Chapter 9
The first sign of a nervous breakdown is when you start thinking your work is terribly important.
—Milo Bloom
Cassandra greeted Tiffany at the door, taking in her outfit in one quick, critical sweep. It dragged a reluctant smile out of her, for it met and exceeded every expectation for the impromptu dinner she’d arranged.
Getting Gabriel to agree to stay home for the affair had not been terribly difficult. At his word, the remaining single males in the pack, to a one, had agreed to come. Many of them had arrived early in hopes of making a good impression, and were not disappointed by the entrance of the leggy, stunning blonde who put the shining crystals and modern art in Cassandra’s smallest, most intimate dining room to shame.
Tiffany sat near Gabriel and Cassandra at the head of the table, setting her purse at her side and placing the signed contract beside her plate. She accepted a glass of wine and the brief introductions of the few men she hadn’t met at Alexis’s party a few days before. Several of the more prominent members of the pack had come as well, including the other werewives and their spouses. Vera, thankfully, kept her comments to herself, though she was clearly displeased with this turn of events.
Though no one mentioned anything about the pack at first, after Cassandra’s cook brought out the hors d’oeuvres, guests complimented Cassandra on the fare and the talk took a more serious shift. Gabriel cleared his throat, getting the silent attention of his guests within moments.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he said, giving Tiffany a nod. “I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that we have a new applicant for membership in our pack.”
“Ah, is that what this is all about?”
“Yes, Phillip. I’ll thank you not to lick your chops like a big, bad wolf and scare our honored guest away.” That garnered some laughter, as well as a wink and a grin in Tiffany’s direction from Phillip. The laughter became more genuine at her blushes. “As most of you know, expanding our numbers has always been a priority. The Diamondfang pack has welcomed society’s elite into our ranks for decades, long before humanity openly acknowledged the existence of the supernatural. Now, under the circumstances, I felt it best if we addressed some important aspects of her request as a group, rather than allow speculation and rumors to sully what should be a joyous occasion.
“Tiffany Winters has admitted to connections to a group of hunters—the White Hats—in New York.”
The room exploded with dissent, exclamations of shock and outrage, several of the werewolves rising from their seats or even letting a touch of their inner beasts peek out of their eyes as they snarled their displeasure. Vera seemed especially incensed, her accusing tones laced with triumph as she rose from her seat and pointed at Tiffany, sneering as she shouted, “I knew it! I told you she was trouble!”
Tiffany scowled, but said nothing, clutching her hands tightly together in her lap. She wouldn’t meet the eyes of any of the wolves, knowing better than to give their aggression ammunition by giving them challenging looks.
Gabriel watched for a few moments, eyes narrowed. Shortly, his calm, collected, and deadly quiet voice cut through the din.
“Sit down. All of you.”
None dared disobey the alpha, though many of those who weren’t glaring at Tiffany were giving him sidelong looks.
“Now,” he said, once the low rumble of opposition subsided to quieter levels, “she has informed us that she was connected to one by marriage, but no longer. She is not part of that world anymore, and wishes to make amends for her participation in their activities by bolstering our ranks. It is not an unreasonable request—and she could be a valuable addition to this pack.”
“She’s dangerous,” Vera sneered, “and I can’t believe you’re still willing to take her in, knowing what she is.”
Gabriel gave Vera a flat look. She soon quieted and turned her eyes down. Phillip, who had remained silent during the uproar, cleared his throat and spoke up after receiving a nod of acknowledgment from his pack leader.
“It takes an extraordinary person to admit when they are in the wrong. More so for someone to take so little prompting to wish to be a part of our pack. Ms. Winters, I will sign the contract, if you will accept me as your host.”
Tiffany gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as happy tears sprung to her eyes. Though some of the Weres maintained their dubious expressions, most showed grudging approval; a handful even clapped to show their support. Before she could answer, Vera snarled, slamming her hand on the table hard enough for the silverware to rattle.
“I can’t believe you people are falling for her story! Have any of you checked her background to ensure she’s who she says she is? That she’s really divorced? That she didn’t come here armed to kill us all?”
Gabriel growled, a deep, harsh sound that rolled through the room like thunder. Much to the other diners’ surprise, it was Tiffany’s voice that lashed out rather than their pack leader’s. She rose to her full height to point an accusatory finger at Vera.
“You have no right to be saying any of those things about me. You haven’t gotten to know me or given me any chance to prove myself to you!”
“There’s nothing to prove. You’re connected to hunters, and that makes you a menace to every one of us!”
“I’m not here to hurt anybody, you crazy bitch! Where the hell do you get off, making these unfounded accusations—”
“I’m looking out for the best interests of my packmates. Who do you think you’re fooling?” Vera snarled, her eyes glowing, ignoring the horrified looks of the other guests and the tugging on her arm by her husband in an effort to get her to settle down. “If Phillip signs that contract, I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”
Tiffany’s glare turned icy, reaching for a wineglass so she could fling the contents at her. Vera’s face and white Burberry top was splashed with the bloodred 2006 Château Mouton Rothschild Pauillac.
