underneath that, blood. Real blood. Fresh. Not the kind that came in medical packets that Sinclair was used to drinking. No, his parents had brought a donor. He wondered who it was. Did he know them? Probably not. Sinclair’s habit of avoiding the donors meant he knew very few of them.
