There was defeat - and guilt - in his voice. It was the guilt of a man who wanted to believe, but who hadn't quite decided whether to play follow the leader. Even considering the drama Nick had created for vampires, my heart clenched in sympathy. Doubt was a debilitating, frightening thing. Nick was spared further predictions by the splitting of the crowd. I could see the ripple of people moving in our direction, and then Berna stood before us, having elbowed her way through the shifters, an overflowing plate of food in hand. It brimmed with an assortment of meats and casseroles and vegetables, a steaming yeast roll parked on top like the cherry on a sundae.
The shifters around us had quieted and turned their gazes on the two women who stood, facing off: me, the tallish, slender vampire with the dark ponytail and gleaming red scabbard, and Berna, the shortish, roundish woman with bleached hair and gnarled fingers, her arms extended in offering. She thrust the plate toward me. "You eat."
I started to object, but the venom in her eyes made me think better of it. "Thank you, Berna. That was very thoughtful of you to bring me a plate."
"Humph," she said, then pulled a fork from the chest pocket of her zip-up polyester shirt. She handed that over, too. I slid Ethan a glance and, at his nod - and to the amusement of the shifters who'd watched the exchange - dipped the fork into a heap of potato casserole, and took a bite. My eyes closed as I savored tender potatoes, butter, paprika, and more cream than should probably be allowed in a single dish. "Oh, Berna. This is amazing."
"Mmm-hmm," she said, self-satisfaction in her voice. I opened my eyes to watch her turn on her heel and march away, the crowd swallowing her up again. I speared another bite of casserole, then aimed the fork at Ethan. He regarded it for a moment, but, at my own threatening glance, leaned in. Half a second later, his own eyes drifted shut as he enjoyed the bite.
"Told you," I said, then took back the fork.
"You have a gift."
"I know, right?" I absently said, but I was already gone, adrift on a sea of carbohydrates.
After a bit, Nick merged back into the crowd, and Ethan slipped away to make a call, leaving me in the midst of the Pack. That was when Adam made his approach. He was dressed casually - a thin, cotton button-up shirt over jeans, thick boots, and a long chain and Celtic pendant around his neck.
"You two seem to be quite the hit," he said. "Berna doesn't cook for many. I know she appreciates what you did for her."
"I'm just glad I was able to get there in time," I said, then nodded to the crowd around us. "It seems everyone's having a great time."
"We usually do. It's the kind of thing we do back home. Big reunions, barbecues, that kind of thing."
"I've heard Gabriel lives in Memphis. Is that where you live, as well?" Adam smiled slyly, lips curving, his deep dimples pert. I guess you could have called his smile wolfish, as there was definitely something predatory about it. "I live wherever I want."
"Nomadic, or just afraid of commitment?"
This time he smiled with teeth. "You wanna try me out?" I snorted. "I have enough problems managing the vampires in my life."
"How do you know shifters wouldn't be easier to manage?"
"It's not about how easy or hard they are to manage. It's about keeping out people who require management. I prefer a drama-free existence."
"Probably shouldn't have become a vampire."
"Didn't exactly have a choice."
That stopped him. His smile dropped, replaced by an expression of slightly morbid curiosity. "Didn't have a choice? I thought vampires had to take oaths?
Consent to the transformation or something?"
I looked away and moistened my lips nervously. Although the entire city knew I'd been made a vampire, the facts of my change - the fact that I hadn't exactly consented to it - were only known by a precious few. I'd made the offhand remark without thinking . . . but I wasn't sure I was prepared to tell this guy the truth, dimples or not.
"There were considerations other than the drama," I told him, hoping that would answer the question enough to keep him from asking any more. "It wasn't just about becoming a vampire." It was about staying alive. "That's true for a number of us."
When I looked at him again, there was something surprising in his eyes - respect.
"You're a fighter," he concluded. "A warrior, of a sort."
"I stand Sentinel for the House," I said. "A guard, in a manner of speaking."
"A knight amongst kings?"
I smiled. "Something like that. And how do you spend your waking hours, Mr. Keene? Other than wooing girls with those dimples?"
He looked down shyly, but I didn't buy it, especially not when he lifted his gaze again, grinning wickedly.
"I'm a man of simple pleasures, Ms. Sentinel."
"And what are those?"
He shrugged negligently, then waved to a man who passed with plastic cups of juice on a tray. Family friendly, I assumed. Adam grabbed two, then handed one to me.
"Next time we have a drink, I'll make it fancier. What are my chances?" I took a sip of warm apple juice. "Slim to none."
He chuckled good-naturedly. "Taken?"
"And not interested."
"Ouch," he said, drawing out the word, "you are a sassy one. I like that." In spite of myself, I smiled. I wasn't tempted by his offer - and as a matter of fact I was taken, it seemed - but that didn't make it any less flattering. Adam Keene was a lethal combination of good looks, charm, and an undercurrent of wickedness.
"I'm also a curious one," I admitted. "And in the few minutes we've been in here, you've avoided every personal question I've asked you."
He held up his free hand. "Sorry, sorry. I don't mean to be evasive. You're a vampire; I'm a shifter.
And while I dig that Romeo and Juliet vibe, we tend to be a little on the cautious side when it comes to answering to the fanged."
"I can understand that," I allowed with a nod. "But that doesn't make me any less curious."
"Stubborn, aren't you?"
I was hearing that a lot lately. "I am," I admitted. "Let's try again. What does a shifter like you enjoy doing in your free time?"
"Well," he said, looking down at the floor and blinking as he considered, "I grill. I do some lifting. I sling a pretty good guitar."
I lifted my eyebrows. "You sling a guitar? Like, you throw one?" I had an image of two men in a mixed martial arts cage, beating the crap out of each other with curvy acoustic guitars, wood and strings flying.