Page 44 of The Serpent’s Bride (Bloodlines #1)

TWENTY-THREE

Smile.

Patience.

They’d all be dead.

Eventually, if not soon.

That was what Nadi kept telling herself as she sat there at the table underneath the blackened glass panels of the enormous greenhouse that Lana owned.

The decorative structure had its doors wide open to allow the fresh air to come through.

Well. “Fresh.” As fresh as any air in the metropolis could really be.

Even as far out on the edges as Lana lived, it was still nothing compared to what it was like in the Wild.

And it was suitably bedecked in fake plants, trees, and shrubs of all sizes. Some glass, some paper, some metal—meant to represent plants from everywhere on Runne. Meant to look exotic and strange but of course, tamed . Anything they had that was real was ringed in iron to keep it under control.

Some of the fake plants were so delicate they were works of art in their own right. But instead of leaving her feeling in awe? Nadi really rather just wanted to be sick. Instead, she had to quietly watch Lana and the rest of the Nostrom family and friends banter and gossip with each other.

Even the mayor of the metropolis was there again, schmoozing and laughing, trying to drum up support for the election.

She didn’t pay much attention to politics—that was just the showy surface-level nonsense.

Simply the cover for the dealings in the back, which were the true workings that she was more interested in.

Just the cover business for the dealings in the back.

The focus on her was luckily over—and for that, she was somewhat grateful. She was now just the temporary human attachment to Raziel. Something that would be violently sorted within the week.

Just like Lana’s three ex-husbands, if Raziel’s story was right.

There were about thirty people seated at the table—the closest friends and family from the wedding that had been rather spectacularly interrupted.

Though, now it was Volencia sitting at the head, not Raziel and “Monica.” Mael sat beside her at Volencia’s right hand.

Lana at her left. And Raziel beside Lana. And Monica beside him.

The seating was quite clearly sending a message: Raziel was third in line. He wasn’t even the spare son behind the first-in-command.

She’d almost find it insulting on his behalf if she didn’t find it so damn funny.

She had hoped to use the day to try to talk her way into the clan. But now that her original plan was dashed, she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to bother with trying .

Her new plan was far more likely to succeed. And maybe more fun, to boot. Or at least, she was trying to convince herself of that.

But, she reminded herself in an annoying counterargument, Monica wouldn’t have a plan to murder Hank, then Ivan, then Raziel. Monica’s only road to survival would be the approval of the family.

So there she was.

Smiling.

Laughing politely at everyone’s terrible jokes.

Taking Volencia’s insults aimed at her in stride.

And picturing in her head the violent and terrible ways she was going to kill them all.

“So,” one of the vampires seated across from her began during a lull in the conversation.

He was a cousin. One low-born enough that she didn’t know his name, but to judge by the way he was wrinkling his nose at her like she was a spoiled tin of sardines, he was itching to put his name on her kill list. “I hear you were at the slaughter of the Iltanis.”

“I was.” She reached for her glass of wine. “They saw fit to involve me in the family business, so I saw fit to return the favor.”

“Mmhm.” It seemed he wasn’t impressed with her answer. “The Nostrom family is the oldest and most revered vampire clan in the metropolis. We can trace our lineage back to?—”

“She does not need a history lecture, Alberto,” Raziel interjected, rolling his eyes. “Get to the point.”

“Our family business is not for a human to be involved in , is my point.” Alberto grimaced, baring his fangs. “And is far more dignified than killing vermin in an infested den below grounds. That a weasel thinks to even be seated at the table is?—”

“Which one of us are you calling a weasel?” Nadi was the one to interrupt that time. “Him, or me?” She smiled. “Sorry to interrupt. I want to make sure I don’t commit any social blunders , I am from the country, after all. I’d hate to open my fat mouth and take an insult the wrong way.”

Azazel, a few seats down from the direct family, was hiding his laughter in his napkin. She knew he’d lied to her the first time they’d met—or at least played her sympathies — but against her better judgment she still rather liked him.

Raziel was glaring a hole in Alberto in silence.

And Alberto looked as though he was suddenly regretting his decision to speak.

Even Mael was fighting a smile.

