Chapter 145

Grace

It was different than Isolde's voice, more sultry and less playful. My whole body went tense, and I wanted to pull away, but Charles tightened his grip around me just a little and put his phone on speaker. A projection of a woman's face appeared.

She was stunning. I could barely believe that a person who looked like that existed. Her eyes were a brilliant amber, and her lips were painted a bright red like blood and sex. She looked barely dressed in some lacy camisole and satin robe. She could have been lounging in bed from the way her hair was tousled on her head.

Sex hair. By the goddess, was this his mate?

"It's been far too long, hasn't it?" Her voice drifted into the air. It was almost a purr. "Am I interrupting? You seem to have someone with you. Don't tell me you're... reconciling?"

Reconciling with whom?

"No, you're not interrupting. We're leaving Lake Town. It's... good to see you, Astarte. How have you been?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "You took that wench to Lake Town?"

He chuckled. "No. I'm seeing someone new."

Her eyes lit up. "Well, well, do bring her along, hm?"

I frowned, not understanding what on earth was going on. Gregory was silent in the front seat, and we continued to roll through the forest at an easy speed.

"Along?" Charles asked.

Her eyes turned cold. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"

Charles relaxed. His tone softened. "You usually don't extend an invitation this early."

"I've heard a few things about the lycan world and wanted to be sure to be on your calendar," she purred. "Do say you've kept the day open?"

"Of course," he said softly, almost tenderly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Good," she said, brimming with joy. Her eyes lit up. "I'm so excited. I'm hoping this year..."

Her voice went tense. "This year."

Charles stroked my side. "You've found something then?"

"I have hopes," she said. "Not the hopes that I.. originally had, but hopefully a suitable replacement."

"Astarte..." he began slowly. "I have to ask you something, and you may not like it."

Her brow furrowed as she sat up, revealing the full outfit: a lacy teddy. She wasn't in bed up on a chaise lounge. I stiffened, bewildered by how I was supposed to react to this.

"You're worrying me, Charles. You know you can ask me anything."

"Have you heard anything about someone trying to create an Eternal Stone?"

She blinked, and she smiled. "Are you asking because you know or because you don't want to know?"

Charles hesitated. "I suppose we'll find out in due time."

"I know you... of all people would never judge me," she tilted her head. "It is, after all... such an understandable thing, isn't it?"

Charles's voice went tense. "Is there any chance I could change your mind?"

She blinked. "No."

He nodded. "As I thought... Where are you hosting it this year?"

She hesitated. "Charles..."

"No," he said. "We... can speak later about it. Not now. I just wanted confirmation."

"You know that we have such a bad reputation," she scoffed. "And while some of it is true, it is not entirely our doing. You more than anyone understand."

"I do," Charles said. "That's why I ask that we talk about it later. Location, darling."

He drawled, snarky and facetious. Astarte laughed.

"I can see you aren't very happy with me. Very well. It will be in the capital, at the coven's mansion. You and your companion should be prepared. Bring your dancing shoes, your fun hat, and your formal wear."

Charles chuckled. His voice was thick. "Sounds like a party. I'll pack back up for when you inevitably spill liquor or blood on me."

"I'm sure your companion will at least lick off the former. Let me know if you need help procuring for the theme."

"Theme?"

"Yes," she said. "You know... how he loves gold and a good masquerade."

He chuckled. "Yes, I know. I'll take note. Take care of yourself, Astarte."

She smiled though her eyes had lost some of its light. "You too."

Charles hung up. The projection ended, and he hissed, pressing his fingers into his eyes. He squeezed me closer, but he said nothing, taking in deep, shuddering breaths.

My suspicions seemed to vanish as I looked at him. I shifted uneasily. Maybe... Maybe she was his mate, and she'd married someone else? He'd never mentioned that, but why would he? I got the sense that they knew each other well, but there was so much pain in his whole posture that it was hard to believe that Astarte was his mate.

When Charles spoke about his mate, there was no pain in his voice.

"I can hear your mind turning," Charles said softly, wryly, and a little watery. "Ask, sweetheart. Just ask."

"Who is she to you? And... what was all that about?"

He took in a deep breath. "An old friend. We grew up together. It's her wedding anniversary, but... her husband."

He let out a soft sigh. "Her husband has been in a magical coma for years. She lost her daughter on the same day."

I gasped, my heart clenched. "H-How?"

"Assassination," he said softly. "It's... a long, painful story. She throws a giant party on the big years and the usual gathering of close friends. I've never missed a year."

"Why are you so... hurt about this?" I asked.

Charles shook his head. "That part is something I can't talk about right now. It would... too much, too soon, even for me."

He squeezed me closer. "Are you okay?"

"... Does she usually call you in her underwear?"

"Loungewear, and yes," he chuckled. "She's married to a vampire. She's... thoroughly embraced the culture. It's rare that she's wearing much clothing at all."

"Well... if I looked like her mostly naked, I would probably be more okay walking around naked too."

Charles laughed. "I don't think you have the personality for indolent lounging, but I'd love to see it."

He fell quiet, squeezing me close. "Let's... trying to get some rest. No doubt Cecil is going to want to know all about the trip... She picked out your scarf, you know?"

I laughed. "I bet."

I leaned against him and tried to relax, but my mind kept churning. I felt a bit put off that he seemed to have this secret with this beautiful woman, married or not, but as he stroked my hair, it was hard to resist the pull of sleep.

I woke up as the sun began to rise over the city. People were milling around in the early morning, catching buses to work and school. They looked at peace. Soon, we were out of the heart of the city and driving towards the pack house. As it came into view, the serenity and clarity that had taken over me started to pull back.

"Hey," Charles whispered, squeezing my hand. "It's okay."

"I just had a thought."

"What's that?"

"If Eason's still basically on bedrest and a crutch... What's the house going to look like? Does George clean? I don't think Margaret does. Is Ethan in my house?"

Charles chuckled as the car came to a stop.

"No and No, but I'm sure that it won't be that bad. Even if it is, we'll call someone. You never had a maid?"

I blinked and looked at him. "We did... For a long time."

Charles blinked. "I'm sensing a story here."

I fiddled with my sleeve. "I... fired her."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I huffed and sat back. "Does Devin count as an answer?"

"A bit of a cop-out."

I huffed. "She was young, pretty, and I was insecure and pregnant... She was the daughter of our old maid."

"Jealous, too, hm?" Charles asked and kissed my cheek. "Remind me to rile you up. I hear jealous sex is top-notch."

We got out of the car. Charles grabbed the duffle bag out of the trunk and led me up the walkway. As we entered, I grabbed the mail out of the basket and breathed a sigh of relief. There was the faint scent of cleaning supplies that Eason liked. The floors seemed polished.

"Does that mean Eason is off bedrest, or they hired a maid?"

"No idea," he said.

I headed toward the living room and smiled at the pillow fort that had half toppled over. Richard was fast asleep on Eason's chest, and Cecil was curled up to him, snuggled under a thick blanket.

We crept past them, trying not to wake them, and found George in the kitchen. He cocked an eyebrow at us.

"You're an asshole," George said. "I do clean."

Charles chuckled. "Not like Eason does."

"Don't tell me about it," he huffed. "Keeping him from working off what little weight he is gaining has been a trial, and it's only been a few days."

I shook my head and started looking through the mail.

"Eason's never been good at sitting down."

I frowned down at the envelope in my hand. It had no return address on it, but there was a wax seal on the back that I didn't recognize.

Who could it be from?