“This is Florence Malus,” Delphi tells everyone. “And this is my pack master, Larkin. I believe you met.”
“We did, but it’s nice to see you again,” I say, not sure the proper greeting I should give to a pack master. She holds a lot of authority—and power.
“This is Bazzel from the Raleigh pack, and Victoria and James, from our pack.”
“Nice to meet you all,” I say and slide into the curved booth next to Delphi. An awkward silence falls over the table for a few seconds.
“Okay, I’m just going to say it,” James starts, bringing his hands up as he talks. “You married the most eligible bachelor in all of North Carolina if not arguably the entire South. How did you land him?”
Hah. If only they knew. “I guess you could say we were introduced through family connections.”
“Oh wow. He is a good looking man—vampire—man-pire?” James says and we laugh. “You just kinda came out of nowhere.”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“But you did,” Larkin says. She’s maybe in her mid-forties, and is fit and well dressed. Stories circulated amongst the Order about backwoods Appalachian packs being inbred and impoverished. The Whittakers didn’t help with that rumor, and Appalachia has historically faced a high poverty rate. But the Order will also do and say anything to make werewolves less human or deserving. “I was quite curious about you after meeting you, as you can expect.”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“I tried to find the coven you came from, and came up empty-handed.” She takes a slow drink, and then sets her glass of whiskey down. “You never belonged to one, did you?”
“No,” I say, not seeing the point in lying about it. “I didn’t.”
“But that’s not where the surprises end,” she goes on. “Just today, your name was brought up at the station.”
“Station?” I question, though I know exactly what she means. And she knows it.
She gives me a small smile, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Quite unfortunate you had to witness a druggie run into oncoming traffic.”
“Yeah, it was, uh, awful.”
“But you weren’t too fazed.” She cocks an eyebrow.
“What makes you say that?” I ask and take in a breath.
“Xavier Malus isn’t the only one with his hand in the cookie jar. We have wolves employed by the CPD. You were given the star treatment, weren’t you?”
I drop my guard, lowering the mental shield that I subconsciously carry around me to get a read on her energy. It’s not that she doesn’t like me—she really is curious—and she’s smart to be wary. “Yeah, I was. I guess I can thank my husband for that.”
Everyone else at the table is watching the exchange, eyes bouncing from Larkin to me like pingpong balls.
“I guess you can.” She drums her fingers on the table, tapping each long nail one by one. “I couldn’t connect you to a coven,” she repeats. “But I did uncover your maiden name. Florence Russo.”
“Yeah. That’s me. Or was me.”
“Part of the Russo family.” Larkin did her research, which probably isn’t that hard. “Mark and Vivian Russo are your parents.”
“Adoptive parents,” I correct.
Bazzel leans forward. “I’m not following,” he says, shaking his head.
“Consider yourself lucky,” Larkin goes on. “Mark and Vivian Russo are well known hunters in the area.”
“Hunters?” James echoes.
“Yes,” Larkin says, eyes on me. “Some of the best in the Order.”
“The Order?” Delphi repeats. “Like the Order of the Mystic Realm?”
