Death's Servant(19)

“Jon.” I reply. “Uh, nice to meet you?”
Rafe laughs, the sound tumbling out of him. “Jesus, you must have had some shitty run-ins with vampires.”
My face tightens. He may think my reaction is funny, but these two are the unreal ones. A happy vampire with their loving partner? What world is this? Surely not the same one Raine’s pack is kept for blood consumption in a secluded mansion and sold to any paying vamp who stops by. I feel a scowl forming and try my best to smooth out my expression.
“Oh dear. You’ve upset him, Rafe. Let the poor boy get some food in him first. I can hear his stomach growling from here.”
Her husband places a large order for dinner and we sit awkwardly around the table waiting for it to arrive.
“You worked hard to find us,” Dria says. “What is this about?”
This all feels surreal. Why is she so calm?
Probably because she can kill you or erase your mind at any time. That would make anyone pretty calm, don’t you think?
I nervously glance from one to the other, ending my ping-ponging attention to settle on Dria.
Her voice comes out in a seductive whisper, “Tell us a little about yourself.”
I stare into her deep green eyes and everything pours out. I tell her about being changed into a werewolf in my third year of college, my family living in southern Virginia who think I’m dead, the pack I lived with for a year in Manitoba and my recent departure.
I end with recent events, telling them how I found my way back to Virginia, started working, and became involved with Raine. I even explain the Were’s duplicity and how she originally intended for me to become another werewolf used for blood.
“You’ve got to do something,” I say. “There’s a vampire who’s captured a whole werewolf pack. He’s addicted to their blood and rents them to visiting vampires in a brothel type of setting. It’s horrible.”
Our food arrives and Rafe and I dig in while Dria sips from a coffee mug. The couple stares at each other now and then, but remain creepily quiet during the meal. I wonder if they are participating in some form of silent communication, but can’t think of a polite way to ask. These two definitely give a very insular vibe. Like it’s them against the world, and the rest of us are on the outside looking in.
I shake my head when I remember why I’m here. Can one vampire really make a difference in that pack’s situation? She’s a tiny thing and those guys are mean as hell. An image of an enraged Cecil jumping out of the woods flashes back to my mind.
I finish my second steak and wait for the couple to speak. Not much more I can say to convince them, is there?
“I’m sorry, Jon,” Dria begins. Rafe’s face clouds with anger and he throws his napkin on his plate. “The vampire isn’t breaking any laws. I can’t stop him.”
I jump up from my seat. “What the hell are you talking about? Not breaking any laws? He’s imprisoned an entire group of people, keeps the alphas drained and chained, killed the couple’s daughter, and basically serves every one of them to be raped and snacked on whenever he chooses. How is that possibly within the law?”
Her eyes soften and her voice comes out quiet. “He hasn’t broken any vampire laws.”
Rafe snorts, his anger palpable.
She ignores her husband’s reaction. “Our laws are designed to protect vampires—and they’re pretty vague. Nothing in them talks about werewolves. The focus is protecting the knowledge of vampire’s existence from the human race and ensuring humans are not slaughtered.”
Rafe rises from the table and walks to my side. “Dria, I don’t like it. You know what he’s describing isn’t right. This is a horrible abuse of vampire power at the basest level.”
She shrugs, turning her attention to the uncovered window. “It’s still none of my business. No matter if I approve or not.”
Rafe clears his throat. “Let’s look at this hypothetically.” He glances to me and then his wife, but the expression on her face clearly says she doesn’t give a shit what we say. “This pack has how many members, Jon?”
“Not sure—a lot were killed. From Raine’s description it sounds like there are at least fifteen werewolves being held.”
He turns to his wife, his light blue eyes burning with agitation. “Dria, think of all the humans those werewolves were in contact with in their daily lives—at their jobs, in their neighborhoods, heck, maybe even who they are dating. Those people will miss them. They will raise red flags. It could very well explode into a huge stink.”
Dria doesn’t answer, but her face takes on a contemplative look as she stares out the window.