Chapter Thirty

Seemed like an eternity sincethey'd all done a cocktail thing in the mansion's fancy-ass garden parlor, rather than only four months ago at that introductory-thingy, but now that Dev was standing in the middle of this room full of memories, eternity didn't seem like long enough ago. He swore he could still catch traces of Marissa's scent in here, and the memory of her looking like such a mega-biscuit in that slinky black cocktail dress was clear as day. Not that he knew what the hell day looked like, right? He took a hard swig of champagne.

Fucking champagne. It tasked like bubble-infused detox piss, and would forever be associated with his mother serving up his life to him on a Fuck-U Platter, but he'd choke it down anyway. This bonding reception for Gábor and Chelsea was a celebration.

The happy couple was standing next to a four-foot-tall white cake. Gábor was carving out a chunk from the top with what looked like a warrior blade, Chelsea watching him make a hack job out of it, laughing, a saucer glass of champagne in her hand.

Arc and Beth moved forward to congratulate the two, Arc careful to keep his body angled toward Gábor and away from Chelsea. A full seven days had passed since Gábor had bonded with his new wife, so his cells should've been solidly settled into The Change by now and the man chilled out. Still, considering how volatile Gábor had been the first seven days, Dev didn't blame Arc for playing it safe in order to keep all facial parts in their proper place.

Thomal came over to stand next to Dev. He watched the two for a moment, then made a disagreeable noise in the back of his throat. "Chelsea has more than one glass of champagne, and I'm outta here."

Dev snorted.

Together, they watched Chelsea daintily feed Gábor a piece of cake.

The rest of the crowd ooh'd and aah'd.

Gábor drawled something, and the spectators burst into laughter. Everyone was just jolly as pigs in poop.

Thomal shook his head. "Never in a millions years would I have guessed that guy would bond before me." He slugged back a large mouthful of champagne. "Or you."

Dev glanced slantways at Thomal. His friend sure as hell sounded grumpy for a guy who still had his woman around. Yeah, as it turned out, Hadley had decided to stay in the community and work on her relationship with Thomal. She still wasn't sure if the Varcolac life was for her, but she was crazy enough about Thomal to at least put some effort into finding out.

"Wake up on the wrong side of the hangover this morning?" Dev inquired blithely.

Thomal gulped his champagne. "I'm just sick and damned tired of everyone thinking I'm some nicey-nice, mellow dude because of the way I look." Another gulp. "I'm not that guy."

"Who the hell would think that? Certainly nobody who's been in the gym with you."

"Hadley." Thomal's mouth clenched tight. "I don't exactly excel at tip-toeing around people on eggshells or however the hell you say that. And the way Hadley is about my fangs…" Thomal trailed off on a curse.

Hadley was going through something called "systematic desensitization" with Karrell, the community therapist, to get over her needle phobia, but it was slow going and Thomal was understandably frustrated.

"She'll come around, Costache. Don't sweat it."

Thomal drew a deep breath, then exhaled it in a hard rush. "I know. I'm being a dick. It's just that…hell, if I don't get some shaboink soon, my tonsil tickler is going to fucking fall off."

"Nice, man," Dev returned in a dry tone. "It's a mystery to me what Hadley sees in you, truly."

"Um, well…" He felt Thomal's sideways glance. "I guess you're the last guy I should be bitching to about relationship troubles, anyway. Sorry."

Dev stared down into his glass, watching golden champagne bubbles rise steadily to the surface of his drink. Everyone was sorry for him these days: his sister, his friends, his warrior buddies. Dev felt pretty damned sorry for himself, too. He couldn't even muster anger anymore. Just a constant aching acknowledgement of how badly he'd screwed up his life. A thousand times a day he fantasized about chasing down Marissa topside…but for what? To unload all of his regrets on her while she was dealing with a gravely ill mother. That would fall under the category of "only thinking about himself"—as would pleading with her to come back to him, part two of his fantasy—and he was beyond ready to set aside that little character trait. If he'd been any other guy, he could've begged her to let him live topside with her while she fulfilled her dreams. But he was a sun-allergic Varcolac, so that idea was a non-starter.

Which left him with memories of Marissa, three months' worth of dating bliss he hoarded desperately close to his heart, and her scent, banking around inside his head like a lone pinball, destined never to settle into its proper slot. How he was supposed to survive that, he hadn't exactly worked out in his—

"Something's going down," Thomal said tersely.

Dev looked up and saw what Thomal meant.

A grim-looking Toni had just re-entered the garden parlor, after having been called away from the party by her new assistant, Donree—a Stanga Town girl, of all things. Yeah, both Alex and Toni Parthen were turning Varcolac culture on its ass.

Toni drew up right in front of Dev, wearing the same expression she'd worn a week ago when she'd shown up on his bedroom doorstep.

He stiffened, cold sliding against his spine like an ice cube tossed down the back of his shirt.

"I have some bad news about Marissa."

He felt a muscle jerk in his cheek. A scorching knot formed in the middle of his chest. Oh, he was mustering anger now. His next question threaded past rage-tightened lips, although he already knew the answer. "Om R?u?"