“Phoebe.” Jason gave her a shove this time.
Had Phoebe still been a warmblood, she would have tumbled fifteen feet onto the path below. Because she was a vampire, she was merely irritated and gave him a shove back.
“Margot is walking past,” Jason said, urgent.
“Maybe I’ll wait and then bite her from behind,” Phoebe prevaricated.
“No. That’s not safe. Not when you’re this young. Were she to run, and you gave chase—which you wouldn’t be able to resist doing—humans would notice.” Jason watched Margot disappear around the bend in the river. “Damn.”
“Freyja’s going to be cross, isn’t she?” Phoebe didn’t want to disappoint Marcus’s aunt—or Miriam. But she just didn’t feel ready to feed off a person yet. “Sorry, Jason. I’m just not hungry.”
Phoebe was, in fact, ravenous. She needed to spend some quality time with Persephone and a bottle of Burgundy.
A group of women walked down the path, arm in arm. They were laughing and had clearly been out enjoying themselves that afternoon, based on their rollicking steps and the number of shopping bags they carried.
Phoebe sniffed the air.
“No, Phoebe,” Jason said. “Those women are not suitable. They haven’t been paid, for a start. You can’t just—”
“Phoebe?” Stella stared at Phoebe in astonishment.
“Stella!” Phoebe whipped off her dark glasses, blinking in the dark light as though it were midday and the sun were shining. She hopped down to greet her sister, but was stopped by Jason.
“Too fast. Too soon,” Jason whispered.
Freyja cautioned her day in and day out to slow down. But this was her sister, and Phoebe hadn’t seen or talked to her for almost two months.
“I hardly recognized you.” Stella took a step back as she approached. “You look—”
“Fantastic!” one of Stella’s friends chirped. “Is that a Seraphin jacket?”
Phoebe looked down at the leather coat she’d borrowed from Freyja. She shrugged. “I don’t know. It belongs to a friend.”
“Your voice—” Stella remembered they were not alone, and stopped herself.
“How are Mum and Dad?” Phoebe was starved for news of the family. She missed their casual weekend suppers, and the exchange of stories about all that had happened the previous week.
“Dad’s been tired, and Mum’s worried that he’s not sleeping. But how could he since—you know . . .” Stella drifted off into silence.
“Who’s your friend?” one of the women asked, casting a seductive glance at Jason, who was standing a few feet away.
“Oh, that’s my stepbrother. Jason.” Phoebe beckoned him over. Jason strolled in their direction with an affable smile.
“You didn’t tell us you had a brother,” the other woman murmured to Stella, “never mind one who looked like that.”
“He’s not—I mean he’s more of a close family friend,” Stella said brightly. She glared at Phoebe.
Normally, that look of outrage and blame would have had Phoebe scrambling to apologize and make amends. Phoebe was the good girl in the family, the one who could be relied upon to give in, give up, and give way to keep the peace.
But Phoebe was a vampire now, and far less worried about her sister’s feelings than she had been before Miriam’s blood entered her veins. Her lips curled and her eyebrows rose. She returned Stella’s glare, matching her in outrage and replacing the blame with scorn.
Not my problem, Phoebe said silently.
Based on Stella’s dumfounded expression, she got the message. It was not like Phoebe to challenge her. But Stella, unaccustomed to conceding so quickly, fought back.
“What happened to Marcus?” Stella asked. “Does he know you’re out with another man?”
Phoebe reacted as though she’d been bitten by a poisonous snake. She recoiled, horrified at the suggestion that she was being unfaithful.
“Let’s go, Phoebe.” Jason took her arm.
“Oh, I see.” Stella’s look was triumphant. “Couldn’t bear the time apart, so you thought you’d have a little fun on the side?”
Stella’s friends laughed, a bit nervously.
“He calls Mum and Dad every few days, you know,” Stella reported. “Asks after them, after you. Even after me. I’ll let him know that you’re doing just fine—without him.”
“Don’t you dare.” Phoebe was inches away from Stella, with no memory of how she’d gotten there. That wasn’t good. It meant that she’d forgotten to move like a warmblood.