Page 67 of Alpha Power

She took the porch steps two at a time and walked right into the foyer. "No," she scoffed. "Void doesn't do girlfriends." He was more the 'different flavour of the week' kinda guy, meaning he liked to keep himself on the market.

"I see, I see. More the 'hit it and quit it' type, yes?"

"More or less."

Heading further into the house, exhaustion started to finally take its toll. It had been a very busy night. Part of her couldn't believe how much crap had gone down in such a short amount of time. She made a bee-line straight for that luxurious chaise couch in the lounge room. Just the idea of sitting down and resting her aching feet brought joy to her heart.

Zamorra plopped her ass down and kicked her feet up onto the coffee table in front of her. A moan of delight escaped her lips. God, it felt like she'd been on her feet forever.

Margaret tsked and blurred to her side, slapping her feet straight off the table. She vanished from sight and returned a moment later with a wet cloth in her hand. She chucked it and it splattered right on Zamorra's face, making her choke.

"What the fuck?!"

"Clean up the mess," Margaret demanded.

"What mess?!" Zamorra exclaimed, tearing the wet cloth from her face. When her vision focused, she saw a speck of dirt on the coffee table. Her blue eyes flicked up to the angry vampire towering over her in disbelief. "Are you serious? There's barely anything there!"

"If you prefer, you can clean up the dirty shoe tracks you've left on my floor instead?"

That sounded like shit to be honest.

"You can't tell me what to do," she grumbled, even as she began to wipe down the table.

Truthfully, she was a smidgen - just a smidgen - terrified of the old woman, which Zamorra found strange considering she wasn't scared of the dark vampire king. There was something about Margaret, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but it was definitely something. It made her wary and cautious. She didn't think the vampire would ever hurt her, but she definitely could if she wanted too.

Satisfied, Margaret nodded. She clicked her fingers repeatedly at two vampire maids bustling in the background. One was tall and lanky, with brown hair and bright green eyes. The other was short and stumpy, with long blonde hair and dark, dark eyes. Complete polar opposites and for some reason, it made Zamorra snicker.

They blurred to Margaret's side, dropping whatever menial task was preoccupying them instantly.

"Mistress," they said simultaneously, bowing their heads.

Zamorra wrinkled her nose. Wasn't that what people called their side pieces?

"Amber, Nova, please gather the cleaning supplies and take care of the dirt trailing through my nice, clean house."

The vampires bowed again and disappeared, returning a moment later to fulfil Margaret's command.

"Isn't it Luther's house?" Zamorra asked, watching Amber and Nova wipe the floors. She couldn't see what 'dirt' Margaret was referring to, the damn woman was a massive clean freak.

Margaret waved a hand. "Semantics." She took a seat next to Zamorra, tucking her ankles behind one another and folding her hands in her lap. She sat with elegance, like a refined young lady, whereas Zamorra opted for comfort, slouching into the couch with her legs spread wide. Thank fuck she wasn't wearing a dress.

"Tell me about your uncle. What is he like? What does he enjoy? Is he a werewolf like you? Or something else?"

It was possible for two different types of shifters to be born within the same family. If the mother was a lion shifter and the father a werewolf shifter, it meant the child had a 50-50 chance of being either one. It was usually the most dominant creature that came out on top.

Zamorrarolled her eyes, picking up the remote and turning on the TV. An action-packed movie she had never seen before began to play and she focused on the screen. "You're wasting your time Marge, you ain't his type."

"Why? Because I'm old?"

"No," she scoffed. She didn't think Void would care about that. He'd care more about the fact she was a vampire than anything else.

"So it's because I'm a vampire then?"

Zamorra winked.

"Is he one of those 'no blenders' types of supernatural?"

"No blenders?" she asked, confused with the term.

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