Page 80 of Only Fangs

We gather in the great hall. It feels cosier than it did yesterday, with even more candles burning and the imposing portraits of the Hele clan shrouded in heavy velvet drapes. There’s a sense of anticipation in the air, a feeling that anything could happen. Or maybe that’s because I can’t stop thinking about what just happened and what will happen later then we can retire back to Brody’s room and find delicious privacy again. I’m not letting the opportunity slip through my fingers this time.

I reach for his hand. For once it isn’t warm in mine, it’s ice cold, like he’s a vampire too. For a moment I’m taken aback, concern flooding my system. There were rumours – many many years ago – that vampires could be created. That all vampires could turn the humans, not just the first of our kind who made the Twelve from whom we are all descended. But it was an old wives tale and nothing more. Something we made up stories about when we were babies. Something the humans used to scare their children with.

“It’s freezing in here,” he leans to whisper in my ear. Relief floods my system, he’s just cold. Not vampire. I didn’t lose control when we were together and find a way to turn him. I shake my head a little at my own stupidity. I really need to get a grip on myself. Pull it together, Arianna.

I pull Brody closer to one of the wall-sconces, no doubt lit to provide more dramatic flair to the announcements but kicking out a bit of heat. Hopefully enough to take the edge off the chill for him and stop him developing gangrene this evening.

“Thank you,” he says and squeezes my hand. “I’m nervous,” he adds after a pause.

“Me too,” I admit.

“Whatever happens though we know we did our best. We threw everything at this pitch, Ari. We should be proud of ourselves.” His smile is wide and sincere. I actually think he believes the positive affirmations he says. And perhaps, for the first time in my life, I believe them too. Maybe positivity is catching? Or maybe Brody just makes you a better person, the little voice says in the back of my brain. I don’t immediately shut her down, she may have a good point.

A man I once knew – or thought I knew but it turned out my perceptions were so very wrong – strides on to the stage, full of self-importance and so clearly revelling in being the centre of attention it makes my skin crawl. I’ve spent decades trying to avoid him. His name is Benedict Dalton and he’s the first person I ever loved. Or at least I thought I loved him until he showed me the truth of who he was.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Benedict says, his eyes scanning the audience and a huge smile plastered across his face. “As Head of Investment for the High Council I’m thrilled to announce the results of today’s pitches.”

Benedict Dalton works for the High Council? In charge of investments? Why didn’t Andrei tell me? He knows we used to be together. But then I remember what Clara said, about how her father still thought I should marry Benedict and it all becomes clear. Fucking Benedict Dalton. Is he going to follow me forever, always just there like a bad smell, waiting in the shadows to destroy any tiny bit of happiness I find for myself?

He makes a huge deal of announcing how much funding has been pledged to each pitch, going through the list in the same order as we took to the stage earlier. After each one he pauses for a round of applause, smiling and geeing up the crowd as if it were him they were cheering for.

We’re next on the list and I hold my breath. We need this money, even if it will come with strings and expectations and the constant spectre of fucking Benedict Dalton.

“Now. On to Only Fangs,” he says and I stiffen in anticipation. This is it. “I think we can all agree that the very idea of a vampire only dating site is rather excellent. Using the human’s technology against them to grow our own vampire empire.”

He’s obviously missing the point entirely – Only Fangs is about finding love and connection not some weird middle finger to point at the humans – but I grit my teeth.

“And many of you agreed with me. I’m delighted to announce that the venture has been fully subscribed.”

We get exactly what we asked for. Every single penny.

“Fuck yeah,” I say as I turn to Brody. He looks ecstatic, like he might actually burst with happiness at any moment. He circles his arm around my waist and pulls me closer.

“We fucking did it.”

His lips are centimetres from mine. How easy it would be to close the distance and kiss him. But we’re in public and this is technically a business meeting and I can already feel someone’s eyes on me. Watching me. It sends a shiver up my spine. And not in the good way being with Brody does.

I turn around and there he is. Benedict Dalton. He smiles that slow languid smile at me and I want to smash his stupid face in. Why is he watching me like that? As if he’s waiting to pounce.

A waitress breaks the tension with champagne. Brody reaches for one and I catch a glimpse of the reflection of his arm in the pewter of the tray. I swallow and my eyes dart to Benedict. Did he notice?

Twenty minutes later my exuberance with the champagne catches up with me and I’m forced to excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

“So then, Miss Haywood,” Benedict is leaning against the wall just outside the women’s powder room.

I ignore him and walk past, but he grabs my wrist and turns me to face him.

“Not so fast.”

“Let go of me,” I demand. “You’re hurting me.”

“I know what he is.”

The words slice through me like daggers but I keep up the pretence. “What are you talking about?”

“Your paramour.”

I want to laugh at the use of such an antiquated term – and one with such connotations in vampire culture – but Benedict isn’t joking. He means it in all its insulting glory. He may as well have called me a whore.