The Real Werewives of Vampire County

Tiffany’s face fell as she realized that meant that the papers weren’t ready to be lodged in a court—in effect, binding her for the rest of her life to one of the werewolves and giving them the right to feed on or make her one of them—though she soon perked up at the invitation.



“Oh, thank you, Cassie. I can’t begin to tell you how happy this makes me!”



“Don’t thank me yet,” Cassandra drawled. “You still need to find a host who will take you. And I do expect you to behave yourself and not antagonize Vera anymore.”



“I’ll try.”



“Do more than try. Those papers include the pack privilege clause. If you find a host who will have you—and I assure you that it will not be easy with your past—it will leave you open to attack from any member of our pack, not just whoever signs with you. I suggest you find a way to smooth things over with Vera.”



Tiffany frowned, skimming over the documents. “I’ll do that.” Glancing up, she offered Cassandra a sunny smile, clearly quite pleased with this turn of events. “Thank you again. Don’t worry, you won’t regret this decision.”



Cassandra said nothing in reply, turning and walking away.



Once Cassandra left, Tiffany took her time polishing off the rest of her coffee as she read through the contract, enjoying the time in the sun. Very little of it was different from the standard contracts often available at local courthouses. The pack privilege allowed any werewolf in the pack to hurt or even kill their applicant without legal repercussions; these days, the clause was standard language in contracts for dangerous supernatural creatures who lived in groups, such as vampires and werewolves.



Tucking the papers under her arm, she rose, withdrawing her cell phone as she headed to her car. In moments, she’d drafted a text message and sent it to Richard, then drove home.



It took some time to get ready. Some of the benefits of having spent time on the fringes, getting to know her husband’s profession, were the access to his connections, the combined gathered intelligence on Others by the White Hats—and the toys.



After a long, luxurious bath in scented oils, relaxing her muscles, she padded nude through her walk-in closet, choosing and then discarding a number of outfits. For the dinner, she needed to wear something both fashionable and functional; nothing so skintight as to reveal the weaponry concealed on her person. Searching blue eyes soon found the perfect outfit. She chose a Christian Dior dress with flared sleeves to make for an easy draw of her silver-coated daggers. It had a high enough slit on either side of the skirt to easily reach the guns strapped to her garters, and looked killer with a matching pair of Louboutin heels.



Her phone rang out the strains of Bach, announcing an incoming call from Richard. Again. And a third time.



She ignored the calls in favor of examining herself critically in a floor-length mirror.



The quick-draw bands at her wrists faded into the shadows of the sleeves of the black, silver, and gray fabric of the dress, but were still too conspicuous. With the addition of some thick Swarovski bracelets studded with diamonds and opals, a matching choker, and a touch of Chanel No. 5 at her wrists and throat, she felt ready to take on the entire pack.



For the thrill of it, she twisted and hurled one of the daggers in one smooth motion, embedding it in the frame of the dresser across the room, just above where her cell phone still rang and rang. A smile curved her lips when she noted the blade had landed precisely on the knot of wood she’d been aiming for.



With leisurely strides, she crossed the room, glancing down at the phone before working the dagger out of the wood. Tucking it back within its sheath, she then turned her phone off and slipped it in her purse, heading for the door.



As much as she hoped things would stay civil tonight, she would be prepared for anything.



CHAPTER 9



The first sign of a nervous breakdown is when you start thinking your work is terribly important.



—Milo Bloom



Cassandra greeted Tiffany at the door, taking in her outfit in one quick, critical sweep. It dragged a reluctant smile out of her, for it met and exceeded every expectation for the impromptu dinner she’d arranged.



Getting Gabriel to agree to stay home for the affair had not been terribly difficult. At his word, the remaining single males in the pack, to a one, had agreed to come. Many of them had arrived early in hopes of making a good impression, and were not disappointed by the entrance of the leggy, stunning blonde who put the shining crystals and modern art in Cassandra’s smallest, most intimate dining room to shame.



