Feral

6 ⇞ To Run; a Scheme

    

The cacophony of smells in the ballroom was enough to make Nadia's temples ache and her head spin. She was used to being surrounded by scents, but this was different. The presence of so many new scents—ones that belonged to unfamiliar people, unfamiliar creatures. It was something she hadn't even thought to consider, too preoccupied with the "what-if, what-if, what-if" mantra making its home at the back of her thoughts. As time passed, the shock of all of them dulled enough to let her think past her initial reaction—which had been to get somewhere away from Marcel and the vampires he'd taken with him. The scents of animals twisting through the others, however, were something she couldn't ignore even if she'd wanted to. They were few and far between, maybe only five or ten out of all the people in attendance, but they stuck out like warning signals to her abused senses. What the warnings were for, Nadia hadn't the slightest clue.

Regardless, she couldn't stay in this corner for too much longer. She would happily stay there for the rest of the party's duration, but Marcel and James, the head of the guards, would no doubt be keeping tabs on her actions. As an executioner, it was her job to be a deadly example of her conclave's power. While Nadia might get away with skipping meetings and her refusal to speak—there was no doubt in her mind that Marcel saw it as a refusal, not a mental state—she would never get away with not doing her job, no matter the task.

So, when could finally stand to breathe at least somewhat normally without feeling like a fawn taking its first steps, Nadia made sure she did her job. It was an easy enough task to make her way around the room, decorated as if this gala for the influential of the preternatural community was something that took place in the ridiculous historical novels Christopher borrowed from the servants. If she walked slowly and looked around, groups of people often included her in their conversations. She didn't have to do more than smile and indicate with a gesture at her neck when someone tried to pull her in to giving a reply. After that, she found she only had to listen, smile, or nod, and people would be satisfied. It was an easy way to gather information. After all, if the listener could not speak, then surely they could not repeat what they heard.

Rarely did they ever think about whether she could write things down.

Even though she understood that advantage, Nadia was just glad she didn't have to get too involved in any discussion. Were she in a situation where she could speak aloud, she doubted she'd be able stand being among any of the people she interacted with for more than a minute. Already she was itching to abscond from the event entirely, and she hadn't been there but an hour. An eternity to her, but hardly any time to the vampires she'd come with.

It was almost a relief when her actions bore fruit.

One of the other two executioner's she'd spotted during her wandering from group to group approached her when she stopped to grab a drink at one of the scattered refreshment tables. She didn't know the vampire and hadn't met him at any gathering Marcel had brought her to, but she only needed to look at his face to know what he was. All executioners had the same air about them, something Nadia couldn't describe in any way other than to call them flat.

No doubt she shared that same flatness.

"A human executioner," the man began in what may have been a polite tone, though she doubted he meant any of it, "it must be difficult for you to keep up with your duties. It is a pity when a Sire's amusements puts the unqualified in a position of importance."

Truly, Nadia didn't understand why none of the vampires were able to identify her for what she was. It was as though they were blind to everything that wasn't related to their kind. But now wasn't the time for her to ponder on the topic.

Nadia turned to face him, meeting the dull red of his gaze. This executioner was likely on the low end of the reds, but still powerful to some extent. If she were to judge him by the criteria Cassius had once listed out for her, his actions were as perfectly crafted as her own. Yet, all she thought of this vampire, with his poorly veiled comment, dull eyes, and clean appearance, was that he was weak. Her impression was only strengthened when he picked up one of the glasses from the table, breaking eye contact with her in the process.