Hupotasso (Vampire Bachelor Games #2)

19

19

The family visits have been just as traumatic as I’d imagined, but I know I’m the picture of royal composure, because that’s how this is being scripted.

Despite having watched countless episodes of other royals doing the rounds to talk to defeated contestants’ families, and despite not actually being responsible for any of the deaths of their daughters, I wasn’t prepared for the emotional backlash.

The deceased, the defeated, they’d all been someone’s daughters, sisters, nieces, aunts, cousins, best friends. These women, at least from what I’d seen of most of their families, apart from a few exceptions, were loved, just as my family loves me.

Grief and anger were close companions now with all these families.

More and more these visits have done nothing but solidify my belief that the VBG are wrong.

So wrong.

Why should young women — beautiful, bright, talented women — die in order to marry a vampire. A vampire who, while offering them immortal life, also demands complete obedience and can never love them in return.

‘But they don’t know that. They don’t know it’s all a ruse. A lie.’

Why should we, the human race, hold these royals in such high esteem? Why should we support them with our taxes, line streets to give them flowers, pour over magazines to see what they’re wearing, simper over their children? Give them children? Why? From what I’ve seen they deserve none of this.

I clear my throat now as I sip a glass of sangria with Isabel’s family in the small corner bar they’d chosen for this meeting. The Catalans don’t tend to invite strangers into their homes, and I respect that, even as I begrudgingly respect their dead daughter.

She was fighting for the human race. That’s a good thing.

But she did try to throw me off a cliff.

Still, her parents are kind and soft-spoken as they answer the questions I’ve been prompted to ask and accept the customary money and gifts that the show requires I extend. The whole meeting is heavily scripted, and I can’t say what I’d like to say to anyone, although I had managed to whisper my sincere condolences to Neve’s friends as I hugged them goodbye. She may have tried to poison me, and she did poison Tamara, but I’d liked her. There was no denying that. She’d made The Games so much more tolerable with her sense of humour and funny ways.

I’d also managed to make it obvious to Yin’s father that I thought he was a piece of shit during my visit with him. Script or no script he’d have to be blind to mistake my tone and expression when he’d asked if I’d heard from his daughter.

As for Giselle’s father and sister, the cold Russian weather had seemed like a balmy spring day compared to my reception with them. They’d stated straight out of the gate that Giselle should have won, and I couldn’t refute that.

“I wish she had,” I’d murmured, receiving a glare from Showman. He’d stopped the cameras and given me another lecture on “respectfully” sticking to the script.

I’d like to ‘respectfully’ stick him with something pointy.

Giselle’s sister had then said something in Russian to Giselle’s father. He’d sneered at me, nodded, and they’d risen to leave. Showman asked them to stay and couldn’t believe it when they told him to go fuck himself. He’d blustered about contracts and some other crap, but to no avail. I said nothing, glad the ordeal was over, but a shiver had run down my spine as Giselle’s sister spun just as they reached the door, pinned me with her ice blue eyes and snarled: “We will meet again.”

I fucking hope not.

The opposite is true, though, of Isabel’s parents. I’d very much like to continue an association with them now that I plan to escape. The thought of returning to Falcon because he wants to fill my womb before he kills me, fills me with dread. I don’t want to leave a baby in this world without its mother, even if it is a baby vampire. And I sure as hell don’t want my baby, vampire or no, brought up by the Falcon I’ve married.

Initially, when I thought I was innocent, I’d convinced myself I could solve our misunderstanding and soothe his irrational fears with a conversation. After all, I can’t deny that, bloodthirsty bastard that he is, I still love him. Part of me still believed that since he’d been intimating or outright stating he planned to kill me ever since we’d met, yet I’d triumphed, that somehow I’d do so again. Deep down I thought that even if I ran away, at some distant point in the future the misunderstanding would be resolved and I’d be welcomed back. That he’d turn back into the Falcon I fell in love with. But since I’ve had a month away from him and I’ve begun to suspect that I was indeed planted in The Games for some other vampire’s ulterior motives, I know that I’m guilty by association, even if I was completely unaware the whole time. He’ll never believe me, and he’ll never forgive me. And whether I like to admit it or not, the vampire I married appears to be the real Lord Falcon Dragonspur.

