Chapter 137

Almara’s Pov

Later that same day Roman, Arthur, and I are compiled into a stuff waiting room at the local inmate holding center in vampire territory. I can’t help but compare the drastic change in how the day started to where it ended up.

I blow some hair out of my face and shift in the cold metallic chair. Arthur puts a comforting, and protective, arm around my shoulder. Roman stands up, arms crossed, and refuses to back down from this staring contest with another potential inmate whose seated in the corner.

The waiting room is exactly as I expected it to be; gray, cold, and small. The center is just on the outskirts of town, but it seems as if everyone left the town to come hurl obscenities as we arrived on the scene. The media also made the journey, shoving mics in our face and feigning care for Bess.

Roman has his own body guard accompany us knowing the Council of Bloody Hollow would offer no sort of protection. It’s been thirty minutes since we notified the pale creature behind the glass counter we were here on behalf of Bess per the Councils request and still we wait.

I think the Council likes knowing we’re suffering. Not suffering so much because of the musty smell or the cramped room, but knowing that Bess is in the same vicinity and we’re so close to her, yet so far.

Arthur puts a hand on my leg, which I didn’t realize was shaking. I give him an apologetic look. “Don’t worry. Soon enough, we’ll all be on our way home. Including Bess.”

“No talking.” The creatin behind the counter orders. Arthur snarls. Luckily, before any violence can ensue, the steel door squeaks open and a man in a black uniform calls for us.

Arthur is first to head through the door with me at his heel, Roman stays a moment longer giving one final hard look at the man still seated in the corner.

Through the door is a long windowless hallway, only illuminated by a single naked lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Along the wall are more of the steel doors, sealed shut. There’s a rectangular slit carved into the doors just wide enough to slip a hand through, but even they are closed.

A number is engraved on each slit, and I wonder if that’s for the person or the room itself. For Bess’s sake, I hope it’s only for the room. She’s more than just a number.

Not a peep is heard throughout the hallway, making me assume the rooms but me sound proof.

Eventually we come to a stop at a door at the end of the hallway. The worker leading us brings forward a ring of keys attached by a string on the loop hole of his pants. He jingles the keys until the right one falls in his palm.

He unlocks the door and steps aside, all while maintaining the silence. Once we’re inside, the door is slammed shut behind us and it’s sound echoes in my ears.

The room is larger than I would expect, then again maybe this room is different than the other holding cells. This room in particular looks more like a meeting room than a cell.

Split down the middle of the room is a long glass window that extends from one end of the room to the other. A singular metal chair like the ones in the waiting room is seated in front of the glass with another chair opposed to it on the other half of the room. There’s one window high above our hears, just big enough to reveal ta square of the gray sky.Arthur motions for me to sit and I shake my head. Not only should it be someone of immediate family who sits across from Bess, but my butt is still numb from sitting in the chairs outside. No doubt my tail is going to be sore next time.

The door on the other half of the room is opened and Bess is escorted inside.

I can only hope my face doesn’t reflect the shattering of my heart. She’s ben dressed in a degrading orange jumpsuit and her hair is disheveled, though not through lack of attention- rather it seems as if her hair has been getting too much attention- grabbed, pulled, yanked.

Though her physical self looks as though it’s been beaten, her face remains stoic. Her shoulders are still squared and her chin is still lifted, like a true solider emerging from a battle.

Behind her enters Delfino, and something about his presence in the room strikes me as odd- as though he never enters into even his own institutions that he builds.

Delfino wraps his bony fingers around her shoulder and with more strength than I would have pegged him for, he forces her into the chair.

“Watch it.” Roman growls and yanks the metal chair before him aside so he can get close enough to the glass that his hot breath fogs up the glass. The guard positioned at the door by us takes a fighting stance, but Delfino lifts his pal and the guard backs down.

“Careful now, Roman. You’re in my territory.” Delfino says, though the glass muffles his voice the death and soulless life still pour out of him as clear as ever.

“Not for long.” Arthur says, standing in union next to his father. “What do you want?”

A sinister smile spreads across Delfino’s face. He brings the tips of fingers together holding his hands at his chest. “What I always want, of course.” He says opening his hands up. “Blood.” He says simply.

“What blood?” Roman asks not hiding his disgust.

“Not what, but who.” Delfino says soaking in his wickedness.

“We don’t have all day. Cut to the chase.” Arthur says taking a seat and looking at Bess with affection in his eyes. Then regaining his composure, and hatred, he looks back at Delfino.

“You’ll recall the war several years back, led here by your beloved grandmother.” Delfino says, his vice becoming flat as he refers to that monumental time in history.

“The one where she destroyed your civilization? Yes.” Arthur says with a smirk.

Dismissing his comment, Delfino continues on. “In addition to that, she stole property from us. A crime punishable by death.”

“You can’t prove that.” I say, cutting in and hopefully preventing the train of thought from proceeding in both Roman and Arthur’s minds.

“Ah, but I can.” Delfino says, his eyes glistening with delight. “We have a witness. A lovely Ms. Claire.” I freeze at her name and Delfino reads me like a book. Returning to his point, Delfino walks closer to the glass.

“Either Bess pays for her actions in accordance to our law, or one of you do. I don’t care which.”

“I’ll do it.” Roman says almost before Delfino can finish his sentence.

“Absolutely not.” Bess says, speaking for the first time. Her voice is strong and firm, in fact I don’t think I’ve ever heard her speak in such a hard manner. Though apparently her son has because he doesn’t even flinch at her tone.

“What kind of man do you think I am to let my mother die when I could stop it?”

“And what kind of mother lives only to see her son die before she?” Bess says, the softness and wisdom creeping back into her voice. “Killing me means nothing. They just want some petty form of revenge from a just war that happened nearly sixty years ago.”

“It means everything to me.” Arthur says in a croaked whisper. Bess turns her attention to him and puts her hand up to the glass, Arthur does he same.

“You have given me everything I have ever wanted. You both have.” Bess looks at me and I’m surprised by the stinging of tears that spring to my eyes. “What else more do I have to live for?” Bess then turns to Roman again. “And if you die at their hands, what would that mean for your honor?” Bess asks sincerely.

She’s right. She’s already led the wolves to victory against them, Roman hasn’t. He can’t go down in history as only ever having been killed by the vampires. His name and all of the Hurricane Pack title would suffer for it.

“So, it’s settled.” Delfino says, hardly giving us time to make an official decision, let alone process what’s happening. “Her sentencing will be carried out tomorrow at dusk. You’re welcome to come.” The creep smile makes an appearance once more. “At your own risk.” He adds.

The document signing and legal procedures all happen in a daze. I find myself stuck in the memory of this morning and wonder how we got here.