Save for Vera’s breaths, hissed through her teeth, dead silence reigned.
With careful, measured motions, the werewife rose from her seat, towering in her Proenza heels. No one, not even Gabriel, was ready to interfere.
Slowly, deliberately, Vera picked up a plate of crackers and Almas caviar (which, fortunately for Gabriel, was the cheaper, darker variety) and hurled it across the table at Tiffany. She ducked out of the way just in time for Damon, who was coming to her side in defense, to be beaned with it instead.
Howling a challenge, Vera vaulted onto and then across the table in one smooth motion, evading her husband’s grasping hands as he shouted at her to calm down. Tiffany shoved herself backward, knocking her chair over and sprawling as she tripped on her long skirt. Most of the other wolves quickly backed out of the way. Fur sprouted on Vera’s hands and arms, her face elongating as she dived off the table to where Tiffany now cowered on the floor.
She never landed. In one smooth movement, Cassandra rose from her chair and grabbed Vera by the throat, using the partially turned werewolf’s own momentum to swing and hurl her across the room. Vera slammed into the opposite wall, leaving a huge dent and sending artwork and mirrors crashing to the floor. She slumped to the ground, dazed and unmoving.
Tiffany was quick to tuck her silver dagger back in its sheath, praying none of the werewolves had noticed the weapon before it was hidden under her jewelry and sleeve again.
Gabriel and Cassandra both hurried to check on her and offer their apologies for Vera’s behavior, but many of the other werewolves were still too shocked and appalled by this turn of events to do more than offer incredulous stares from their seats. Tiffany waved off the offers to help her up—not wanting them to accidentally spring the mechanism that would flick the daggers out of their sheaths—and rose rather ungracefully to her feet.
No one said a thing as she strode over to her fallen chair to pick up her purse—now spattered with caviar and crumbled bits of cracker—and stalked out, not looking back.
“Well, that was uncalled for.”
Tiffany didn’t say anything as Heather fell into step beside her.
“You don’t have to leave. We can send Vera home.”
Tiffany still said nothing, but her lips thinned as she hurried her pace and adjusted her purse strap, heels clacking on the drive as she sought her car.
“I know you’re angry,” Heather said with a sigh, matching her stride, “but Phillip was really impressed back there. He’s asking where the contract is so he can sign it right now.”
Tiffany came to an abrupt halt, smudging her mascara as she wiped away angry tears. “Don’t bother, Heather. Clearly I’m not welcome here. Vera has been an utter prat ever since I came to town, and now that she knows about my past, she’s never going to believe that I didn’t come here with bad intentions.”
Heather didn’t respond, biting her lower lip. Tiffany took a few deep breaths before continuing in a calmer tone.
“I should have known it wouldn’t work out. This was all too good to be true. Maybe I’ll just go back to Johannesburg. Be closer to my family.”
“Oh no!” Heather exclaimed. “You just got here! Don’t go yet. Come on, Phillip really wants you to stay, and so does Gabriel and Cassandra. And me! We can work something out. Vera was just looking out for us in her own way—I’m sure she’ll come around once you’re one of us. Really one of us, I mean.”
Tiffany dug through her purse for a tissue, sniffling and blotting at her eyes. “Are you sure? I mean, I’d love to be a part of the pack, but not if Vera’s going to keep sniping at me for the rest of my life because of something in my past. It is the past, and what’s done is done—I can’t change it, but I don’t want to be paying for it the rest of my life, either.”
Heather put an arm around Tiffany’s shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze. She nonchalantly flicked bits of caviar off of her dress before putting her hands on Tiffany’s shoulders. Heather held her there until she lifted her head and met her eyes, taking in the serious set of her jaw and clear concern in her eyes.
“Don’t worry. You aren’t that person. I know you’re not. Everyone’s a bit upset right now, but they’ll come around and see it, too.”
Tiffany dabbed at her eyes again, pulling away. “Vera won’t. She never will.”
Heather hesitated, glancing back to the house. Though Tiffany had put some distance between herself and the house, Heather was sure that a few of her packmates were listening in, particularly when she spotted Cassandra and Alexis watching from one of the bay windows overlooking the front yard. Cassandra made an impatient “get on with it” gesture, so Heather turned back to Tiffany, straightening.
“She may not, but the rest of the pack will. Eventually. We’ll fix this somehow. Look, why don’t you go home for now”—Heather flinched at the sound of Cassandra’s angry curse, though Tiffany couldn’t hear it—“and get cleaned up, and I’ll call you in the morning. We’ll go relax at the spa for a while.”
Tiffany glanced over her shoulder at the house, frowning. “Okay. What about the others? Do you think Cassandra and Alexis are still going to want to be friends with me?”
“I’m sure they do. And if not, I’ll talk sense into them. Now you go home and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Heather said firmly, urging Tiffany to turn back to her car and get moving again.
Tiffany did, unable to see the unnatural yellow glitter to Heather’s eyes as she watched her walk away.