Tiffany sat near Gabriel and Cassandra at the head of the table, setting her purse at her side and placing the signed contract beside her plate. She accepted a glass of wine and the brief introductions of the few men she hadn’t met at Alexis’s party a few days before. Several of the more prominent members of the pack had come as well, including the other werewives and their spouses. Vera, thankfully, kept her comments to herself, though she was clearly displeased with this turn of events.



Though no one mentioned anything about the pack at first, after Cassandra’s cook brought out the hors d’oeuvres, guests complimented Cassandra on the fare and the talk took a more serious shift. Gabriel cleared his throat, getting the silent attention of his guests within moments.



“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he said, giving Tiffany a nod. “I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that we have a new applicant for membership in our pack.”



“Ah, is that what this is all about?”



“Yes, Phillip. I’ll thank you not to lick your chops like a big, bad wolf and scare our honored guest away.” That garnered some laughter, as well as a wink and a grin in Tiffany’s direction from Phillip. The laughter became more genuine at her blushes. “As most of you know, expanding our numbers has always been a priority. The Diamondfang pack has welcomed society’s elite into our ranks for decades, long before humanity openly acknowledged the existence of the supernatural. Now, under the circumstances, I felt it best if we addressed some important aspects of her request as a group, rather than allow speculation and rumors to sully what should be a joyous occasion.



“Tiffany Winters has admitted to connections to a group of hunters—the White Hats—in New York.”



The room exploded with dissent, exclamations of shock and outrage, several of the werewolves rising from their seats or even letting a touch of their inner beasts peek out of their eyes as they snarled their displeasure. Vera seemed especially incensed, her accusing tones laced with triumph as she rose from her seat and pointed at Tiffany, sneering as she shouted, “I knew it! I told you she was trouble!”



Tiffany scowled, but said nothing, clutching her hands tightly together in her lap. She wouldn’t meet the eyes of any of the wolves, knowing better than to give their aggression ammunition by giving them challenging looks.



Gabriel watched for a few moments, eyes narrowed. Shortly, his calm, collected, and deadly quiet voice cut through the din.



“Sit down. All of you.”



None dared disobey the alpha, though many of those who weren’t glaring at Tiffany were giving him sidelong looks.



“Now,” he said, once the low rumble of opposition subsided to quieter levels, “she has informed us that she was connected to one by marriage, but no longer. She is not part of that world anymore, and wishes to make amends for her participation in their activities by bolstering our ranks. It is not an unreasonable request—and she could be a valuable addition to this pack.”



“She’s dangerous,” Vera sneered, “and I can’t believe you’re still willing to take her in, knowing what she is.”



Gabriel gave Vera a flat look. She soon quieted and turned her eyes down. Phillip, who had remained silent during the uproar, cleared his throat and spoke up after receiving a nod of acknowledgment from his pack leader.



“It takes an extraordinary person to admit when they are in the wrong. More so for someone to take so little prompting to wish to be a part of our pack. Ms. Winters, I will sign the contract, if you will accept me as your host.”



Tiffany gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as happy tears sprung to her eyes. Though some of the Weres maintained their dubious expressions, most showed grudging approval; a handful even clapped to show their support. Before she could answer, Vera snarled, slamming her hand on the table hard enough for the silverware to rattle.



“I can’t believe you people are falling for her story! Have any of you checked her background to ensure she’s who she says she is? That she’s really divorced? That she didn’t come here armed to kill us all?”



Gabriel growled, a deep, harsh sound that rolled through the room like thunder. Much to the other diners’ surprise, it was Tiffany’s voice that lashed out rather than their pack leader’s. She rose to her full height to point an accusatory finger at Vera.



“You have no right to be saying any of those things about me. You haven’t gotten to know me or given me any chance to prove myself to you!”



“There’s nothing to prove. You’re connected to hunters, and that makes you a menace to every one of us!”