Chapter Sixteen #3
"Are you planning to work for Mr. Hawthorn again?" Lydia presses. "We could use someone local who's left such an impression on him." She turns her gaze to Donna, reproachful. "You didn't mention you had such a talented friend, my dear."
Donna flicks a panicked look between us, like a deer caught in headlights. "It was… sudden," she manages.
"I intend to recruit her back," Darius adds smoothly. "If I can persuade her to leave her current barmaid position at Mr. Cole's establishment." His nod toward Winston is deliberate.
Lydia and her ladies blink, visibly taken aback. Their expressions say it all—Hawthorn Industries VIP turned Briar Hollow barmaid. I can practically hear the gossip machine churning, their hunger for the story sparking right in front of me.
"Oh, you should join our club," one woman pipes up eagerly. "We call it knitting, but it's more about making acquaintances. And Sunday drinks—"
Before she can finish, Lydia cuts her off with a sharp look. Clearly the invite was hers to extend, not anyone else's.
"It would be a pleasure to have someone with your experience join us," Lydia says smoothly, then tilts her head, eyes narrowing. "Quinn… Quinn…" She taps her glass thoughtfully. "Are you related to John and Samantha Quinn, by any chance? You bear a resemblance."
My jaw nearly drops. My parents.
"I make it my business to know important families," she continues. "I could swear I've seen you before." She points, her eyes lighting with triumph. "Sabrina Quinn?"
For a beat I can't speak. My mind stutters.
If she's seen photos… it would have to be years ago. Her memory is uncanny.
My group stares at me. I stare at Lydia. The moment stretches into eternity, until Darius steps in.
"You are well acquainted indeed, Mrs. Bright.
I am impressed," he says smoothly, all charm.
It works. The spotlight shifts off me and back onto him.
"Sabrina—though she prefers Sage now, there's a long story there—spent years with Hawthorn Industries.
Interning, then rising quickly. She traveled overseas, sacrificed family time, dedicated herself fully.
John and Samantha are, of course, very proud of her. "
The bastard.
Though he just saved me from Lydia's scrutiny. He knows it, too. Their curiosity isn't gone as too many gaps remain, but at least the fire's not burning directly at me anymore.
I risk a glance at Asher. His eyes narrow with silent questions I can't answer yet. I shake my head slightly: later. Another story to tell. Another disappointment waiting. I don't even look at Kayden. I can already imagine the storm gathering in his gaze.
The music shifts, soft strings swelling as couples drift toward the polished dance floor. Darius seizes the moment.
"Mrs. Bright, perhaps we save the photos for after socializing?" he suggests, voice velvet.
"Oh, of course, Mr. Hawthorn," Lydia agrees instantly, her earlier impatience washed away. She wouldn't dare object to him.
Then he turns to me.
"If I may, Mrs. Darrow…" His smile curves. "A dance. For old time's sake. I must insist."
My stomach twists hard. Beside me, Kayden stiffens, ready to bare his fangs and end this charade in blood and broken glass.
I catch his arm, eyes pleading. Careful. Not here.
Because this is a minefield dressed up as civility. To refuse would ignite suspicion, whispers, even headlines.
Lydia and her ladies wait, watching.
I smile, practiced and polite. "Of course, Mr. Hawthorn. For old times' sake."
Kayden grips me once, hard, then releases when Asher lays a steadying hand on his shoulder.
I slip my hand into Darius's. His touch is cool, commanding, his satisfaction palpable. Together we step toward the dance floor, every eye tracking us.
As soon as we step onto the floor, he pulls me close.
Not improper—he wouldn't risk that—but close enough to stake his claim.
One hand takes mine, the other hovers at my lower back.
No skin-to-skin. Still, I can practically feel Kayden seething, Asher radiating cold dread from the edge of the crowd.
Gods, please let the younger brother keep his fangs sheathed.
"You know exactly what you're doing," I murmur, my smile fixed as we move with the music.
"Dancing," he answers, his eyes smoldering into mine.
"Did you orchestrate this whole charade just for a dance?"
"You look beautiful," he says instead. "Painfully so." For the briefest flicker, there's something raw in his gaze.
I keep my silence as we glide. His movements are precise, commanding, perfectly in step with the music. It's easy and natural and the familiarity makes me feel like I'm betraying something.
"This isn't a charade," he adds after a pause. "It's real. Real impact. You know that. At least you used to."
"I know about your other dealings too," I answer quietly.
"You don't know everything." His voice drops lower. "We've been searching for the right town for this project. Briar Hollow works as any other would have."
"Right. I'm sure that's exactly what you told the mayor."
"The mayor sees dollar signs and reelection speeches. He doesn't care about the rest." Darius's smile sharpens. "But the chance to speak with you is a welcome side effect of all this."
"Of course it is," I bite back. "Another chance to spin lies."
