Vincent
After you stormed out of our rooms, I curled up with Spooky and fell asleep, my typical reaction to stress. When I woke, you were showering in the bathroom. After a lonely shower of my own—and at your insistence, a bandage for my wound—I redressed in my sunborn attire, complete with the leather breastplate over a red tank-top to show off my guns. I strapped my leather sword belt around my waist as well because if you could wear armor and weapons to official events, then so would I.
“Ready?” you grunted when we were both dressed, still refusing to look at me.
“Worried I’ll turn you into stone?” My attempt at teasing only came out as bratty, so I tried again. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Another first. You generally wanted to discuss things, ad nauseum. Maybe you’d change your mind once you cooled off.
After another parade-like procession and Mater’s opening remarks where she again attempted to appear warm and welcoming to the other tribes, we were seated next to each other in a huge dining room decorated similarly to the grand hall. Had I made a good enough impression on the warborn? I wanted to ask you how you thought it went, aside from the bit where I asked Lucian to mudra you, but you were scowling and broody, not the fun kind either. Your irritation pricked at me throughout the meal, which set me even more on edge.
“Are you getting drunk?” I asked after a server had refilled your wine glass for the fifth time.
“Yes,” you said shortly and continued to give the drink your full attention.
Maybe I should have apologized, but I couldn’t have you swooping in to rescue me every time there was the slightest hint of trouble. Of course, I didn’t think the warborn would attack me with my back turned. Anika never would… would she? But I wished you hadn’t gone and killed that man. Our tribes were way too comfortable with death.
But now wasn’t the time to fight with you, especially with our guests scrutinizing my every move, and the Grigori elders, whom Mater had placed strategically at her own table, shooting me wary glances. She’d told me she needed them close by to ensure their loyalty, but I didn’t see why that circle couldn’t expand to include me as well.
“Why do I feel like we’re at the kids’ table?” I asked Lucian. He and Stefan were seated across from us.
“Mother felt this arrangement would be most conducive to our diplomatic efforts,” he said like a smooth-talking politician.
“She wanted to isolate you,” you said gruffly, and it seemed that she had. Our table was separate from all the others, not a single tribe within throwing distance. Even Ashur and the other beastborn, our most likely allies and the easiest to woo, were clear across the room.
“Perhaps it’s an attempt to create the impression of power,” Lucian offered, shooting you a dirty look.
“What level of deception must it take for you believe your own lies?” you groused in response.
Lucian huffed. “Is this about what happened earlier? It’s really not fair to hold that against me. I was only following Vincent’s orders.”
“I hope your head still hurts,” you said sourly, then tipped back the last of your wine and raised your glass for another.
“He’s absolutely miserable when he’s like this,” Lucian said to me. “When you were gone, this was what I had to deal with. All the moping around and mood swings. Hardly ate or slept. Drank all the time. Didn’t say a word to the others, except to bark at them.”
“Lucian,” you warned. Your glare had turned from irritated to menacing.
We were interrupted then by Eubuleus, who pulled up a chair next to Lucian and asked, “How is my sister Anona? I heard she spent some time here as your hostage.”
“Hostage?” Lucian trilled. “Hardly. She was my most cherished guest of honor. An absolute treasure. Gave me some excellent advice on how to increase our yields. Loved our drum circles. Healthy appetite. Beautiful dancer.”
“She grew the grapes for your wine, blessed your lands with the hearthborn bounty, and you gave her right back to Azrael?” Eubuleus said with a threatening edge to his voice. He looked drunk as well. “Was it worth it? Handing over our brothers and sisters in order to save one of your own?”
Your fist pounded the table so hard that the silverware rattled on the plates. Everyone startled and turned toward you. “They came for us first. They flew warships into the desert, descended upon us like locusts, and stole Vincent from me. Your sister was part of that effort.”
Eubuleus frowned, but I sympathized, knowing how Azrael treated soldiers who fell out of his favor. I still couldn’t believe you’d captured all of those Nephilim—you could have been building a small army. But you’d chosen me instead. I felt guilty. And grateful.
“You know what they say about your tribe, don’t you?” Eubuleus said to me. “No need to turn your back on a bloodborn. They’ll stab you in the front too.”
Lucian clasped one hand over his heart in an overly dramatic gesture while you twirled your butter knife between your fingers, making common cutlery look lethal.
“Go away, Eubuleus,” you said roughly, “before I make good on your accusation.”
“Do you know what he did to her?” Eubuleus said, still directing his accusations at me. I assumed he meant Azrael. “After he stole her from us, he made her set fire to our lands. Virgin forests, centuries-old trees, rare wildlife… All of it reduced to ash.” He cupped his fingers as if holding the ruins in his hand.
“We’ll fight him,” I said. “We’ll destroy Azrael, and we will get your sister back.”
