Page 34 of Alpha Power

Margaret winked. "Why, Luther of course."

Zamorra blushed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh honey." Margaret patted her shoulder. "My body may look old but my mind is young. A kiss like that-" she fanned herself "-does not just end there."

Zamorra averted her gaze. She was still trying to forget the fact Margaret had walked in on their little hook up session. She cleared her throat and ran a hand down her front, straightening the fabric. "Hey Margaret?"

Margaret's eyes connected with hers through the mirror. "Yes?"

"You know that little trick you did when I first got here? The one where you figured out my age just based on my scent?"

"What of it?" The vampire replied casually, absently straightening up the bathroom counter. Zamorra didn't think the old woman even noticed she was doing it. It just seemed like second nature to her.

"Can you do it on anyone?"

"Of course I can. Everyone has a scent, and that scent tells me how long they've been on this Earth," Margaret frowned and picked up the towels and dirty clothes on the floor, placing them in the washing basket. She turned and placed her hands on her hips, scowling like a disapproving Mother. "The basket is right there. I swear you're as bad as the boys sometimes."

Zamorra shrugged that off. "How old is Luther?"

Margaret chuckled and swished a finger in the air. "He told me you would ask someone this, whether it be me or one of the Elites. He also told me not to tell you."

Zamorra gaped. "He what? When did he tell you that?!"

"Earlier this morning." Margaret gave a cheeky smile. "Sorry deary, he beat you to the punch."

Goddamn it. Seemed like he was determined for her to translate what he said to her in that thick accent of his. She eyed Margaret out of the corner of her eye. "Fine. Can you tell me if he's Italian?"

Margaret frowned slightly and then shrugged. "He is."

"Do you speak Italian?"

"Si, perche volete sapere?"

Zamorra blinked. Okay, did the Italian language just make people ten times more attractive or something? She certainly felt like it did. "Right. I've got no clue what you just said but Imma take that as a 'yes Zamorra, I most definitely can speak Italian.'"

Margaret hopped up onto her bathroom counter. She crossed her legs and lowered her glasses from her face to leave them hanging by the intricate beads tied together around her neck. It gave Zamorra serious librarian vibes. "'Yes, why do you want to know?' is what I asked."

"Oh." Zamorra turned to face the old woman, leaning against the counter and coming in close like what she was about to say was a secret. It kinda was. Everyone in this house had supernatural hearing so it was better to be cautious. "Can you teach me?"

She couldn't for the life of her remember what Luther had said to her in Italian, but if she could learn the language and get him to repeat it, then she would know. Baddabing baddaboom. How hard could it be to learn?

Margaret gave a sly smile. "Why?" She sang suspiciously.

"Because I wanna learn it, that's why," Zamorra snapped and she winced. "Uh, sorry."

Margaret chuckled and waved it off. "Oh, you too are perfect for each other," she laughed, jumping down from the counter. "I'll teach you, but you have to promise me one thing."

"What?" Zamorra asked warily.

"Let me be there when you decide to bust out in Italian. I want to see his face."

Zamorra snickered. Yeah, that was going to be pretty fucking hilarous. "Deal."

Margaret nodded. "Alright, we'll start soon. In the meantime, you're needed elsewhere." She opened the bathroom door and inclined her head. "Let's go, deary."

Zamorra looked at her reflection once more before following Margaret out of the room, her heels echoing against the marble flooring. She was more than prepared for what the night may bring. They had spent the better part of the day running through all the details about the club. The layout, the security, the staff, and what she was required to do.

Axel put a small camera in the centre of the black choker she was wearing. He had also given her a small mic that she had pinned to the inside of her collar, and an earpiece so she could hear and communicate with everyone outside of the club. She had a plan. She was prepared, more than ready. So, why was she nervous?

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