Chapter Twenty-Seven
They could almost be freckles, or perhaps spots? Either way, at first glance the new twin scars at the junction of Verity’s shoulder and neck weren’t obviously fang marks. Considering the effort Theo put into soothing the tiny wounds it was a wonder they scarred at all.
Adjusting her t-shirt, she examined her reflection in the mirror behind the laptop. Unless she turned her head, only one of the marks was visible, making it even less likely for anyone to realise what they were.
He’ll know that you were mine first.
At the time the words had meant little. All her lust addled mind could think about was Theo, about finally taking what her body had demanded since the very first bite.
Now, after thinking about little else since getting home, she cared even less about what someone else might think.
She liked Theo, she really liked Theo, and she didn’t care what anyone else thought about it.
As Elliot said, just because he wasn’t human anymore, didn’t mean he had lost his humanity.
Theo was just another person, biologically changed but not as different to her as some might think.
She wanted to be with him, and if anyone didn’t like that, it was their problem, not hers.
Her phone chirped and Verity looked down to find a text from Theo. She tried not to feel disappointed.
The first thing she’d done upon waking up that evening was message Adam, checking he was okay and asking if he had Sienna’s number. No reply.
Then she’d messaged Cecilia, asking to talk again and mentioning that she’d met some girls from Cliffhaven, for she was all but certain that was where Abe had found the two girls.
After throwing herself under the bus, Sienna had asked about the places Abe had visited.
While Theo pretended to feed, desperately trying to heal her neck, Verity had listened.
Abe didn’t mention Cliffhaven, despite telling Verity he’d been there, but he also didn’t mention another coastal town.
So where else could Chloe and Mabel have come from when Mabel so loved the sea?
Of course it wasn’t a guarantee, but Abe kept talking about saving Verity, maybe he was saving the girls too.
She had no proof, she knew that, but she also knew something was wrong, that there were dots to connect but couldn’t figure out how.
Unsurprisingly, Cecilia hadn’t replied either.
An anxious knot settled in her stomach as she looked at Theo’s name on the screen.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to him, in fact she didn’t particularly want to leave his apartment that evening.
He’d been quiet on the drive home from SubRosa, distant when wishing her sweet dreams at the door of the spare room and kissing her cheek.
The insane idea of going to him had plagued her mind.
Slipping into his room and sleeping in his arms, but if he’d wanted that he wouldn’t have sent her to the spare room. So, she let it be.
What happened had been her fault, from sneaking into SubRosa that first time to asking to be bitten when he’d told her no.
Would Sienna have even been in there if Vivienne didn't think them friends? But Theo didn’t see it that way.
The possessive, protective idiot was beating himself up for what had happened to her, when, other than Sienna, all she cared about was what happened to him.
He hadn’t wanted it.
He’d been forced into performing. Putting on a show for the sake of protecting both her and Vivienne’s Blessed trade deal. His agency had been stolen just as much as hers, but Theo didn’t see it that way.
It broke her heart a little when Theo politely dismissed her that evening.
She’d emerged from the spare room ready to talk about what happened, and Theo immediately grabbed his keys to take her home, saying he was drowning in paperwork.
It wasn’t a lie. Earlier in the week he had mentioned multiple times that he needed to catch up over the weekend, but work was the last thing on her mind.
He apologised frequently on the drive to her parents' house, refusing to see himself as a victim. It was infuriating but Verity understood that he needed space to sort through the events of the night.
Before leaving she offered to do the write-up for the university seeing as, with ten nights to go, the Ostara festival was pretty much taken care of.
Obviously, he resisted, but Verity pointed out that it might look better coming from a human and he conceded to allowing her to draft an introduction.
The phone buzzed again. Well, he couldn’t be too down in the dumps if he was continuing with his usual level of pestering. With a deep breath she opened the messages.
How's your evening? I can take care
of the proposal. You should be resting.
Let me know you're okay?
Gods damn the person who gave that man a phone. What did he do before he could pester a partner with texts? Carrier pigeon? Messager on horseback? Surely, he was too impatient to wait for a letter.
Working on it now. How are you doing?
By working on it she meant staring at her laptop screen, wondering where to start. Unable to focus.
How long had it been since she’d written?
For most of her life she had written every day without fail.
Not always anything long or important, but something.
If she wasn’t writing her own articles, she’d often clip interesting or unusual stories from other papers and write about them.
Parts of the story that intrigued her, or elements of the writer’s style she enjoyed.
Once upon a time she would have done that with the Cliffhaven articles Theo had. In fact…
She flicked through her phone, closing the messages and opening the photos.
When Theo left the room she’d taken a few snaps of the articles, unwilling to forget about them.
Maybe they held a clue as to why the girls were with Abe, why the end of the quarantine was nowhere in sight, and what it all had to do with the Vital Exchange.
They were connected and there was no doubt in Verity’s mind, Cecilia knew how.
I'm fine. Do you need anything?
