Page 36 of The Feeder Legacy

I look down at the table so they don’t see me wince. Maybe I’ll wait to mention that little titbit.

“I guess so,” Mum concedes. “And maybe after a year, you’ll be ready for a different job. I can get you an interview at my firm anytime.” Her voice brightens on the words.

Mum’s a partner in a big firm of financial advisers and planners, and I can’t think of much worse than having to wear a suit to work every day and be polite to clients, but hey, compromise is important. “Maybe.”

That perks them both up. “You mentioned teething problems,” Dad says. “What are they, and how can we help?”

I grimace. “Cat’s boss had an acquaintance who was looking for a feeder, and I needed a new job fast, so we fudged things a bit and didn’t tell anyone that I wasn’t raised in the community. The vampires heard the name Barale and made the assumptions we wanted them to, and since I already had a contract waiting, the Association didn’t look into it either.”

“So you don’t have some of the background information you need,” Dad realises. “But isn’t Cat helping you?”

I nod. “That was the plan, but Wednesday night—my first night on the job—her boss had to go to India for some business emergency, and Cat can’t get enough private time to call me. She won’t be back until Monday, and I thought I could manage, but I’ve already nearly slipped up a few times.”

“You want us to teach you a lifetime’s worth of knowledge about vampires and feeders in one day?” Mum asks in dismay.

I glance at the clock on the wall. “We actually only have two and a half hours before I get picked up.” Scratching my head, I suggest, “It’ll have to be the short version.”

Chapter 18

The look Mum gives me reminds me of when I was in primary school and once told her it was okay that I hadn’t done my book report presentation because the book was boring anyway and none of my classmates needed to hear about it.

“You want the ‘short version’ of more than six hundred years’ worth of history and traditions?” She even makes air quotes. My mother’s always been an expert at making me feel like an idiot.

But… “I probably don’t need much of the history right away. It’s the day-to-day stuff that’s tripping me up. Like, who is the regent? What does he do?”

“He’s in charge,” Dad says dismissively. “You probably won’t ever have to meet him, so we can put that on the list of things to talk about another time, along with history. Let’s cover the stuff you’ll actually need first.”

Fuck. I scratch my jaw and look away. “Yeah, about that…”

“Adam?” Mum’s voice takes on a tone that means I’m very close to getting grounded. I don’t think she can still ground me since I’m twenty-eight and contracted to a vampire, but I bet she’d probably try. “Is your vampire a friend of Tristan’s?”

For a split second, I wonder if I can get away with saying, “Who’s Tristan?” They obviously know he’s the regent, which is great because they can tell me what that fucking means. In charge? In charge of what? But I’ve just finished calming their fears about me being in danger, and telling them I’m employed by the vampire whose feeder being killed sparked off those fears is probably not going to help this situation.

Ugh. I hate when things don’t go my way.

“Not exactly,” I stall.

“What’s that mean?” Dad asks. “Are they business acquaintances?”

“Does it matter? The relevant thing is, I need to know what the regent does.”

Mum folds her arms across her chest and stares me down, Dad shaking his head as if he can’t believe I said that. He’s got a point. “Why?” has always been the first thing Mum asks when I tell her I need something. I’m not going to win this battle.

Sighing, I slump forward and prop my chin on my fists. “Okay, fine. Tristan’s my vampire. But you don’t need to worry, because ever since everything happened to Benjamin—which, by the way, I need to know the details about that—anyway, since then, he’s gotten freakishly paranoid about his feeders. Anna’s my full-time bodyguard, and she’s teaching me self-defence. They even want to give me weapons.” I add the last bit in a joking tone, but nobody laughs or makes a joke about what a bad idea it would be to arm me. Mum looks like she wants to cry, and Dad’s jaw is tightly clenched.

I don’t know what to say, and once again the silence draws out until I’m fidgeting in my chair. Finally, Dad sucks in a breath through his nose.

“Are you sure we can’t talk you into leaving this job?”

“I’m sure,” I say, even though part of me is wondering if that’s the right decision.

He nods. “If you change your mind, just say the word. We’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of there.”

I may have misjudged my parents all these years. “Thank you. But I’m determined to stick this out for at least a year.”

Neither of them looks happy about that. It’s ironic, because they’ve lectured me countless times in the past about how I need to stop playing musical jobs.

“Vampire hierarchy is based on age and viciousness,” Mum starts, not meeting my gaze. “Those go hand in hand, because the older a vampire is, the more powerful they are. They’ve never said why that is, as far as I know, but the feeder theory is that the virus in their blood mutates over time. The older ones need to feed less, which implies that whatever it is that heals them and keeps them from aging uses less blood to do so the longer they’ve been a vampire.”