Page 41 of The Feeder Legacy

She looks up from her ever-present tablet, an amused smile curving her mouth. “All the martial arts work you’ve been doing hasn’t made you more graceful,” she says. “You sounded like a herd of elephants.”

I bite back a grin. That’s probably going to get me a sigh from Tristan. He’s not the sociable, chatty type—at least not with me—but he manages to make his opinions clear. I’ve started awarding myself points based on the reaction I get. A frown is worth one point, a sigh is worth two, and him saying my name in that repressive tone that brings out the rebellious child in me is worth three. I’m working towards an actual lecture, which will be four points. Yelling and/or physical intimidation, like he did when I first started and fucked up badly, are a full ten points, because he’s so fucking repressed that I’ll have to actually endanger myself to get it.

“Sorry,” I tell Anna cheerfully, taking my pre-breakfast protein shake from Clive as she rolls her eyes. “Did you see what happened in New York?”

Her brows shoot up. “Something happened in New York?”

I nod slowly, drawing out the tension. “This vampire called Rolf threw a party, and his feeder full-on attacked another vampire’s feeder, screaming about him ruining his life and how he was going to make him pay. It was an actual punch-on, with some slapping and hair pulling and scratching thrown in.”

“Really?” Her eyes are wide. “Do we know why?”

“Still working on that. Rolf and the other vampire, Stephanie, shut it down fast and have kept them both tucked away since, but one of the other feeders at the party got video.” I waggle my brows at her, and she snatches her tablet off the bench.

“Which board was it on?”

I lean over her shoulder, sipping, while Clive sniffs disapprovingly from the other side of the bench… but I notice him leaning forward slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen. Clive still doesn’t really like me, but the stick isn’t wedged as far up his arse as I first thought. Mostly, he thinks I should worship Tristan more and disapproves because I don’t.

We’re watching the fight with the sound up for the third time, and Clive has deigned to come around the island to where he can see better, when a throat clears behind us. I yelp, and we spin almost in unison.

Tristan is standing there, fully dressed and looking like he’s going to an old man funeral, as usual. “What is that dreadful noise?” he asks.

I glance back at Anna’s tablet, where a six-foot-tall man is making a sound that closely resembles metal in a blender while a much smaller man tries to choke him. “It’s complicated.”

One brow goes up, and he holds out his hand. Anna obediently, if not a little reluctantly, hands over her tablet, and Tristan studies the video.

“Ah. I’m sure I don’t need to tell anyone that this sort of behaviour is completely unacceptable.” For some reason, he looks right at me when he says it.

“Watching videos?” I ask with a straight face.

He sighs. Two points for me!

I really should set a target and a reward. These points are racking up.

“It’s dreadful,” Clive declares, and I prepare for him to suck up to Tristan. “That poor housekeeper. All that work planning the party, and it’s ruined. Not to mention the rug—the stain from that red wine won’t come out easily, if it does at all.”

“I’ll sympathise about the rug,” I concede, “but I don’t agree that the party was ruined. If anything, the fight made it the party of the year. I mean, we’re talking about it, and we’re halfway around the world.”

Clive glares at me.

“Come on. I didn’t even know Rolf existed before today. The fight put him and his party on the map.”

“I’ll be certain to mention that the next time I speak to him,” Tristan says dryly. “He’ll be thrilled.”

“You know him? Any chance you could make a call and find out the deets behind the fight?”

He frowns and chides, “Adam.” That’s four points right there, six total in the past two minutes. Today’s started with a bang, baby!

“So that’s a no?”

He ignores me, handing the tablet back to Anna and turning his attention to her and Clive. “I need to be in Sydney for a few weeks, and I’d like to open the townhouse instead of staying in a hotel.”

“Of course.” Clive’s speaking almost before Tristan finishes. “Will you be entertaining while we’re there?”

Tristan shakes his head. “Unlikely. Perhaps some meetings or a small cocktail party, but nothing elaborate.”

A cocktail party isn’t elaborate? Come to think, what exactly does “elaborate” mean, anyway? It’s not the kind of word I hear in everyday conversation. My money’s on “fancy.”

“When do we need to leave?” Anna asks, tapping away at her tablet, and it hits me all of a sudden that if Tristan’s going to Sydney for a few weeks, so am I.