“Why those looks, and I don’t mean the ones aimed at me?” Lore asked softly from her side.
“Don’t you know? I’m the worst of humanity. A freak. I see demons…” The lump in her throat swelled, her sarcasm dying.
“You’re not.” His tone grew stern, his stare flinty as he watched an old crone and her friend pass.
“My dearest Nia, I’m so sorry,ma chère.” At the thick Cajun accent, her stomach heaved, but she turned, her expression polite.
Leo Boucher hauled her into his bulky body. “Don’t fret,chère.You will always have me.”
The odor of moldy cheese and sweat blasted her square in the face. Nia nearly gagged. She pushed at his chest, but he wouldn’t let go, his fingers digging into her back.
“Do not touch her.” A column of warmth came up behind her, but Lore’s voice could have refrozen melted snow.
Leo hastily let her go. “I’m a friend of the family,” he huffed.
As if that gave him the right to manhandle her. He shuffled off, then glanced back, shooting her another of his oily looks.
Mouth tight, she made her way to the crowd that had gathered for the service. She stopped near the closed casket where the priest stood. People paid their last respects and streamed past her. Within the polite murmurs of condolences,she caught the critical and often disparaging eye flickers dispensed her way.
Nia tried to ignore them, keeping her attention on the colossal display of red roses draped over the lid. She never liked these stuck-up fat cats with their noses in the air.
The only people who mattered?—
“Nia!” Saia hurried over to her, looking lovely in a long black coat, dress, and boots. Her mate, Riley, remained a protective shield at her side. Saia’s parents followed them. After all, they were acquaintances of Nan’s and moved in the same circle.
Saia hugged her, her eyes dark with concern. “Are you okay?”
“As well as I can be,” she murmured.
“Nia.” Zayn came over and slid his arm around her, causing Lore to step back, giving her much-needed breathing space. “We got you.”
Her eyes swam with tears. Yes, they were the only ones who mattered.
Saia’s parents, Jemima and Edward Sen-Grayson, nodded at her. They were a tall, striking couple: Jemima, with her brown skin and a stylish bob, and Edward, lean and built, with fair hair. Unlike Nan’s other friends, they were always nice to her.
“Our deepest condolences, Nia dear,” Jemima said, touching her arm. Edward gave her a quick hug, eyes gentle with compassion. “If you need anything, just call.”
She nodded.
The priest finally carried out the last rites. “We gather here today in grief and love to remember the life of Cora Lucille Savoie Deveraux, who was a pillar of strength and support for our community and her beloved granddaughter, Rania…”
Beloved?What did he know? Nia shut him out.
Nan had merely tolerated her. She didn’t love her, not that she’d said so, but Nia saw the dislike in her often disapproving stare.
Nia slipped her chilled hands into her coat pockets, her attention fixed on the flattened weeds trodden over many times…and still, they survived.
She would, too…
Soon, it was over, and the guests began to depart. Nia remained as the pallbearers arrived.
“She gets all Cora’s wealth now,” a snide remark drifted to her.
Her stomach cramped, a chill seeping through her. Was that what they thought she wanted?
Zayn lowered his head to whisper, “Ignore those dour-faced grim reapers. They know nothing.”
Nia didn’t respond, too frozen to even attempt a smile.
