"Third from the left," Simon breathed. "The one in the gray suit."
Charlie looked. The vampire in question appeared to be in his mid-forties, though that meant nothing with vampires. Brown hair going silver at the temples, the kind of face that belonged in corporate boardrooms. Nothing remarkable. Nothing threatening.
"That's the vampire who killed my mother."
Chapter
Thirty
Charlie's hand found Simon's under the table, but Simon's fingers stayed rigid. Through their bond, Charlie felt something dark rising, something raw and primal that made his own dead heart beat furiously in his chest.
Emerald continued her welcome speech, talking about community and healing and safe spaces. The words washed over Charlie without meaning. All he could focus on was Simon.
The vampire in the gray suit leaned back in his chair, examining his nail with the casual air of someone who'd never lost a minute of sleep over the people he'd killed.
"Thank you, Emerald," Maya said when the speech finally ended. "The retreat really has changed everything for us."
Other vampires murmured agreement. Staff emerged with the morning's blood service, those same crystal decanters Charlie had marveled at last night.
"Tell me," Simon said suddenly, his voice cutting through the pleasant chatter. "How many people have you turned for the Organization?"
The dining room went silent. Emerald's smile froze.
"I'm sorry?" she said.
"The Hunters' Organization." Simon's gaze stayed locked on the vampire in gray. "How many people have you turned for them?"
Maya looked between them, confused. "What's he talking about?"
"Simon, perhaps we should discuss this at another time," Emerald tried.
"No." Simon stood. "Everyone here deserves to know what pays for their ethical blood and meditation gardens. You turn people. For the Organization. They select the targets and you do the dirty work."
"That's ridiculous," Connor said, but his voice wavered.
The gray-suited vampire set down his glass with deliberate calm. "Have I seen you somewhere before?"
Simon's rage spiked. "You've seen me when you killed my mother in apartment 4B. It was February. Ten years ago."
"Ah." The vampire's lips curved slightly. "The Hale boy. You look like your mom."
Several vampires drew back from the table.
"Say her name," Simon said.
Emerald stood. "This isn't the place?—"
"Say. Her. Name." Simon's hands gripped the table edge hard enough that the wood creaked.
The vampire in gray studied him with the detached interest of someone examining a specimen. "You think I remember the names of all my targets? Do you?"
"I keep perfect records." Simon's voice had gone deadly quiet.
The vampire made an amused sound. "Of course you do." He picked up his glass again, swirled the blood. "She died well, if it helps. Fought to the end."
The sound Simon made wasn't human.
Through their bond, Charlie felt him shatter, like everything holding him together just ceased to exist.
