Witch For Hire (Witch For Hire 1)

My interest is piqued, but now isn’t the time or place.

“Are you done reminiscing about your—”

“Enough.” Cristobal slaps his hand on the table.

Marcellus halts in mid-sentence.

For a moment, I see a world of hurt in Percival’s face before it smooths over. What had Marcellus been about to say? Here among them there are so many secrets left to learn.

“I brought everyone here tonight to get everything they wanted to say out before we leave this issue in the past. Weakness is not an option, and division among our court is a spot waiting to be exploited by an observant opportunist.”

“You expect us to act like one big, happy family?” Marcellus snaps.

“You will act however I demand you act.” Cristobal’s power swells in the room, flaring up around him, a deadly force ready to strike a blow if necessary. I see Marcellus sink back in his seat. “I only ask that we function. We all have much to gain from this merger.”

“Speak for yourself. If anyone has the right to feel slighted, it’s me,” I say.

“And yet, the only place you belong is at my side.”

His words steal the breath from my lungs. He speaks so plainly about the invisible shackles chaining me to him and this court full of brooding vampires.

“Have you not gained power?” he asks.

“I’d do that all on my own with time. Don’t play coy and pretend you didn’t know I’m in line to be the successor.”

“Your Mémé is ill?” Percival asks, wearing an expression of concern. There’s a waver in his voice I don’t like.

“No.” I narrow my gaze, and for once, it’s a vampire who looks away from me.

“I assumed, yes. The power you exuded, even back then was—”

“Ripe for the taking?” I offer up the words with a smile that shows teeth.

“Potent.”

Clenching my jaw, I dig my nails into my palms. I won’t air our dirty laundry in front of them.

“Can we manage to behave like civilized people for the rest of the evening?” Cristobal glances from Marcellus to me.

“Yes,” I respond blandly.

“Of course, Cristobal,” Marcellus replies with a mocking bow.

I want to lash out with my power, but I keep it on a tight leash. I’m better than that.

“Miles, will you tell the caterer’s we’re ready?”

“Certainly.” He stands and delivers a slight bow before he moves toward the kitchen. It’s like being stuck in the past. All of us dressed to the nines, with a full set of silverware, goblets full of more than wine, and a powerful man at the head of the table.

“You look exquisite tonight,” Cristobal compliments with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

“Likewise.” I can’t fault the man on his impeccable taste. He’s mouthwatering in a light gray suit that lovingly frames his hard angles, and accentuates his coloring.

My stomach growls as the

smell of roasted vegetables and grilled meat float through the air. I’m amused as the catering staff begins to serve us on rolling carts. A full meal like this is rare, so they often play it up. I won’t begrudge them that. I thank the waitress as she delivers a steak, roasted vegetables, and a loaded baked potato without chives.

He remembered. I glance down the table, and he raises his goblet. I nod.