Page 100 of The Donor’s Dilemma

Not the angle Verity was going for, but she persisted. “We’ve worked pretty well together so far, but I’m a bit stuck on this project. Would be nice to get a parent’s perspective…”

“Is that so?”

“Well, we’re working on getting more people to join the Exchange. The normal recruitment drives aren’t really working so we’re trying a new angle.”

The look on Debbie’s face said that she wasn’t convinced. Not in the slightest. “And what would that have to do with parents?” she asked.

“It’s just an idea, and you can’t tell anyone about this. No gossiping.”

Debbie pursed her lips in a way Verity saw in the mirror when she was about to argue, but she hummed a flat tone of begrudging agreement.

“You’re considering lowering the age…”

“No.”

“Only by a year, and strictly part time…”

“Verity,” her mum snapped. “You’re thirty-one years old and I don’t like you allowing them to… to feed on you.”

“It’s called donating…”

“You could call it happy fun time for all I care. I’m your mother, and I don’t like you feeding those… vamps.”

Verity arched a brow. The only people who called them vamps were the likes of Kane and the other thugs. After being forced to move back home, her mum and dad hadn’t hidden their resentment for what had happened thanks to vampires, but hearing her mother use the word left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Don’t call them vamps,” she mumbled. “They don’t like it.”

“Well, I don’t like being a second-class citizen.”

A lump formed in Verity’s throat as she tried to disagree, but she knew her mum was right. She wouldn’t have been driven to the Exchange in the first place if she wasn’t. But if she hadn’t joined then she never would have met Theo. Kind and protective and talking to her like an equal.

“Theo doesn’t treat me like a second-class citizen,” she said.

“Thank Phoenar!” her mum cried, throwing her hands in the air. “The vampire that you’re giving your life blood to is nice to you. My faith is restored!”

“Mum,” Verity cut in, but her mum kept going.

“Don’t you act like everything’s all hunky dory. I see you. Coming home after donation,” she made little finger quotes in mockery, “looking all tired and stressed. You haven’t been the same since all this Exchange nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense…”

“I hear things you know, that poor girl that went missing, that donor…”

Oh, gods. That wasn’t something she expected her mum to know about. She’d only wanted a little advice for the university proposal.

“Look. I know about Georgie. Theo’s been really worried about her, the police…”

“Who’s Georgie?” her mum asked, and Verity bit her lip. “Her name is Becca. One of the girls from work knows her. There’s another one?”

Verity quickly shook her head. “I must have got the name wrong.”

The look on her mother’s face, the quiet disappointment, made her want to shrivel into nothing. “You don’t get names wrong, honey,” she said, slow and flat. “I read the papers too, you know. I hear about the protests, the fact that your support group has been cancelled. I see the graffiti in the streets. I disagree with violence and I disagree with vandalism, but I can’t disagree with the point they’re trying to make.”

Stepping closer, Debbie brushed a flyaway behind Verity’s ear and kissed her head. “Sometimes it’s hard to see a problem when you’re stood too close.” She moved to leave, pausing at the threshold before looking back. “You’ll always be my little girl, you know. It’s my job to worry about you.”

With that she walked out, leaving Verity to stew in her words.

Debbie had never been a well-educated woman, never had a high-flying career or lofty aspirations, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t intelligent. When Verity got into university, she had wept with pride and later, told anyone who would listen about her child who worked for the Stonehaven Gazette. But it wasn’t for the sake of status, nor money or fame. She was so unbearably proud of her daughter for she—above all—valued the truth. Whose moral compass was so unwavering that she both built a career and threw it away in the hopes of spreading the truth. Debbie didn’t berate her for her recklessness, not once, not when it was her mother who taught her those beliefs. Beliefs that, although still there, had taken a back seat for the sake of self-preservation.