Dear Diary,
It’s been three weeks since I became a werewolf. I’m about to attend my first meeting with the Amberford Alliance. Victoria has briefed me seventeen times on proper etiquette, Pearl has critiqued my outfit choices until my ears bleed, and Samuel keeps giving me looks that suggest he’s already planning my funeral.
Apparently, the last time someone “disrupted” an Alliance meeting, half of downtown ended up on fire. So, no pressure.
FYI, I resent the fact that everyone assumes I’m going to cause some kind of incident.
… Okay, they’re probably right…
Abigail West
(99% confident I’m about to put my foot in my supernatural mouth.)
***
“Remember,” Victoria said for the eighteenth time as we headed for the Chamber of Commerce, “you are here to observe and learn. Don’t look anyone in the eye and don’t speak unless directly addressed.”
“And if you are addressed,” Pearl instructed curtly from Victoria’s arms, “try not to insult anyone’s ancestry, dietary habits, or personal hygiene.”
“That was one time,” I muttered.
“It was three times,” Samuel corrected. He adjusted his tie with a stiff movement that did little to calm my nerves. “And one of them was literally yesterday.”
I shot him a narrow-eyed look and did my best to ignore how hot he looked in his suit.
“How was I supposed to know asking the banshee at the dry cleaner’s about her vocal cord maintenance routine was considered rude?”
Samuel sighed. “Because normal people don’t ask banshees about their vocal cords.”
I decided not to point that no one in our group was normal.
“Well, excuse me for being curious about supernatural anatomy,” I grumbled instead, smoothing down my dress. It was one of Claudette’s creations and had cost more money than I cared to know about. “Besides, I thought you liked my curiosity.”
The heated look Samuel gave me made my face grow warm and reminded me exactly how much he appreciated certain aspects of my curiosity. Unfortunately, it also reminded me of this morning’s argument about our living arrangements.
“You’re being unreasonable,” he’d said, pacing around the Hawthorne mansion kitchen like a bear who’d woken up early from his hibernation. “We’re mated. Tradition dictates you live with me.”
“Tradition can kiss my ass,” I’d shot back irritably where I was eating toast at the breakfast bar. “I’m not giving up my independence just because some cosmic wolf magic decided we’re compatible.”
The fact was we were more than compatible. The mate bond made every touch electric and every night together feel like the world was ending in the best possible way. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that I’d spent my entire adult life being self-reliant and I wasn’t about to hand over the keys to Samuel Hawthorne, no matter how ridiculously gorgeous he looked in and out of a suit or how he made my toes curl when he—
Victoria cleared her throat. “Perhaps we could save the mating displays for after the meeting?”
“We weren’t—” I started.
“You were.” Pearl curled a lip. “Your pheromones are practically nauseating.”
“Also, you both smell like you want to do that thing with the handcuffs again,” Bo added with his usual lack of tact from beside my knees.
Samuel choked on air. Victoria went pale. Pearl looked like she was considering becoming a vegetarian just to avoid being associated with carnivores.
“Bo!” I hissed, heat crawling up my neck.
“What?” The Husky side-eyed me and wagged his tail innocently. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”
“No one was thinking that,” Samuel muttered, his face red behind his glasses.
“I was,” Bo contributed cheerfully. “Abby gave me extra treats that day.”
My belly clenched when I met Samuel’s hot gaze. We’d both really enjoyed the handcuffs.
I was distracted by the looming building we were approaching.
The Amberford Chamber of Commerce looked like someone had taken a respectable colonial building and gone to town with the embellishments. The original redbrick facade was now populated with gargoyles along the roofline and there were enough decorative cornices and pediments on the thing to make an architecture professor faint in horror.
I eyeballed the assortment of vehicles in the parking lot we were crossing with a degree of dread.
A sleek black hearse sat next to a Bentley with tinted windows so dark they were probably illegal. A vintage Rolls-Royce that looked like it belonged in a museum was parked beside a monster of a motorcycle. A pink Cadillac huddled beside a midnight-blue Bugatti.
Bo panted noisily beside me, his face alight with the unhealthy glow of automobile adoration.
“He watched a show on vintage cars again last night,” I explained at the others’ stares.
Samuel rolled his eyes. By now, the entire Hawthorne pack knew about Bo’s addiction to the Discovery channel.