"No." His tone hardens, his hand pressing against the bare skin of my back. A shiver races up my spine. "So I can reveal truths."
"Darius—"
His voice cuts mine, calm but direct. "I need to know one thing. About Piotr and Miroslav. Should we keep searching?" His green eyes fix on me.
My teeth catch my lip. Right. That.
"You can… stop the search," I admit.
He nods once. "I thought so."
"They used wildbane powder," I add quickly. "Asher and Kayden found me unconscious. They assumed the worst—"
"I'll tell Konstantin," Darius interrupts, as if closing a file.
My chest tightens. "You sent them after me—"
"Sage," he says firmly, pulling me tighter into him. "I want a real talk. A chance to explain."
"Explain," I bite out.
"Not here. Over dinner."
I let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, right. A private dinner with you? No barrier and no one around? Not happening."
He looks away for a second, then back, brushing against me just enough to make my nerves jolt. Not fear, but familiarity again. We've been in this position before.
"I've never used my powers on you," he says quietly, eyes flicking to my celestite necklace.
"That much, you need to know. And as for the dinner, I give you my word.
Word of the forest." His eyes gleam brighter, the promise binding.
"No harm will come to you. I will not keep you. We will only talk."
My teeth grind. He's good. First twisting the guilt about the leshy, now layering his request on top of it until it feels inevitable. Manipulation, yes, but it works even if I'm aware of it.
"We know your… friends have been sniffing around.
Some literally," he continues. "We could have retaliated.
Taken one of you. But we didn't. Not even after your side started the attack last time.
This is a truce, Sage. I don't want to harm you or them.
For the sake of that truce, for the sake of what we had, will you give me one dinner? "
I hate the way my chest tightens. Hate the silence stretching until the words snap out of me. "One dinner. I'll… I'll write to you when. I need time."
And just like that, I know I can't tell Asher or Kayden. They'd never let me go, forest-bound promises or not.
His smile is slow and satisfied as the orchestra winds down. "Perfect. I will see you soon, my nymph."
He guides me back to the edge of the dance floor with infuriating grace. Asher stands waiting, cold composure locked tight. Kayden doesn't bother to hide his rage. His glare at Darius is so sharp I pray the watching crowd doesn't notice.
I start to step away, but Darius catches my hand. Holds it. Bows. "Thank you for the dance." His lips brush my knuckles in that polished, old-world kiss, and his gaze flicks past me to the vampires before settling on me again.
He's riling them up on purpose.
I yank my hand free. This time, he lets me. He nods once, then turns, already engulfed by people hungry for his attention.
Across the yard, I catch sight of Darlene and Johnny. Both watching me, no doubt spinning their own conclusions.
Kayden's arm winds around me the second Darius lets go. He yanks me close, fury rolling off him in waves. "That goat-legged bastard, I swear I'll—"
I press a hand to his chest, smile fixed for the onlookers. "Not here, Kayden."
His head snaps to me, eyes wild. "Then we get out of here, or I will—"
"We should go. Now," Asher cuts in, steady on my other side.
The rest of our crew is already gathered.
Donna looks stricken. "I'm sorry my mom ambushed you. I didn't know."
I shake my head. "It's fine. This whole night was built to be a trap. Social snares everywhere."
Her mouth tightens. "Well, I've got to do the photoshoot and play my role here. But I'll see you later, right?" She looks at Asher.
He nods once. "We'll regroup."
We move as a unit. Tomas yanks at his tie the second we clear the perimeter, muttering under his breath. Astrid snags two trays of food on the way out without the slightest shame. Jace looks like he wants to linger but thinks better of it, sticking with us.
"What did you talk about?" Asher asks as we wait for the valets, his eyes on me.
"He asked about the leshy. I told him the truth," I admit.
Kayden's growl is low. "Then I wish we'd taken our time with those two. Not given them quick deaths."
"That's it?" Asher presses, brow furrowed.
I nod. "More or less. Then the usual." The lie burns on my tongue, but I hold it. I can't tell him.
I drift toward Eira, who's a little apart from the group, studying a flower arrangement with serene curiosity.
"Eira," I say quietly. "Earlier, why did you look at me like that when you talked about death? Do you… feel something?"
She hesitates.
"Please, Eira. We're blind out here. You said you've seen death everywhere since the bar."
Her pale eyes lift to mine. "Most of it clusters around you."
My heart drops, a spike of fear hitting sharp. "Does that mean I'll cause death? Or that I'll die?"
She tilts her head, considering. After a long pause, she answers, "Both."
And she turns, walking toward Tomas's car without another word.
I stand frozen. "What does that mean?" I call after her.
She glances back, serene but sorrowful. "I don't know."
Then she's gone, and I'm left with nothing but the echo of her words.
Perfect. Another riddle wrapped in dread. I need to stop asking banshees questions, because all I ever walk away with is more fear and less clarity.