“Knock knock.” The door creaked open as her mum poked her head in. “Cuppa tea?” Debbie asked, holding out a steaming mug.
“Thanks.” Verity resisted the urge to tug her collar up as she took the drink.
“How’s Adam?” her mum asked.
“I wish you pair wouldn’t gossip about me,” Verity said. No doubt she’d got the name from Cora. There hadn’t been anyone else who needed lying to.
“Well, maybe if you told me about your boyfriend I wouldn’t need to go fishing,” Debbie said, with folded arms and a mischievous smirk.
It didn’t feel right deceiving her mum, but what was she supposed to say? His name isn’t really Adam, it’s Theo, Theodor Chapel. You know, my client, the six hundred year old vampire Lord who runs the city? Yeah, that would go down like a lead balloon.
Searching for something to say, she remembered the blank document in front of her and realised her mother might be useful.
“Actually, we’re working on something together at the minute, for the Exchange.”
“Oh?” Her mum edged further into the room, leaning on the door frame. “Working together isn’t easy on a relationship. Especially one that’s so new.”
Not the angle Verity was going for, but she persisted. “We’ve worked pretty well together so far, but I’m a bit stuck on this project. Would be nice to get a parent’s perspective…”
“Is that so?”
“Well, we’re working on getting more people to join the Exchange. The normal recruitment drives aren’t really working so we’re trying a new angle.”
The look on Debbie’s face said that she wasn’t convinced. Not in the slightest. “And what would that have to do with parents?” she asked.
“It’s just an idea, and you can’t tell anyone about this. No gossiping.”
Debbie pursed her lips in a way Verity saw in the mirror when she was about to argue, but she hummed a flat tone of begrudging agreement.
“You’re considering lowering the age…”
“No.”
“Only by a year, and strictly part time…”
“Verity,” her mum snapped. “You’re thirty-one years old and I don’t like you allowing them to… to feed on you.”
“It’s called donating…”
“You could call it happy fun time for all I care. I’m your mother, and I don’t like you feeding those… vamps.”
Verity arched a brow. The only people who called them vamps were the likes of Kane and the other thugs. After being forced to move back home, her mum and dad hadn’t hidden their resentment for what had happened thanks to vampires, but hearing her mother use the word left a bad taste in her mouth.
“Don’t call them vamps,” she mumbled. “They don’t like it.”
“Well, I don’t like being a second-class citizen.”
A lump formed in Verity’s throat as she tried to disagree, but she knew her mum was right. She wouldn’t have been driven to the Exchange in the first place if she wasn’t. But if she hadn’t joined then she never would have met Theo. Kind and protective and talking to her like an equal.
“Theo doesn’t treat me like a second-class citizen,” she said.
“Thank Phoenar!” her mum cried, throwing her hands in the air. “The vampire that you’re giving your life blood to is nice to you. My faith is restored!”
“Mum,” Verity cut in, but her mum kept going.
“Don’t you act like everything’s all hunky dory. I see you. Coming home after donation,” she made little finger quotes in mockery, “looking all tired and stressed. You haven’t been the same since all this Exchange nonsense.”
“It isn’t nonsense…”
“I hear things you know, that poor girl that went missing, that donor…”
Oh, gods. That wasn’t something she expected her mum to know about. She’d only wanted a little advice for the university proposal.
“Look. I know about Georgie. Theo’s been really worried about her, the police…”
“Who’s Georgie?” her mum asked, and Verity bit her lip. “Her name is Becca. One of the girls from work knows her. There’s another one?”
Verity quickly shook her head. “I must have got the name wrong.”
The look on her mother’s face, the quiet disappointment, made her want to shrivel into nothing.
“You don’t get names wrong, honey,” she said, slow and flat.
“I read the papers too, you know. I hear about the protests, the fact that your support group has been cancelled. I see the graffiti in the streets. I disagree with violence and I disagree with vandalism, but I can’t disagree with the point they’re trying to make. ”
Stepping closer, Debbie brushed a flyaway behind Verity’s ear and kissed her head. “Sometimes it’s hard to see a problem when you’re stood too close.” She moved to leave, pausing at the threshold before looking back. “You’ll always be my little girl, you know. It’s my job to worry about you.”
With that she walked out, leaving Verity to stew in her words.
Debbie had never been a well-educated woman, never had a high-flying career or lofty aspirations, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t intelligent.
When Verity got into university, she had wept with pride and later, told anyone who would listen about her child who worked for the Stonehaven Gazette.
But it wasn’t for the sake of status, nor money or fame.
She was so unbearably proud of her daughter for she—above all—valued the truth.
Whose moral compass was so unwavering that she both built a career and threw it away in the hopes of spreading the truth.
Debbie didn’t berate her for her recklessness, not once, not when it was her mother who taught her those beliefs.
Beliefs that, although still there, had taken a back seat for the sake of self-preservation.
Her mother was her compass, and she was right. The problem wouldn't be fixed by simply lowering the age limit of donation. The picture was far too big for that.