“Maybe you should buy him a toy car,” Pearl suggested in the casual tone of someone who’d never worked for a dime in her life.
Bo studied me hopefully.
I frowned. “You’re afraid of the vacuum cleaner.”
“A vacuum cleaner is not a car,” my dog shot back wisely. He stiffened and sniffed the air as we neared the entrance of the Chamber of Commerce. His tail drooped. “This place smells like a funeral home.” He moved closer to me.
“Some of the Alliance members are old,” Pearl declared with a swish of her tail.
That wasn’t sinister at all. An ominous creak distracted me from my spiraling thoughts of doom.
A doorman who looked like he moonlighted as a bouncer at an exclusive club was opening the heavy oak doors for us. His scent marked him as a werewolf. He wore a bored look that suggested he’d seen enough supernatural politics and drama in his lifetime to remain permanently unimpressed by anything short of an actual apocalypse.
His expression changed when he saw me. He visibly paled.
I swallowed a sigh.
My reputation as a white luna had been making the rounds in Amberford’s supernatural community. I had to admit I wasn’t exactly crazy about my newfound fame. It made for awkward situations and even more awkward conversations. It didn’t help that I had incapacitated the cream of Amberford’s society a short while back with a single command and everyone was now busy pretending that never happened.
A discrete brass plaque beside the main doors read Amberford Chamber of Commerce: Serving Our Community Since 1868. My gaze landed on the small inscription beneath it.
It said All Species Welcome.
No doubt that one was only visible to supernatural creatures.
“Good evening, Mrs. Hawthorne,” the doorman said with a skittish nod. “The Alliance is gathering in the Twilight Conference Room.” He glanced nervously at my hands, as if expecting to see the crystal skull I had used to immobilize Amberford’s supernatural elite at the now-infamous Holt ball.
I gave the guy a friendly smile. He gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing wildly and eyes darting sideways as if looking for an escape route.
“Maybe try not to smile at anyone when we’re in the conference room,” Victoria suggested diplomatically as we entered the building.
I sagged a little. Samuel patted my arm.
This was going to be a long night.
The lobby was grand and what you’d expect from a building that hosted both human business meetings and supernatural summits. Tasteful artwork lined the walls and expensive rugs covered polished hardwood floors. A crystal chandelier cast warm light over leather furniture that looked like it had been designed for both comfort and confidentiality.
But what caught my attention and drew me up short were the smells. Layers of supernatural scents danced in the air, creating a complex bouquet that made my enhanced nose twitch. Vampires, werewolves, witches, fae, dwarves, pixies, dragon newts, and things I couldn’t yet identify all mingled together in an olfactory signature that screamed “powerful people making important decisions.”
Bo whined softly and pressed against my leg.
“You two okay?” Samuel asked quietly.
“I will be,” I said with more confidence that I felt.
“Do try not to embarrass us,” Pearl warned as we headed toward a grand staircase at the far end of the lobby. “That goes for you too, mutt.”
Bo looked like he’d changed his mind about tagging along for this meeting.
Dark wood banisters gleamed under the glow of sconces as we started up the stairs, the carpet runner thick enough to muffle our footsteps. The portraits lining the walls featured stern-faced individuals in period dress who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else but here. Several of them appeared to be tracking our progress with their painted eyes, which was either expensive magical art or weird regular art.
“That’s creepy,” Bo quavered.
“Are those…?” I trailed off and indicated the portraits.
“Former Alliance leaders,” Samuel confirmed quietly. “Some of them are still around, technically.”
I grimaced. “Technically?”
“Vampire politics are complicated,” Victoria said.
Bo’s claws clicked on hardwood as we reached the second-floor landing. A long hallway stretched before us. It was lined with doors bearing brass nameplates. Committee Room A, Private Dining, Archive Storage, and, most ominously, Disciplinary Hearing Room.
“Please tell me that last one isn’t for people who ask too many questions,” I muttered.
Victoria and Samuel’s silence did little to reassure me.
The hallway culminated in a pair of mahogany doors. A nameplate read Twilight Conference Room in elegant script.
The hairs rose on the back of my neck at the powerful smells coming from inside it.
Victoria straightened her already perfect posture, a determined expression on her face. Pearl moved her tail with lazy arrogance. Bo braced like he intended to bolt at the first sign of danger.
Samuel steeled himself and opened the doors.
