Page 65 of The Order of the Bitter Hunt

He stops outside my dormitory building and smoothly removes his arm from my shoulder. “Go drink, or I’m going to be pissed at you.”

“Oh, no.” I gasp, rolling my eyes. “We can’t have that.”

But I’m already leaving. With any luck, Tobey will accompany me to the dining hall. He’s right. I need to be strong to face the trials ahead of us, and I won’t be if I’m not drinking plenty.

Chapter Seventeen

At last, after traveling around Europe for a month, my mother graces us with her presence. The three of us try to have dinner once a week when she’s here, but even then, we skip more meals than I would like.

Now, with secrets between us, I wish I could avoidthisone. There’s no chance unless I want to face the wrath of my mother’s melodramatics.

I’ve spent so many days cooped up on campus that being in the real world is strange. Not that the Cruz estate has ever feltreal. I grew up here, but there’s no mistaking the magnetic and haunted aura around the manor.

When I arrive under gloomy clouds and a darkened sky, my parents are sitting at opposite ends of the large dining table. I’m half an hour late, and I know they won’t let it slide.

My mother fixes me with a cool smile. “Mon trésor. It’s nice of you to join us.”

“She’s here now,” my father says. “That’s what matters, isn’t it, darling?”

The space between the two isn’t a lack of love—rather, it’s a shared love of dramatics. There is nothing more over the top than two people sitting on opposite ends of an expansive table.

I roll my eyes as I swiftly approach my mother to place kisses on each cheek.

Her perfume envelopes me. Jasmine, vanilla, and musk hit my nose. It’s been the smell of her for as long as I can remember. It lulled me to sleep when I was young, and the scent lives in my mind even as an adult.

My mother has curated her entire persona.

Her light blue eyes sweep over me as I settle in, and her gaze is piercing, as haunted as the home I grew up in.

My parents love me. Even with the occurrences at Strode, I know this to be true. But my mother’s love has always felt colder. Sometimes, I wonder if this is how she was as a human or if it’s a symptom of the gift of immortality.

I sit in my chair and place a napkin on my lap. None of us needs to eat, but there are three rare steaks on each plate. It’s all for appearances. Everything in my life is.

“Indeed,” my mother says. “It’s lovely to have the family together again. Oh, I mustn’t keep traveling. I miss so much when I’m gone, don’t I?”

I won’t bother beating around the bush.

“You do.”

She’s missed a lot, more than she ever has. A single meal can’t contain the space for the stories I long to tell her. There were more deaths, sure, but more than that—she missed Tobey and me being the ones to take the killer down. It’s not exactly something you share in a postcard, and I don’t know how to say it now.

My mother laughs, cutting into her carne asada. “You’ve been getting on well without me, haven’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“Margaux is just glum about auditions for a play.” My father frowns and dips a fresh tortilla into salsa.

He only ever eats like this around my mother, and most vampires have a fondness for strong flavors—like spice, ripe fruits, or extra salt. Our taste buds aren’t as developed as a human’s, but these things can help.

These days, the part in the play is the last thing on my mind.

I don’t expect either of them to understand. My parents, their secrets, and the order—theyare the reason for my bad mood.

“This hasn’t been my best semester,” I say, “but next year will be an improvement. Graduation is right around the corner.”

It feels like what I’m supposed to say.

I ignore the food, draining my glass of blood. As I set the glass down, I felt my mother’s piercing gaze again.