…Guys, you've never seen a human before, or what? Or maybe blood sacks aren't supposed to walk down the corridor with their heads held high. That's probably it, considering how utterly disgusted and outraged these youngsters look. It looks like they've swallowed a fly or something.
They're obviously unhappy with their clan head summoning a blood sack to the main house, and their pride has been hurt. Aw, poor babies. Must be hard to be you.
Well, whatever, live with it.
I can't help but fling them my best shit-eating grin. You want to stare? Then stare, I don't care. Just don't expect me to lower my head and bow. It's not going to happen, not now that I'm out of that shitty household and have no reason to lay low.
Anyway, with my husband by my side, I doubt these brats could even dream of laying a finger on me. The only one that might somewhat cause a problem to handle is Sir Akerley. The others? Not worth our time.
A nudge on my flank draws my attention to my left, and James flashes me a constricted smile.
Dude, it looks like you're constipated. If you need to go, go.
The corner of his eye twitches as he seems to be silently telling me to stop it with the shit-eating grin.
Well. It's not my fault if a grin is enough to offend your people's fragile egos. They're the ones who started it, too. I've got no intention whatsoever to wipe that smile off my face. If you haven't noticed yet, pal, I'm petty. Just be glad I haven't decided to attend in my underwear and high heels.
"Announcing Sir James Andrew Alexander D'Clare, Jordan Lukewarm, and Scott Banker."
The heavy doors to the dining room open, the hinges screaming for mercy. I straighten my back and narrow my eyes at the scene that greets us.
Oh my, so many high-born vampires. A dozen, if I do a quick head count. I recognize a few I've seen at events, and some are new faces. Their eyes, though, tell me they're not all youngsters. They have the deep red of elders, nothing to do with the brats of their clan.
James might have red eyes on par with them, but he has less control over them. Twirls of crimson often dance in the depths of his irises, while these guys don't have that problem. Their gazes are calm, without any perturbation whatsoever. At least, for now.
A tug on my sleeve, and I get the cue. Even if I would rather not, I curtsy alongside James and Jordan.
"Welcome to our mansion. Don't be shy, take a seat."
I lift my eyes just enough to glance at the middle-aged man who has just spoken. He's sitting at the end of the long table, his cold stare lingering on me. My smile cracks ever so slightly.
One glance at James and the other vampires tells me this is "Sir Akerley". How odd. Don't they know? That's not their clan head. Even if his irises are blood red, it's not bright enough to be those of a patriarch. For good measure, I cast a glance at Jordan, too. He also seems to be oblivious.
A laugh gets caught in my throat.
Seems like this dear Sir Akerley is actually of the same mindset as my husband, like what letting the world know you're a patriarch is nothing but trouble. He's letting someone else pretend to be him.
Isn't that right, little grandson?
Damn, this is unexpected, and not staring is difficult, but I've seen that unmistakable bright crimson glint in the boy's eyes. He's sitting on his double's lap, acting like an oblivious child, munching on cakes he's been dipping in his tea with a blissful expression on his face. It's like nothing matters if not for his snacks.
…The clan head is head over heels for his grandson, wasn't it? No wonder. I bet he is, and probably everyone in the room would be if they knew.
I clench my jaw to muffle another laugh that wants to escape. Some of these high-born vampires can't help but peek at the kid with disgust. They really do love to dig their own graves in this house, don't they?
Among them, there's Oliver, too. Dude, you're an idiot.
"What are you doing?" James whispers, tilting his head to an empty chair. I guess that's my seat.
"Sorry, I got a bit overwhelmed."
That's a lie, but it seems to flatter some dimwits' egos enough to put them in a better mood. Pleasing self-centered, entitled brats is a piece of cake—I've gotten enough practice in that hellhole that is my clan to last me for a lifetime. Maybe even two.
"We're not well-versed in—" Fake Sir Akerley pauses as if to think of the right words to say, and he offers us a cold smile before continuing, "Well, in human or demon food. Do pardon us if it's not to your taste."
As long as you're not serving me blood, everything's good in my book, pal. Not gonna lie, I'm surprised he actually planned to feed us. I thought we'd be drinking tea all night, and I'd be leaving the place with an empty stomach.
Considering the plates the maids are bringing to my husband and me, I believe Sir Akerley even hired some chefs. How kind of him.
No, on second thought, scratch that. I could have felt grateful if I didn't know vampires could only taste human food through their blood. Feeding me well isn't necessarily a show of kindness, but let's pretend to be dumb and thank them anyway. The steak does look delicious, after all.
Gosh, guys, seriously, stop staring. It makes it hard to start eating, you know? It feels like I'm an animal in a cage, and they're out there enjoying the zoo.
Oh my, the steak is juicy.
So frigging good.
Fine, I can forgive their stares if they give me another steak. This tastes divine.
But I've barely gotten the time to eat two bites when a little head pops up by my side. With a piece of steak up to my lips, I lower my eyes to Sir Akerley. In that childish form, he looks to be around Ellena's age. He's not as cute as her, though.
"Can I help you with something?"
"Yes, sir!" Dude, don't flash me that bright, innocent smile. It makes me uncomfortable. "Can I have a piece, too? You make it look so good! Does it taste better than tea?!"
Oliver snorts, and some attendees shake their heads in exasperation. So, the childish act is not a one-day occurrence, is it?
"Jonathan," James speaks softly. I recognize that coaxing tone. He's been using it quite a bit at home to calm down the kids whenever they have an outburst. That is to say, all the time. "We, vampires, can't taste human food. You were dipping your pastries in the tea earlier because they were flavourless, weren't you?"
Sir Akerley purses his lips.
"…Here. You can always try it," I force a smile out and lower my fork to allow him to take a bite. Joy brightens his face, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
What is this old bastard plotting now? His acting is a bit too good for my taste, and I'm at a loss for words. If he behaves in such a way, it makes everything I know about him useless. Dang it, I can't make heads or tails of what the geezer is thinking, and that's annoying.
At the very least, the glint in his eyes, the one that shone in his true form, lets me know he is indeed scheming something. But who the fuck knows what. I just want to eat my steak in peace for the time being, thank you.