Page 59 of The Cannibal

Just the name made my heart skip. Some days I forget that we forged marriage documentation with a fictional brother of mine in order to buy our own property. Somehow the humor of it all lightened my dread a bit.

“Ah yes, the sister.” The man kissed her hand before cupping it. His eyes were the lightest brown, so much they almost seemed gold. He was rather eccentric, an oxblood suit and caramel leather. “Pierce Soros. It is an absolute delight to make your acquaintance.”

His eyes then snapped to me, the reflective glint flashing so briefly it could have been missed if I blinked. But I feared that every missed moment was a danger in a place with these people.

His body language changed. It was still warm and hospitable, but this time it was like he spotted his next meal. His smile widened as he straightened his posture.

A hand on my back.

I glanced at the figure in my peripheral.

Pierce’s eyes tracked to the other figure, a more devious expression as he held his tongue.

“This is Alina,” Silas’s voice was smooth like smoke, “my poisoner.”

And with that, my heart sank.

“The illustrious poisoner.” Pierce finally regarded me again, his eyes attempting to peel back my skin and look inside my skull through the socket, as if to read minds.

This would be the time to show no fear.

I was not afraid.

Not anymore.

His attempt only made me angry.

I held my hand out and he took it, kissing my knuckle . . . but then his lips brushed over the engagement ring.

With quickness, my hand returned to my side. There was a soft chittering from beside me.

Phoebe’s eyes were locked on him, following his every move, pupils restricted so far that it was the most resemblance to her brother I’d ever seen.

That only enticed the young Vipera further.

“Shall we sit?” she suggested.

“Of course.” Pierce smiled, then gestured for us to gather.

When I glanced to Luka, he did not follow. He stood by the bar, watching. Now that I noticed, there were more men, not all of them ours. Security. They were all waiting on the perimeter of the roof, out of caution or foreboding, I did not know.

As we were ushered to the table, Pierce stood at the end and clasped his hands.

“Now that everyone is present, we can start fresh with some introductions.” He pointed to the end. “I first want to thank Mr. Forbes, Sire of the Chimera Nest on the Upper East Side. Welcome to the other side of the park.

“We are also joined by Elijah Johnson, Sire of the Harlem Vipera Association.” Pierce gestured to another man, accompanied by a wife on his arm.

Mr. Johnson had a deep complexion of sepia. In even the dim light he reflected a red from his skin, the flash of gold from the back of his onyx eyes. His wife dressed in deep blues, her umber skin smoother than the silk she wore. Together they looked like fire and ice, unique but complementary.

I glanced at Silas; he wouldn’t even look at me.

It boiled my blood like no other.

Perhaps I took advantage of the attention before. I wanted to tell myself it was his attempt to maintain a professional appearance. But looking at the other couple only made it clear that it may not be a matter of professionalism. Even his crude display of power before was like one of his typical lash-outs, though refined and distilled. Like with time, he just became stronger, more violent—but would that also be true of his passion? His obsession?

I do not know what happened these last six months, but something changed. Perhaps he grew bored with waiting for me in the first place.

After the last few introductions of guests accompanying the Sires, we all sat. Silas sat at the other end of the table—a positive gesture in my eyes. I sat beside him, Phoebe across from me.