Chapter 4 #2
I considered what I knew about supernatural social structures.
“How about this? In my spare time, I’m a specialized artifact authenticator with particular expertise in shifter relics.
You sought me out professionally, a business relationship developed into something more, and now we’re engaged in one of those practical supernatural arrangements.
Politically advantageous for both parties. ”
Damien’s eyes lit with approval. “That’s perfect. Your heritage as a Rookwood would make you valuable politically, even estranged from your pack.”
I tilted my head. “You know about my family?”
“Of course.” His expression softened with something like compassion. “Your father’s reputation precedes him. I know what happened, Luna. The pack exile. The loss of your shifting abilities after the severing of pack bonds.”
I stiffened. “It’s not exactly a secret in supernatural circles, I guess.”
His hand moved across the table as if to reach for mine, but then he withdrew. “For what it’s worth, I think what he did was barbaric. Pack bonds shouldn’t be conditional on obedience.”
The anger in his voice surprised me. “You sound like you have experience with controlling family.”
He sighed and looked away. “Let’s just say I understand the weight of expectations and the price of defying them.”
I nodded. “Well, that makes our cover more convincing, then. A business-political alliance between a high-ranking vampire and the estranged daughter of a powerful Alpha would generate exactly the kind of calculated interest we want.”
“Yes,” he said. “Everyone will be too busy speculating about the political implications to question why we’re really there.”
“So my family disgrace becomes our social camouflage?” I said with a bitter smile. “I can live with that.”
“It also explains your interest in shifter artifacts, reclaiming your heritage through historical preservation rather than pack membership,” he said.
“I’ll present myself as what I am—a collector and broker of supernatural artifacts with particular interest in historical pieces.
My house has been seeking to strengthen alliances outside traditional circles.
An arrangement with a Rookwood, even an estranged one, would be seen as an innovative political move. ”
I narrowed my eyes. “Your house? What kind of supernatural are you anyway? Witch? Vampire? Fae?”
“That’s correct.”
“Which one?”
Damien opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “The Cross Bloodline. We’ve maintained a presence in Europe since the early Renaissance. We are…a little of everything.”
“But mostly?”
He held my gaze for several beats. “Vampire.”
“Oh.”
Damien’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in the air between us, like a subtle release of power he’d been carefully containing. “Does that present a problem, Ms. Rookwood?”
Werewolves and vampires had a complicated history, to put it mildly. Centuries of wars, territorial disputes, and mutual distrust had created a deep-seated wariness on both sides. My father would have a stroke if he knew I was even talking to a vampire, let alone agreeing to work with one.
But I wasn’t my father. And I wasn’t a wolf shifter anymore, was I?
“Only if you’re planning to use me as a snack,” I replied. “Otherwise, I don’t particularly care what you are. I care what you can do.”
He sat back. “Good.”
“So how long are we talking?” I asked. “Your life, I mean.”
“I was born in 1682. Turned in 1712.”
I whistled softly. “Over three hundred years? That’s a lot of dinner parties to attend.”
He laughed that wonderful laugh again. “You have no idea. The eighteenth century was particularly tedious. So many courses, so little actual flavor.”
“So we have our cover story,” I said. “What else do I need to know about playing your adoring fiancée?”
“Not adoring,” he corrected. “Though we’ll still have to sell our relationship, or no one will believe it.”
“Right. I can fake that.”
“As can I.” His intense eyes held mine, almost as though he doubted if I believed him.
“Well.” I cleared my throat and looked away. “I’ll try not to embarrass you with my lack of supernatural socialite skills.”
“You couldn’t,” he said with surprising sincerity. “Your authenticity is refreshing in a world drowning in artifice. Just be yourself…but perhaps with slightly better table manners.”
I laughed despite myself. “I’ll work on not stabbing people with dessert forks.”
“Now, regarding physical boundaries, we’ll need to appear comfortable with each other. Occasional contact will be expected. Hand-holding, perhaps an arm around your waist when appropriate.”
The casual way he discussed touching me made me shift in my chair, my pulse a steady hum between my ears.
“I’ll try not to flinch dramatically when you touch me,” I promised with fake sweetness.
“I appreciate your sacrifice,” he replied, so dryly that I laughed.
