Page 88 of Resurrection
“My sister doesn’t go out often, you see.” The asshole keeps flirting shamelessly, and I cock an eyebrow at him calling me his sister. “She’s waited to try the delicious food you have here all day, so now she’s famished.”
“Yeah, starving,” I tell him through clenched teeth, staring at his neck.
Marcus grins like an idiot.
“Of course … yes … you need to order,” she stammers again, and with a sharp nod, she turns and dashes across the restaurant in search of the server.
“Really, Marcus? Sister?” I hiss at him, fussing with the black cloth napkin folded neatly on the table so I don’t wrap my handsaround his neck to strangle him. Eying the black plate sitting between polished silver utensils, I consider slapping it over his head, too.
“You weren’t exactly subtle when you stared at her tattoo, bella.” I startle when I hear he noticed it as well. Still grinning, he flicks his wrist, unfolding his own napkin with a snap before placing it over his lap. “Stating we are not a couple kept her attention on me instead of you.”
“How considerate.”
“Why are you being all snappy? I thought this is why we were here, to gather information, no?” His accent thickens when his dark brows slash low over his eyes. We are both keeping the tone of our voices low so no one overhears us.
“I was caught off guard, that’s all.” Wiggling in my chair, I glance at the table to our right where the two Guardians are sitting ramrod straight, their eyes locked on us with unnerving intensity. “And those two will give us away, anyway. Look at them.”
“It’s actually not a bad thing.” When I narrow my eyes at him, his lips twitch at the corners. “We can’t fool anyone into thinking we are human. So, maybe if they guess who we are, someone will slip and say something thinking we can’t hear them.”
“Do you have ears everywhere?”
“I don’t need to have them everywhere.” Leaning his forearms on the table, he brings his face closer to me, so I follow suit, my upper body moving in his direction. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs, his gaze steady on mine. “Slow down your breathing and just listen.”
Doing as I’m told, I deepen my breaths and focus on everything around us. At first, I flinch at the assault of sound raking through my head, but with each slow breath, I am able to separate them enough to direct my focus whichever direction I need. A few tables down, two men are discussing some businessarrangement in clipped tones. At my back, a woman pleads with whoever is sitting with her to stop doing whatever he is doing because she doesn’t want him hurt. I pay closer attention to it, thinking it has something to do with the mages, but after a short moment it becomes clear it’s nothing that concerns me. I’m about to open my eyes when a low voice penetrates my ears, and my back stiffens.
“…are here, I’m telling you.” From the whisper, I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman talking. “Why do we have to wait when I can just stake her right there on the table. I’ll die, I’m aware of that, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”
My jaw clenches, and I strain to hear if I can tell who is talking. Marcus stills across from me, and I can feel him struggling with his powers to maintain control. I can’t tell if he hears it as well, or if his reaction is a reflection of my own. When I don’t hear anyone answering the person clearly planning my death, I figure they must be talking on the phone, especially when the person speaks again after a moment of silence.
“I can do it, I’m telling you.” I pause, my heart jackhammering in my chest. “I’m serious, this is what I’m going to do …”
“Hello, my name is Michael and I’ll be your server today. Are you ready to place your order?” A person speaks in a tight tone, and my eyes snap open to stare at our server.
Greasy dark hair is gelled over his small head, his neck too long for his thin frame. Dressed just like the hostess in black pants and a white shirt, he has a vest, as well, with a notebook tucked in one of the small pockets. Beady eyes move from me to Marcus and back as he waits for an answer. The fucker had to come now so I miss whatever death is coming for me.
“Yes, of course,” Marcus answers smoothly, but I can see the tightness bunching the corners of his mouth. He must’ve heard it too, because he sends a pointed look at the Guardiansoccupying the table next to us, some unspoken conversation happening between all of them right in front of me. “I’ll have a Tomahawk cut, please.”
I raise an eyebrow, wondering how he can order without looking at the menu.
“Excellent choice, sir.” The server nods primly, the nostrils on his long, hook nose flaring. “And for the lady?”
I snort.
I can’t help it. The last thing I ever imagined in my entire life is for someone to call me a lady. I bet I can tell the prim and proper fucker how much food waste they have, because I’ve been through their dumpster more times than they’ve thrown trash. Marcus kicks me under the table again. I decide I’m going to break that leg when we get out of here, if I’m still alive.
Coming to this place has, to date, been my dumbest idea. And like losing Andrei was not enough, I brought Marcus to them on a silver platter. No matter what happens, they better pray I die if there is any type of attack. Because if I don’t and Marcus gets hurt? I’m going to level this city along with everything and everyone in it.
“She will take the Petrossian caviar, Tsar caviar to be exact, and bring the vodka in a bottle. After that, you can deliver two of your mousse au chocolat for dessert,” Marcus answers for me while I stew in my anger.
“Excellent,” the server repeats, his beady eyes twinkling with excitement. I wonder what on Earth Marcus ordered for me to get the damn weasel salivating over us. “It will be arriving promptly, if you’d excuse me.” He dashes away like his ass is on fire.
“What did you just order for me?” I narrow my eyes on Marcus.
“Tsar caviar, bella. The best there is.” One side of his mouth tilts up. “It better be for three hundred and fifty dollars a serving.”
“You ordered me fish eggs for three fifty?” My incredulous laugh is more of a huff than anything else. “Quite fitting, I’d say.”
“What do you mean?”