The one I met in The Games was someone else. An act.

I stare across now at Isabel’s parents as they look back at me with quiet ease. I don’t have anything further to say about their daughter. She was a friend until she wasn’t. Her political persuasion had not been made public because vampires don’t want anyone to know The Free Men still exist. Viewers simply saw her as another beautiful contestant who’d played hard but lost.

I’m hoping, though, that her parents are fully aware of her ulterior motives for being on the show. After all, membership of The Free Men is supposed to be hereditary.

‘Perhaps they’re under pain of death to take part in this meeting with me. I wouldn’t be surprised. Surely The Families have them marked?’

I study them quietly, an uneasy feeling crawling up my spine as I consider this likelihood. I hope they’re not murdered after this. I try to remain calm on the surface as I meet the gaze of Isabel’s mother. It’s as though she can read my mind. Unlike Pasha’s mother, she doesn’t flash angry, dark eyes at me. Her look is one of quiet strength. If I didn’t know better I’d say she’s looking forward to The Families trying something.

Our meeting is almost at an end now. I’ve said everything I was supposed to, but I’ve said it slowly and tried to draw them out in conversation more than I have any other family as I try to figure them out. More and more I begin to hope against hope that I might be able to press the small piece of paper I have hidden under my watch band into her hand. The small note, tiny and hidden from Caroline for a month now that says: “Help me escape. I want to join The Free Men.”

I’d thought long and hard about what to write. Part of me wanted to say, “they are monsters,” but I’m sure The Free Men already know this. Part of me wanted to say, “I’m a prisoner,” but I’m pretty sure saying I want to escape alludes to that. In the end I had to keep it short and to the point.

“I know this is unusual,” I clear my throat, ignoring the gestures from Showman off-camera to follow the script, “but I’d very much like to talk a little longer, if you don’t mind. This bar,” I smile at the pair, “has such a nice ambience.”

I sweep my hand around to indicate the soft ceiling lights made from dark green wine bottles, the patinated cork walls, the shelves lined with interesting Spanish knick-knacks. It really is one of the most comfortable and homely places I’d met anyone on this tour.

Isabel’s parents flash a quick look at one another, and her father’s shoulders seem to lose a little of their stiffness.

“It’s a shame you can’t dine here,” Isabel’s mother says gently. “I hear the tapas are wonderful.”

“Ah, time’s up, Angelina,” Showman interrupts gruffly.

“That’s Lady Dragonspur to you,” I glare at him haughtily, “and you’re right, your time is up and this tour is over. Pack up and get out of here.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes as though I’ve said something preposterous, and Caroline stands up to eyeball him.

Throughout the trip if there’s one thing she’s done, besides shadow me to the point that I want to scream, it’s ensure that no one, and I mean no one , treats me with anything other than the respect my royal status deserves, and then some. But this is her only concession. In everything else she’s a curse. She’s my warden and my enemy, and her hateful comments and saccharine disdain have given me many sleepless nights. At least I didn’t have to worry that suddenly being rich and royal would go to my head. Between Falcon spanking me and her treating me like shit, it’s assured that could never happen.

Tonight Showman acknowledges her tiny show of fangs, and her authority, and orders the cameras to pack up as I lean back in my seat and smile at Isabel’s parents.

My trip is almost over, my window of opportunity to escape is narrowing. I flick my eyes quickly to Caroline and back to Isabel’s mother, and she gives a barely perceptible nod.

“I can’t stay for dinner, but maybe another drink. May I?”

I smile, reaching for the carafe to pour her another glass of sangria. As the camera crew departs noisily and Caroline moves to sit back down nearby, I flick the note under Isabel’s mother’s fingers as she reaches for her glass.

She takes it without blinking and I could almost cry with relief.