Chapter 8
To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
The next day, Cassandra settled in a seat on the patio outside of one of the quieter Starbucks in the neighborhood, cradling an iced latte. Tiffany looked up from her cell phone, setting it aside with a smile as she eased back into the wrought-iron chair. Aside from the occasional patron moving in and out of the coffeehouse, they were alone.
“You wanted to talk to me?”
Cassandra crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair while one finger toyed with the condensation on her latte. She stared directly into Tiffany’s eyes, taking her measure before speaking in carefully noncommittal tones.
“Heather told me that you had an interest in werewolves. Meeting them, in fact. What if I told you that I could help you with that?”
Tiffany’s gaze searched Cassandra’s face. “I’d say I was skeptically hopeful. Ever since the Moonwalker pack showed themselves, I’ve wanted to meet one. Except for Rohrik Donovan and the rest of the Moonwalkers, they don’t exactly advertise their whereabouts, and he doesn’t meet with people just to satisfy their curiosity.”
“No. I suppose he doesn’t.”
“But you will?”
Cassandra paused, latte halfway to her mouth. “You knew?”
“Yes. I knew before I moved here.”
“Was Vera right, then? Are you here to cause us trouble?”
Shaking her head, Tiffany held out a hand, imploring Cassandra to stay seated. Though a touch of yellow had crept into her irises, Cassandra stilled, her mouth pressed into a thin line of displeasure.
“Vera may have made the connection between the New York branch of the White Hats and myself because I used to be married to one of them.”
Cassandra swiftly rose with a harsh screech of iron over concrete, her nails forming into claws. Tiffany stayed in her seat, her hand reaching out imploringly. “Please, hear me out.”
“I think I’ve heard enough,” Cassandra replied tartly, reaching for her Hermès purse.
“No, you haven’t.” Tiffany insisted in such a sharp tone that Cassandra stilled, eyes narrowed to gleaming yellow slivers. Tiffany pressed on, unfazed. “Just listen to me. I’m not married to him anymore. When I first met Richard, I knew he was a hunter, but I didn’t take part in that business. It took me a while to see what he was doing was wrong, and I divorced him with good reason. I thought maybe—just maybe—if I managed to meet one of you I could find some way to make up the damage I caused by standing by and supporting him for so long.”
Cassandra regarded Tiffany for a long moment, taking shallow breaths through flared nostrils, more interested in her scent and the sound of her heartbeat than in her words or pleading looks. There was an understandable trace of fear under the vanilla and sandalwood musk of her Shalini perfume, but no discordant undertones of a lie.
Though Cassandra did not retract her claws, some of the beast withdrew from her eyes, and she slowly settled back into her seat. Tiffany’s gaze still searched her face, fingers tight around her cup and breath held as she waited for a response. It took some time for it to come, but when it did, she couldn’t help but smile.
“If that is truly the case, then I am assuming you came here wanting to bolster our ranks.”
“Yes. That’s right.”
Cassandra stared at the girl until she shifted her weight and looked away, unnerved by those yellow eyes. “Were you going to tell any of us this? Or were you just waiting for Heather or one of the men to present you with a contract?”
Tiffany had the grace to blush, though she was quick to shake her head. “No, no, it wasn’t like that. It never felt like the right time. Vera was so dead set against me that I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have the chance. Of if any of you would listen to reason once I brought it up.”
“I see.”
Cassandra regarded her for a moment longer in uncomfortable silence before coming to a decision. She reached into the purse on her arm, withdrawing neatly tri-folded documents and sliding them across the table. Tiffany’s expression quickly shifted from apprehension to shocked delight as she unfolded the Notice of Mutual Consent to Human/Other Citizen Relationship and Contractual Binding Agreement.
“If this is really what you want—”
“Oh, it is!”
“—then fill the papers out and come to dinner tonight. My house. Dress to impress. I’ll introduce you to some of the others, and when one of them is ready, they’ll sign and file the rest.”
Tiffany’s face fell as she realized that meant that the papers weren’t ready to be lodged in a court—in effect, binding her for the rest of her life to one of the werewolves and giving them the right to feed on or make her one of them—though she soon perked up at the invitation.
“Oh, thank you, Cassie. I can’t begin to tell you how happy this makes me!”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Cassandra drawled. “You still need to find a host who will take you. And I do expect you to behave yourself and not antagonize Vera anymore.”
“I’ll try.”
“Do more than try. Those papers include the pack privilege clause. If you find a host who will have you—and I assure you that it will not be easy with your past—it will leave you open to attack from any member of our pack, not just whoever signs with you. I suggest you find a way to smooth things over with Vera.”
Tiffany frowned, skimming over the documents. “I’ll do that.” Glancing up, she offered Cassandra a sunny smile, clearly quite pleased with this turn of events. “Thank you again. Don’t worry, you won’t regret this decision.”
Cassandra said nothing in reply, turning and walking away.
Once Cassandra left, Tiffany took her time polishing off the rest of her coffee as she read through the contract, enjoying the time in the sun. Very little of it was different from the standard contracts often available at local courthouses. The pack privilege allowed any werewolf in the pack to hurt or even kill their applicant without legal repercussions; these days, the clause was standard language in contracts for dangerous supernatural creatures who lived in groups, such as vampires and werewolves.
Tucking the papers under her arm, she rose, withdrawing her cell phone as she headed to her car. In moments, she’d drafted a text message and sent it to Richard, then drove home.
It took some time to get ready. Some of the benefits of having spent time on the fringes, getting to know her husband’s profession, were the access to his connections, the combined gathered intelligence on Others by the White Hats—and the toys.
After a long, luxurious bath in scented oils, relaxing her muscles, she padded nude through her walk-in closet, choosing and then discarding a number of outfits. For the dinner, she needed to wear something both fashionable and functional; nothing so skintight as to reveal the weaponry concealed on her person. Searching blue eyes soon found the perfect outfit. She chose a Christian Dior dress with flared sleeves to make for an easy draw of her silver-coated daggers. It had a high enough slit on either side of the skirt to easily reach the guns strapped to her garters, and looked killer with a matching pair of Louboutin heels.
Her phone rang out the strains of Bach, announcing an incoming call from Richard. Again. And a third time.
She ignored the calls in favor of examining herself critically in a floor-length mirror.
The quick-draw bands at her wrists faded into the shadows of the sleeves of the black, silver, and gray fabric of the dress, but were still too conspicuous. With the addition of some thick Swarovski bracelets studded with diamonds and opals, a matching choker, and a touch of Chanel No. 5 at her wrists and throat, she felt ready to take on the entire pack.
For the thrill of it, she twisted and hurled one of the daggers in one smooth motion, embedding it in the frame of the dresser across the room, just above where her cell phone still rang and rang. A smile curved her lips when she noted the blade had landed precisely on the knot of wood she’d been aiming for.
With leisurely strides, she crossed the room, glancing down at the phone before working the dagger out of the wood. Tucking it back within its sheath, she then turned her phone off and slipped it in her purse, heading for the door.
As much as she hoped things would stay civil tonight, she would be prepared for anything.