The Real Werewives of Vampire County - By Alexandra Ivy Page 0,102
as she leaned back in her salon chair, closing her eyes.
“I can’t wait.”
“Oh, you’ll like this one,” Cassandra said, stirring her martini with a thin crystal swizzle stick. “New to town, no kids, no husband, and positively desperate to fit in.”
“Desperation should suit our needs quite nicely,” Vera replied before she sipped her lemon drop, crossing her slender legs primly at her ankles. “When’s the last time we took in new blood? If we don’t work to expand our ranks as much as we have our fortunes, we’ll never have the kind of influence over the Were communities that Gabriel keeps going on about. If he wants to be the next Rohrik Donovan, he needs to work for it.”
“Oh please,” Alexis scoffed, waggling fingers wrapped in jewels in airy dismissal. “Our husbands would have done something about it already if they knew how. Their little yacht club meetings and golfing excursions are just excuses to avoid facing facts—that scouting their usual haunts isn’t going to get us any new wolves. It just goes to show that, as always, it’s the women behind the men in power who really make history.”
Heather shifted uncomfortably, twining her fingers in her long auburn hair as her attention shifted back and forth between the other ladies. She opened her mouth to add her thoughts to the conversation, but Cassandra smoothly overrode her.
“Be that as it may, if we are going to take over recruitment for the pack, we might as well start somewhere. I think this woman could be a good fit. She already lives in the community and she’s newly divorced—which means she’ll be lonely and looking for a man soon enough.”
Heather opened her mouth again, but this time Vera cut her off. “I’m not convinced that volunteering Charles or Lucas as a fit for this woman we haven’t met is such a good idea. Make her one of the pack? Sure. Hand her over to the available men? Not unless she’s breeding pups before she’s turned. Which doesn’t solve our numbers problem for the short term.”
Alexis smirked, drawing her straw across her tongue in a playful, flirtatious bid to draw the attention of one of the men at the bar before adding her thoughts. “Divorcées are generally bitter, lonely people. Not the mothering sort, if she doesn’t have rugrats already, I’m sure. She can choose someone else; perhaps one of the hopefuls that Gabriel keeps going on about inviting to those dull brunches of his... .”
Cassandra gave Alexis a withering look, which went ignored. Her smile was cold enough to make Vera and Heather drop their eyes submissively, knowing better than to tease her about her husband—or his parties.
“Thank you, Alexis. I’ll be sure to tell him you think so,” Cassandra said, her tone flat enough that Alexis finally realized she was in error.
“I’m sorry, Cassie, you know I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Alexis had turned her eyes down, but her tone told the lie. Cassandra leaned forward, her ample cleavage spilling from her low-cut top, drawing the eyes of several men at the tables around them as she settled her hand on the glass tabletop next to Alexis’s drink. One nail had formed into a talon, etching a fine line of warning into the glass between them.
Alexis audibly gulped and lowered her head contritely, a faint sound like a whine dying in her throat. Cassandra stared at her across the table, the others keeping their eyes down as she tapped her fingers impatiently. Finally, she spoke, her words cold and biting.
“If you don’t like how the pack is run, you may rise to the challenge to change it. Otherwise, I suggest you remember who is in charge before your mouth gets you into trouble.”
Alexis nodded once, sharply, ducking her head further. Cassandra laughed and leaned forward enough to brush her finger along Alexis’s arm, making her flinch. “Silly pup, look what you’ve made me do! I’ve just had my nails done, too.”
The others exclaimed over the now cracked veneer of polish on her finger, clucking their tongues over the damage. Before long, Cassandra rose, putting the full force of her chilly smile on Alexis again.
“Let’s go meet the new girl, shall we?”
CHAPTER 2
The body is meant to be seen, not all covered up.
—Marilyn Monroe
The beautiful people of New Jersey often convened on the Gold Coast or fled to Manhattan when they wanted to see and be seen. For those who wanted to do so in the relative privacy of a community too