I see copper-flecked eyes everywhere and perfect beauty, even among the Truebloods who got turned in middle age and beyond. Even the few who look elderly rock that wise look and move with as much grace as their “younger” counterparts. Dozens are already here, relaxing and laughing with old friends, and the atmosphere has a warm, almost welcoming feel. It's not what I expected. I don't see many teenagers at all, or even people in their lower twenties. Most of these Truebloods must have stopped aging at thirty, unless they got turned later, and are senior members of their covens.
And then there's us, standing there and surveying the scene like the new kids at school.
I scan the area for any sign of people my age, or heck, even other Nightsides who won't be hostile when we get close. Servers in gray uniforms and bow ties, both male and female, walk around the area, but they all smell human and carry trays of glasses. And in those glasses is a thick red liquid. Blood. The humans here know they're in the lion's den. A woman stops at a long table of Trueblood couples, smiles, and places the glasses down on the table with a gloved hand.
“This isn't so bad,” I say to Walton.
A Trueblood man wraps his hand around the server’s waist. He pulls the server onto his lap, and she doesn't put up a fight as he flashes his fangs and sinks them into the side of her neck.
I hear the squick sound from here as he laps up her blood, which carries the scent of Ceasar salad mixed with sweetness. And she just smiles and endures it. My heart races. I see traces of scars on her neck when I look closer. Lots of white dots. Not her first rodeo, then. Then he releases her a moment later, and she stands, not daring to touch the seeping bite marks on her skin.
“Yes,” Walton says. “This isn't so bad. They don't kill their human familiars, and if the familiars perform well enough, they get to join the coven. Eventually.”
The woman walks back to a side area where a bunch of fancy room dividers stand, probably to refill her tray with blood goblets. But the reminder we're among killers hangs. I've attacked plenty of animals, so I shouldn't let this gross me out, but Miranda might suffer some shock. And I let Miranda cringe.
These familiars could be appetizers, and we could be the main course. Would these Truebloods feed on us? We have no scent to most of them and probably wouldn't taste good, but they might do it to remind the Nightsides of their power over us.
We all slowly move away from the door as Riley motions us forward. In watching the scene, I almost forgot about him, and that's a good thing. Miranda isn't his girlfriend.
“Okay, everyone. Do not make fools out of the Johnson coven.” Riley puffs out his chest and glares at us. “Remember your place.”
And he leads us to a long table near the end of the area. At least we get to sit and blend in.
Servers bring us glasses, but the last thing I want to do is drink as my stomach is heaving with nerves. Now that I'm sitting here, I can see over the other tables and to a large podium set up on the other side of the room. Wooden stands and leather chairs wait for the High Council, and a banner reading the Convening for this year hangs on the wall. All the fancy lamps and spotlights set up there tell me that's where the action is going to take place. Human workers walk around the periphery, checking spotlight wires and rows of folding chairs ready to get placed at a moments' notice.
“I see a few other Nightsides here, but not many,” Lily says, appearing at the end of our table. “A few other hunters are coming in, but there aren't many of us.”
I don't look at her too eagerly. Lily is just here, talking to our table. Mike and Ella have gone off to talk to a trio of older men, probably also hunters, near another table. None of them sit. The hunters are on full alert tonight.
Lily shakes a bit. She's nervous, and the youngest hunter here. A pair of Truebloods stare at her as they walk past, and I realize it's the two ladies from the front door. Some must suspect that something's up. Yikes.
But I'm the newest Nightside here, and the nervous girl. “Do you want to sit with us?” I ask in Miranda's quiet tone.
“Hunters do not sit with Truebloods or Nightsides, Miranda,” Riley snaps at me.
“I'm sorry, sir.” Yikes. Is this normal treatment in other covens? But I don't want to just sit here. Already, Walton rises, motioning for Daeshawn to follow. He leaves his glass of blood behind, barely touched, and then Stanley and Trish make themselves scarce, too. We've just come here to secure our seats until the vote. We're to walk around and prove to the Truebloods we're not dangerous.
I get up, but Walton has vanished. So it'll make sense for me to make rounds around here with Lily. We're both the same age, and me hanging with Lily won’t raise eyebrows.
Riley nods to me.
And I get it. Now's the time to feel out the happenings.
Not just among the Truebloods, but among the Nightsides, too.
Lily and I slowly walk in silence, and I keep my hand out of my shirt pocket in case someone wants a shake. Lily has no pockets on her green dress, and I smell no weapons hidden underneath. Weapons are forbidden at these events. The hunters are only here to observe and report back to their guilds, and nothing more.
“Excuse me.” A woman
