Page 241 of A Vicious Love

“Do not make me repeat myself in a forest while your sons are pretending they are too far away to hear you surrender.”

His face hardened.

I turned away. This time, he did not call after me.

Smart man. I rejoined the path and headed toward the distant movement of the hunting party.

The forest smelled of pine.

By the time I reached the rest of the party, the Bellemere men had arranged themselves near a small rise overlooking a stream. Two dogs worked the edge of the brush. Sienna’s eldest brother checked his rifle with the strained focus of a man who knew something had happened behind him and was deciding how much he wanted to remain alive by asking.

I looked at them all.

Studying prey was useful.

Predators who rushed into family systems missed where things. Men like Sienna’s father were never alone in their decisions. A family did not offer one daughter in place of another without people who benefited. I had three weeks with these people.

Unbelievable.

Three weeks of meals, and enough polite conversation to make me consider drowning myself in the pond.

I was going to socialize willingly.

Unfucking believable.

I was glad Harrison wasn’t here. The bastard would get enough material to torment me for life.

Jamison Crow attends family retreat.

Jamison Crow makes small talk with in-laws.

He would never shut up.

Ever.

Sienna’s eldest brother, Julian, noticed and looked immediately alarmed, which improved my mood slightly.

Her family assembled into categories fast.

Julian, eldest son, inherited polish and insufficient spine. Married, two children, liked being seen as responsible. His watch cost too much for a man pretending to appreciate nature. He would bend to father, because he believed hierarchy was morality.

Second brother, Adrian, quieter. Observant. A little resentment when Julian spoke. That one might know more than he said. He watched his father return to the group with a tightness that told me he had noticed the man came back smaller.

Useful.

Two brothers-in-law stood near the coffee flasks. One nervous. One ambitious. Ambition always smelled the same, even with countryside cologne.

The uncles were worse.

Older Bellemere men had the soft arrogance of people who never personally paid for what their last names took. One kept looking at me as if trying to decide whether to charm me or fear me. Another had already chosen fear. Better instincts.

Then there were the cousins.

Too many.

Bellemere cousins seemed to breed like weeds.

The hunting party resumed because men hated admitting tension had altered their rituals. Rifles lifted occasionally, though fewer after I looked at the first one long enough for the owner to lower it.