Well, that was a cheerful logo.
Cheryl sucked in a gasp. “Oh my gods, is that George Loom?” A tiny squeal of distress escaped her. “I should have worn the Valentino dress,” she cursed before looking over at me. Her eyes took on a tragic look as she eyed my dress. “I should have let you try to squeeze into one of mine. You probably would’ve had to take out a few inches of zipper because I’m much slimmer than you, but that would’ve been better than what you have on now.” I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. She was just secretly jealous that I had bigger boobs than she did. “Well, it can’t be helped now. Sorry, but I can’t be seen with you.”
“Bummer,” I drawled.
She shook her head, her eyes continuing to scan the room. “Is that Vang Lewis?” she asked, stretching her neck to better see a group of men across the room, speaking with Headmaster Torne.
I followed her gaze and saw that she was right. I recognized him from the articles I’d read. “It is...but I’m surprised you know who he is,” I told her honestly. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in the shifter with one of the largest peaceful packs in the continental United States.”
She smoothed down her blonde bob. “He’s super hot, Motley,” she said in irritation, as if that should’ve been obvious. “Though I’d never date a shifter. Coital bliss between the species is such a social faux pas. Nothing wrong with a little flirting, though.” She winked.
“Oh. Right. How silly of me,” I deadpanned.
Cheryl scampered off in her heels, a flurried trail of excitement lifting each of her steps as she went up to Vang and started flirting with him. Huh. I guess she wasn’t a stickler about sticking to her own kind like most everyone else.
“She sure is something,” Stiles mused.
“That’s one way to describe her.”
The further we walked into the room, the more others turned to look at us. The gathering was an odd mix of students and professionals in the supernatural community. Necromancers, elementals, shifters, and vampires were all milling around the lavish room, drinking cocktails and eating finger foods that passing servers offered them.
I saw a couple dozen Thibault students aside from Stiles and myself. Some of them I knew, some of them I didn’t, but all of them looked surprised to see that I’d been invited. I could see it in their raised brows and pointed looks, and then came the whispers.
What’s she doing here?
I thought this invite was exclusive. What’s with the charity case?
Why is Stiles Trant with her?
And on and on it went. My peers were so friendly.
I fixed my expression into a mix between oblivious professionalism and resting bitch face. Basically, the same face I’d worn my entire academic career.
Stiles kept at my side, tense but seemingly oblivious of the numerous eyes on us. “Can’t you go away and ignore me like you always do?” I hissed, while smiling over at a creepy necromancer in a glittering tux.
Stiles glanced over at me with irritation. “It’s not like you don’t ignore me too.”
“Of course I ignore you,” I said with exasperation, careful to keep my voice at a low murmur. Never underestimate the power of supernatural hearing. “You made it clear from the start that you’re not interested in being my brother or even my friend. So just scurry off and leave me alone to fend for myself against the wolves like you always do. You’re good at that, just like your father.”
The skin around his eyes tightened at the words your father, but for once, he didn’t argue. Deciding to ignore him, I turned away, watching everyone and trying to gain a sense of what this corporation was all about. I’d rather gnaw on my own foot than try to get answers out of Stiles. He’d just hold it over me like a bone to a dog.
Maybe if I mingled a bit, I could pick up some clues? I was well informed when it came to the supernatural community, especially powerful organizations. I had to be because I intended to work for one. So the fact that I’d heard nothing about Spector Inc. had my interest piqued.
“I’m gonna go get a drink,” Stiles said. “How do you take your blood?”
I turned to glance over my shoulder to see who he was talking to, but there was no one there. I raised my brows. “You’re offering to get me a drink?” I asked suspiciously. “Why? You gonna spit in it?”
He sighed and yanked on his tie. “Do you always have to be so fucking difficult?”
“I think it’s a family trait,” I retorted.
He muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch. “Can you just tell me what kind of blood you like?”
I snorted. That was such a rich thing to say. “Uhh, just red and warm.”
He blinked in surprise. “You don’t have a preference? Supernatural breed? Blood type?”
“Stiles, I’m a scholarship student. Aunt Marie and I barely scrape by. You actually think I get to pick from exotic blood flavors like you? Come on, you’re smarter than that,” I said, patting him on the shoulder patronizingly. “And don’t bother. I can get my own blood.”
He made a sound that was half-sigh, half-muttered curse, before he turned and stalked away from me. I watched his retreating back, filled with a mix of relief and disappointment. Being siblings, even if it was only half, always made things complicated between us.
A rush of air at my back was the only warning I got that told me vampires had just flashed over.
“I’m surprised you got an invite tonight, Motley,” the first unwelcome voice said behind
