Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“If you know the full name of this vampire, you need to tell me so I can report it to the Grand Coven and let them deal with the Vampire Council. They will punish him according to their laws,” Tabatha says, honoring her sworn duty as High Priestess. Vampires and witches haven’t gotten along in centuries but have tried to be civil in the most recent years.
“I think that might make things worse,” I say slowly. “From what I’ve been able to gather about Eamon, the very fact that the VC exists makes him want to go to war. He doesn’t think vampires need to be regulated by nons.”
“Or it could be exactly what he wants,” Nicole says. “You just said it yourself, he wanted to get our attention. He only attacked nons and not witches, but this could still get him reprimanded by the Grand Council since Thorne Hill is a witch-town.”
“What are you getting at?” Naomi asks her twin.
“How else would a vampire like him get an audience like the Grand Coven?”
“Shit,” I grumble, thinking she’s probably onto something. “And then he can try and convince us all of his plan.”
Tabatha wrings her hands but doesn’t say anything. And she doesn’t have to for us to know what she’s thinking: there are a handful of covens across the country who would be more than willing to team up with vampires if it means putting those who used to burn us in their place.
I hold my hand over the bottle of sweet red wine and pull the cork out with magic. It’s nearing midnight and I’m in the kitchen, standing at the island. My eyes fall shut when I bring the cork to my nose, inhaling deep. It hits me with memories from our honeymoon in California, where Lucas and I spent two glorious weeks at our vineyard. I mostly laid out by the pool, drinking wine while I tanned. We had a little incident with a few pixies, but the whole trip was perfect.
A big shipment of this wine came around Christmas. I couldn’t drink then, but we wanted to fill our wine cellar in the house so naturally, Lucas had his best wine delivered. Another shipment from France came around the New Year, and even though I was miserably pregnant, I still liked going into the wine cellar just because it blows my mind that I have a house with a wine cellar.
I set the cork down and look at the glass and the bottle on the counter. Depending on what I read, a little bit of wine is okay when breastfeeding. Juliet just ate after crying for nearly an hour straight and should sleep for a few hours if I’m lucky. Sighing, I push the bottle away from me and sit at a barstool at the island counter. The entire house is spotless, thanks to Eliza stress-cleaning while I was at the Covenstead. I almost wish for a sink full of dishes just so I’d have something mindless to do.
Not long after the sunset, Officer Maxwell, a Thorne Hill cop who’s questioned me before, came to the house wanting to talk to Lucas. I told him that Lucas was out of the country for work and reminded him that Lucas isn’t old enough to hold anyone spellbound. According to the age on his registration papers, that is.
Maxwell didn’t seem to be totally convinced that Lucas is only three hundred something years old, though he has no way to prove it. Lucas has covered his tracks well and has used human proxies to hold titles and file paperwork for his various properties and businesses. He wasn’t legally able to put things in his name until somewhat recently, anyway.
Still, Maxwell has to be building some sort of case against us, if not just me. I’ve been in plenty of situations that required alerting the authorities without being able to tell them the whole story. The fact that he brought up how I was the one to bring Easton to the hospital was interesting. He made sure to point out how it was also interesting that Easton was rather tip-lipped about the whole thing, stating over and over that he doesn’t remember what happened. He said he was so lucky I remembered he was going out for a run along that road.
Though if I’m ranking things on my oh-shit list, this is at the bottom. I tap the screen on the baby monitor, seeing Freya at the bottom of the swing, keeping Juliet comforted and warm. Feeling restless, I get up and walk to the fridge, opening it. I’m not hungry and nothing looks appetizing. I close the fridge and go back to the counter, putting a hand on the back of my neck.
“Fuck it,” I say and pour myself a half-glass of wine. My fingers wrap around the delicate stem and I bring the glass to my mouth, taking a tiny sip. The urge to gulp this whole glass down is strong, as it wasn’t all that long ago I was drowning my issues with Moscato. I’ve always had a higher-than-normal tolerance for alcohol for someone my size, which I know now is due to being a nephilim. All of my angel-powers are unlocked, making me wonder if one glass will even do anything. I’d love to sink into a wine-induced sleep.