Azazel did a double-take, before snapping his book shut and sitting up on the sofa, his mouth agape.
Monica, wearing Lana, marched up to Raziel. “Are youinsane?Stupid question. Of course you are. Ofcourse.”She repeated the first half of the conversation to him flawlessly, even pacing around on the carpet, copying Lana’s mannerisms with adisturbingdegree of polish, even to his eye.
Raziel wondered idly how well she could copy his own personality. He had seen her take his form, but she hadn’t been copying his mannerisms. Likely for his own comfort, he realized.
That was skill,notmagic, that gave her that gift.
She grew so much more frightening to him in that moment.
And he wanted herso much morefor it.
The form of Lana melted back into that of vampiric Monica, and she stepped to Raziel’s side, wrapping her arms around hiswaist as if she were suddenly afraid of the world. She exhaled, seeming exhausted.
He draped his own arm around her, holding her close. “My blood had an interesting effect, you could say.”
“What the fuck—what thefuck—what the fuck—”Lana was in a panic. “That—that’s not—that’s not possible—that’s not—bats areone thing,but?—”
“You remember cousin Mikhail, do you not?” Raziel kissed the top of Nadi’s head. She rested her cheek against him. “He could take the shape of all manner of animals at will, not simply bats like we Nostroms can. Wolves. Rats. Even a camel for that one party.” He chuckled. “Oliren can change his form into mist as well as bats. Is it such a stretch to imagine this? In some ways it’s more natural, when you think about it.”
Lana was numbly shaking her head. Azazel was still staring, agog.
Vampires sometimes had a singular gift that ran in their family. With the Nostroms, it was the gift of shifting into bats. With the Rosovs, they could speak to animals—though there were no animals in the metropolis and pets were illegal, so it was a rather useless gift.
Those vampires like Raziel or the ones he had mentioned like Mikhail or Oliren were considered powerful and rare mutations. Or, now, “Monica.”
“So fucked up,” was Ivan’s simple, three-word addition to the conversation.
“Thank you for the summary, Ivan.” Raziel smirked. He was very, very proud of himself in this moment. It wouldn’t guarantee that he would come out of the evening unscathed. Hardly. But he was now quite convinced that “Monica” would be allowed to join the family.
Because such a skill was far too useful to destroy.
Lana stood from the chair finally, never taking her eyes off Monica like she was some kind of freak of nature—which to be fair, she was—just not for the reasons Lana might believe. She hurriedly left the room, likely to go tell their mother what she had just witnessed.
Good. It saved them both having to repeat the parlor trick.
“I don’t want to die,” Nadi murmured to him. Moons, she wastoo goodat this.
“You won’t. Not here. Not today.” He tipped her head up to look at him. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Nadi might shy away from his touch. She might bare her little fae fangs and hiss at him like a feral cat. But Monica? Monica washis.
Leaning down, he kissed her. Kissed his murderous little fae. His wife. It was a cheap ploy to steal an embrace from her, he knew. And she would likely be furious with him later.
But he wanted a kiss.
And he knew she wouldn’t break character.
Sure enough, when he pulled away, her eyes had drifted shut, and her hand was lightly clasping the lapel of his suit coat. There was peace and bliss on her face.
He wondered if that, too, was an act.
He wondered why that hurt him.
Lana stormed back into the room. “Dinner is served. Ahead of schedule.”
It was time to face the music. He straightened his shoulders and released his little murderer. “Come, Monica. Let’s get this over with.”
Nadi sat rigid at the formal dining table, her eyes fixed on the plate before her. Maintaining the glamor of a newly turnedMonica was a layered experience—she had to look pale, subtly different from the woman’s human form, and keep the slightly magenta tint in her eyes.
But controlling her expression was proving to be the real challenge.