For the next two hours, Damien continued to drill me on everything from proper table manners to the correct way to decline a dance without causing offense.
He was a surprisingly patient teacher, demonstrating each protocol with a grace that spoke of centuries of practice.
When I struggled with a complex greeting ritual for elder vampires, he broke it down into simpler components, never showing frustration at my repeated mistakes.
“You’re a quick study when you put your mind to it,” he said.
“I’m motivated,” I said. “The faster we get through this, the sooner we can find the Shadow Fang.”
“I understand,” he said.
For a moment, I glimpsed something raw in him, a personal pain that mirrored my own desperation.
“We’ve covered the essentials for today. Tomorrow we should focus on the practical aspects of the infiltration.”
“And I need to find something appropriate to wear,” I said. “I’m guessing my standard tomb-raiding outfit won’t cut it at a supernatural society event.”
“That’s been arranged,” Damien said. “A selection of suitable attire will be delivered to your residence tomorrow morning.”
I stared at him. “You bought me clothes? Without even asking?”
“I provided options,” he corrected, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Consider it part of our operational expenses. Nothing more.”
“And let me guess, you just happened to know my size?”
His eyes traveled over me, not leeringly but in a way that made my skin tingle. “Three centuries teaches one to be observant about many things, Luna.”
The implication that he’d been observing my body closely enough to determine my measurements rushed heat to my face.
“I should go,” I muttered, standing abruptly.
Damien rose with fluid grace. “Of course. I’ll have a car take you back to the Repository.”
“I can manage,” I said. “I’ve been getting around New Orleans on my own for years.”
His expression grew serious as he gestured to the window. “It looks like rain, and you seem tired. Allow me this small courtesy? Consider it practice for our engagement charade. I’d hardly let my fiancée walk home in the rain.”
I wanted to refuse on principle, but I found myself nodding instead. “Fine.”
As he made arrangements, I took the opportunity to study him more carefully. Despite hours in my company, he showed no signs of fatigue. I tended to wear people down.
His movements remained graceful and precise, but he’d relaxed considerably since our first meeting. The rigid formality had given way to something more natural, though still elegant.
How much of his perfect composure was habit from centuries of careful self-control? And how much was armor against a world that had clearly wounded him in ways he wouldn’t discuss?
“The car will be here in five minutes,” he said, returning his phone to his pocket. “Shall I show you out?”
I nodded, following him through the mansion. At the front door, he paused.
“Luna,” he said, my name sounding almost musical, “you did exceptionally well today. I believe our cover will be more than convincing.”
Coming from him, it felt like high praise. “Thanks. I’ll try not to embarrass you in front of your fancy vampire friends.”
“I’m not concerned about embarrassment,” he replied, his expression growing serious. “I’m concerned about your safety. Selene’s gatherings can be dangerous for the unprepared, so I’ve heard.” He searched my eyes with surprising intensity. “I’d like to keep you whole and unharmed.”
I shrugged off the warm kindness in his voice. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“I know,” he said. “Your resilience is remarkable. But there are supernatural politics at play that would target you specifically because of your unique position between shifter…and not.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. “Stay close to me at the party, not because you need protection, but because united we present a stronger front.”
Put that way, it was harder to argue with his logic. “Fine. But I’m not going to simper and hang on your every word.”
“I would be disturbed if you did,” he said with a laugh. “It would be entirely out of character for you.”
A sleek black car pulled up outside, saving me from having to respond to what felt dangerously close to a compliment. Or at least I took it as a compliment.
As I stepped toward the door, Damien reached out, his cool fingers gently catching my wrist.
“One last thing,” he said, his voice lower than before. “If anyone asks how we met, the official story is that I hired you to authenticate a rare shifter artifact, and we discovered mutual interests that led to our arrangement.”
The touch of his fingers against my skin sent an electric current up my arm.
I pulled away, unsettled by my continuous reactions to him. “Got it. Love at first artifact. Very romantic.”
“Business at first artifact,” he corrected.
I shook my head and stepped out toward the waiting car. “Bye, Damien. Try not to overthink our fake relationship.”
“Bye, Luna. Try to remember which fork to use for the fish course,” he said.
I flipped him an elegant middle finger without looking back and was rewarded with a rich, genuine laugh that followed me all the way to the car.