“Enough.” Volencia had the presence of mind to ruin her fun. “Leave her be, Alberto. This is not a permanent arrangement. She leaves for her honeymoon in two days, and she will not be returning.”

And neither will your precious son, you rampant bitch. No one would come back from the trip. Nadi would make fucking sure of it.

The luncheon continued on exactly as it had started.

More niceties. More obnoxious conversation.

After food, everyone broke away into little pockets of conversation.

She trailed alongside Raziel for the most part as that would be exactly what Monica would do.

At least, until he excused himself and went to go speak to someone privately, leaving her alone in one corner of the large greenhouse by a large statue of some vampire muckety-muck whose name she didn’t care to learn.

“Finally.”

Turning, she found herself staring at a chest. Blinking, she looked up. Right. Mael was tall. “Oh. Hello.” She smiled at him.

“Bastard certainly has a way of keeping me from speaking to you.” The tank of a vampire shook his head.

He looked like the antithesis of his brother.

Every time she saw him, it struck her how remarkably different they were.

Like the two moons—one light, one dark, but both belonging to the night sky.

His golden eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses.

Even under the tinted glass of the greenhouse and the shady sky, it was bright for vampires.

“I have been attempting to talk to you since after the wedding. He said if I didn’t watch myself, he’d order me to eat my own hands. ”

“Can he do that?” She wrinkled her nose. “Order a vampire to do something?”

“I’m honestly not sure. He’s never tried.

” He chuckled. “I’d hate to find out. Would you like to join me for a walk?

Lana has beautiful gardens. And while the mayor is here and I have business to do, it can wait.

” Gesturing one of his enormous hands down a path, he started moving before even waiting for Nadi’s answer.

“Sure.” She was going to join him, anyway.

But the fact that he assumed made her want to roll her eyes.

Lana’s fake gardens were rather pretty, she had to admit.

They were beautifully designed with soaring iron arches to keep the real roses from consuming the building.

The Wild could infect anything, if they weren’t careful.

But most of the plants were replicas. She supposed a fake garden was easier to keep alive—no need for a staff to take care of plants when everything was metal and glass.

But so strange that the humans and vampires felt the need to mimic the thing that they hated and feared so very much.

She kept those thoughts to herself.

“He told me you were concerned for my well-being. That’s funny, considering I’m going to be dead soon. But a sweet thought, I suppose.” She chuckled.

“To use a metaphor you might appreciate, just because I eat a steak doesn’t mean I want the cow to suffer.” Mael sighed. “And I don’t think it’s right, rushing you off to die like that. You showed your value. If I…”

Interesting. Very interesting. “If you, what?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head again. “There’s no point in wondering what could have been. You’re his wife.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny manilla envelope. “I just wanted to give you this.”

Taking it, she pretended she didn’t know what it was, and looked back up at him quizzically. She knew exactly what it was. Pills, made from the mushrooms from the Wild.

“For the pain. Of…” He made a face and looked away. “Of being with him. I know what he’s like. We all know what he’s like. And what he can do to people. If you need to dull the pain, take one. If you need it to stop…take them all.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Well. Wasn’t that fascinating. Reaching out, she placed her hand on his arm. “Mael? Thank you. Really. I can tell you care, and that—that honestly means the world to me.”

The funny thing was, she could tell he really did care. Why, she didn’t know. Putting the small envelope in her inside coat pocket, she let her hand drop from his arm. “I don’t want to die, Mael.”

“I know. And for that, I’m so truly sorry.” The big vampire stepped in closer to her, making the moment suddenly intimate. Alarm bells started ringing in her head. “If there were more time, I would?—”

“There you are. We’re leaving.”

Raziel.

Like an icy wind through an open door in the dead of winter, he shattered the suddenly too-warm moment. Mael took a step back from Nadi, and it left her standing there, stunned and confused.

“Y—yeah.” Honestly, she was kind of relieved. “It was good to talk to you, Mael. I—” She was about to say I look forward to seeing you again , but…Monica wasn’t coming back from that trip to the ancestral home. “Bye.”

The walk to the car was deathly silent. And so was the majority of the ride back. It wasn’t until they were halfway back to Raziel’s home that he held his hand out to her, palm up. “Hand me the envelope.”

“What?” She blinked.