The Dead of Night

Chapter Seven

Chapter 7: The Annamorphos

I relaxed back into the plush sofa as the tension in the room began to dissipate. The McRaes began murmuring and conversing amongst themselves. Some spoke about Avarice's story and some seemed to be speaking a strange language that sounded like random jargon. I placed my elbows on my knees and let myself catch up with the previous story.

Avarice and his yet-to-be-seen brother, Lazarus, were vampires from Ireland, with a strange disdain for the Cullens. Do they not like the Cullens or do they just dislike Carlisle? My curiosity was concentrated on one question, though: how did the McRae family know the Cullen family? I recounted what Avarice had said but it didn't get me anywhere.

'Doctor Carlisle Cullen…lapdog to the Italians and slave to his own convictions, yes we know him.'

I furrowed my brow as I attempted to make sense out of all this. Edward had never told me about any kind of feud or enemies they had. Maybe it was something else he was keeping from me. I slowly snaked my right arm around my midsection; despite the warming sensation I felt earlier, the pain was ever present.

"Bella?" Ary's voice of concern recalled my attention and the pain fizzled out a bit. "Are you all right?"

I wondered if she had seen me wrap my arm around myself, and I felt my face burning with a bright red flush.

Ary's face appeared alarmed as I grew more embarrassed. "Bella? Is everything okay? Do you have a fever?"

I lifted my head to explain my incessant redness and was mortified to find the entire McRae family was gawking at me. That does it. My face practically exploded, feeling like it was on fire, and I started to feel a little bit nauseous.

"Is she going to faint?" Melena asked, moving closer to me with a horrified expression, her sandy blond hair whisked out of her face so she could inspect me. I flinched at the coldness of her fingers and groaned internally while she fussed over me. "Argos? I know what will help—your specialty tea."

Without speaking, Argos glided out of the room through the same door he had come from. The light in the next room clicked on, and I was vaguely aware of rustling noises and the sound of pouring water. The others murmured anxiously to themselves, forcing my face to flush even more. I cringed as Ira narrowed her eyes skeptically; she was no doubt disturbed by my newly reddened pigment. Much to my delight, an elegant aroma wafted into my nostrils, the smell of peaches, strawberries, and passion fruit. I closed my eyes, letting the scent overpower my senses.

"Her skin looks much better." I recognized Avarice's voice as I focused on the aroma. If they paid too much attention, then it would happen all over again. Nobody is paying attention to you…nobody is paying attention to you. The mantra—however much of a lie it was—helped me a great deal.

I opened my eyes in time to catch Argos striding back into the room, a white mug in his hand. He very carefully kneeled at my feet and presented the cup to me, as if it were a ring. I smiled at the action before sipping the tea.

My breath caught in my throat as the flavor flooded my taste buds. It was glorious! The smell had been a citrus compound, but the taste was so much better. My mouth was alive with the symphony of all the fruits I loved: Oranges, apples, peaches, strawberries…it just goes on.