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Benedict

The incessant ticking of the grandfather clock was going to drive me up the wall, but at least there were only two of us in this town house, and up until this moment, Gloria Angeloff had mostly left the talking to me.

“So, you’re here to find your match…because your mother wanted you to?” she asked, crossing her legs and adjusting her weight without so much as spilling a drop of her tea. The vampire was over four hundred years old and didn’t look a day over thirty. Her hair was still black as night and her brown eyes were more observant than I felt comfortable with.

“That’s right,” I said, leaning back in the plush leather chair across from hers. The office was tasteful, decorated with classic themes. Then again, for the prices she charged as the premiere matchmaker of our species, it was understandable how she afforded luxury in a well-to-do neighborhood of Edgemont City. “It was her final wish for me to start my own family.”

All she’d wanted was to see me settled and happy as she had been with my father.

“I’m so very sorry you lost her.” She gave me a sympathetic smile and placed her tea on the chairside table. “How recent was her passing?”

“It’s been a few decades.” I drummed my fingers on the armrest of my chair like it would take away the sting of grief. It didn’t. The problem with living for eternity was that vampire hearts were made to love just as long. Loss wasn’t easy.

“Then why now?” She picked up a dainty clipboard and pen, her spine ramrod straight as she jotted down a few notes.

Why now? Wasn’t that the question I’d been asking myself since I’d made the awkward call for this appointment? I shifted, mentally cursing myself for putting on a three-piece suit for the meeting. Leathers were far more comfortable but also had a tendency to scare the shit out of the civilian population. Besides, part of this process was convincing Gloria that I was civilized to begin with.

I wasn’t. Not by a fucking longshot. I just kept my shit buttoned up so it didn’t explode all over the people I cared about.

“I’m not sure, honestly. Mostly a feeling that it’s time. My friends have all recently found their mates.” In fact, Olivia and Ransom were still off on vacation, celebrating their new mark.

“Oh, you know I can’t guarantee that,” Gloria interrupted, her eyes widening slightly. “While my abilities do assure that the match will be pleasing to both parties, I can’t promise a mating bond. You know how rare they are within our species, and though warriors are more likely to bond, I simply don’t have the power to make that happen.”

I blinked, appreciating her honesty, especially given that my particular abilities inked any lies spoken around me straight onto my forearms. “Right. Of course. I’m not under the assumption that you can pluck mating bonds out of thin air. I’m just hoping for a…” I swallowed. “A suitable match.”

Fuck my brain, but the image of Jocelyn twirled right across it, her lavender hair tied up in something she called space braids as she flashed a grin at me, laughter dancing in her violet eyes. I ran my hand over my left forearm, where the last little white lie she’d told was still inked into my skin.

I love roses.

Damn, that woman loved putting new words on my arms just for the fun of it. She was a candy-coated hurricane with a million-dollar smile and a tongue sharper than the switchblade in my pocket.

Witches. And the heir to the witch throne? She was the most impetuous and reckless of them all. Why our princess Avianna had decided to befriend her was beyond me. Lachlan’s mate, Valor, was Jocelyn’s friend, too, which meant I ran into the little tempest far more than I cared to.

“Yes, suitable was the word you mentioned most,” she noted, glancing at her clipboard. “Along with honest, kind, trustworthy, and…tolerant, though you might have to explain that one to me.”

I cleared my throat. How fucking awkward was this? “Being in the service to our king means that I’m not always home by five.”

“Understood.” Gloria smiled and gave me a nod. “I’m assuming you’d like your match to be of appropriate social standing?”

Like a thoroughbred? Maybe this was a bad idea.

You’ve put off her last wishes for long enough, and given the rate of destruction in this war, you might not have much longer.

“Considering I spend most evenings surrounded by aristocrats, that would probably be for the best.” It would be easier for her that way. The aristocrats could be cruel, and since Cassandra—the highest-ranking female besides the queen—was under scrutiny given what her father had just pulled at the Sorokin’s, any newcomer would be under the microscope.

Tags: Samantha Whiskey Onyx Assassins Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net