Page 62 of Only Fangs

“This is a definite instant win.”

“Cool.” She grins at me. “To the next option,” she declares, ducking back inside the cubicle. “Daddy still wants you to marry Benedict.”

Her voice is muffled, she’s probably taking off the jumper, and for a moment I wonder if I misheard her. Benedict’s name, even now after all these years, still makes my stomach clench and my palms itch in a way I can’t explain. It’s like my insides are desperate to escape my skin, to crawl as far from the threat of him as possible.

Clara steps out of the changing room, this time in a cute cord pinafore dress, just her lacy bralette on underneath. She should look like a school kid who can’t dress herself properly. She doesn’t. She looks sexy as hell. “Hey,” she says when she sees the expression on my face. “You’re not still thinking about him, are you?”

I don’t have the heart to tell her that of course I am, she literally just brought him up. But that isn’t what she means. She means if I’m still letting him get in my head, to mess around with me. “It’s OK,” I reassure her. I don’t want to talk about him. My best defence is to imagine he doesn’t exist, that he is no one.

“Daddy thinks⁠—”

But I cut her off. “Do we have to talk about what your father thinks about my love life?”

She puts her hands up in front of her. “Sorry. I just… It’s…”

“Just spit it out, Clara.”

“Sorry.”

I roll my eyes at her second apology. She does this. Leads a conversation somewhere and then apologises for doing so, like that makes it all better. “There’s obviously something you want to say. So just say it. Please.”

She stares at me for a few seconds. I don’t know if she’s trying to find the right words or if it’s for dramatic effect. “You know what Daddy wants. And you know that Daddy tends to get what he wants and to hell with the consequences or what he has to do to make that a reality.”

I nod. I mean, I know her father is a ruthless bully who doesn’t give a shit about anyone, especially people who get in the way of his plans.

“So I think you need to be extra careful with Brody. When you’re at Hele House that is. Don’t let Daddy think the two of you are together. Don’t give him a reason to try to tear you apart.”

“Well, that should be easy, seeing as we aren’t together.”

“And don’t, whatever you do, let him find out that Brody is human.”

Chapter 32

Brody

Tomorrow is the big day. Or at least tomorrow is the day we go to Hele House, there’s a casual evening planned to meet some of the High Council and the other people who are pitching. Then we present our investment opportunity the following afternoon, while everyone sits in like a big auditorium. After that there’s the gala event, with a drinks reception and then dinner and over the course of the evening the guests pledge amounts to each business… like a combination of Dragon’s Den and a silent auction.

I’m fucking terrified. There’s still some final finessing of the pitch but we’re pretty much there. My bigger concern is the fact we are actually going to Hele House. And I have no idea what to take with me.

There’s a knock on my door and Matt’s head appears around it, as if he’s been dismembered. A shiver runs down my spine but I force myself to ignore it. I’m just seeing things, the macabre part of my overactive imagination jumping to conclusions. Jesus Christ, I’m nervous.

“Are you packing?” he asks, pushing the door fully open to reveal the cup of tea he’s brought me.

“Trying to,” I reply and motion to the mountain of shit covering my bed.

“Did a bomb explode in here?”

I motion again to the piles. “What the hell am I meant to wear to a vampire retreat in the middle of fucking nowhere?”

Matt puts the tea down and then turns to the pile of doom – as the aforementioned chaos will now be known. “Well, let’s start with the things we know and then go from there.”

Sometimes Matt is a fucking disaster zone and sometimes he actually engages his brain and becomes surprisingly useful to have around in a crisis.

“OK.” I take a few steps to swipe the mug of tea and take a huge gulp. It’s bitter and lukewarm warm and it takes all my resolve not to spit it straight back into the cup like an ungrateful jerk.

“Hey. That was mine.”

That explains it. “Sorry, I thought you were coming in here with tea to be all helpful and lovely.” I add a touch of sarcasm to my tone.