Love Bites

Retribution

Slate grey clouds enveloped the sky. The sun's weak rays barely piercing the gloom. Rain threatened to pour at any moment and the wind whipped the trees and flowers punishingly. It felt as though the world was in mourning for the beautiful summer days just gone.

As Cassandra settled down to read in the den the familiar patter of rain began to drum a beat on the window. She hunkered down into the chair further, snuggling into the fabric like a cocoon, wanting nothing more than to let the pages of her book sweep her into another life. Well, that wasn't quite true; let the pages sweep her into the life she was going to get. One day.

                                                                                        ***

The selfie had been taken during one of their wilder weekends. They both smiled warmly at the camera, unhindered by rules and unbothered by the carnage around them. They each had an arm slung around the shoulder of the other and he remembered how they'd felt: unstoppable. Marcus threw his phone down in disgust. How had Cal fallen so far? Abandoned him so completely? 

The elders had been keen to learn about how Cal had 're-vamped'. How he'd thrown their rules and regulations in their faces again and again. If Cal thought the council had been on his case before, well he should wait and see what they had planned for him now. It was about time he got over this alpha thing and allowed Marcus to take his rightful place. 

Still, he had a plan B to fall back on. Just in case Cal weaselled his way out of trouble again. As he had a habit of doing. Born with a silver tongue his mother used to say. Let's see if he could charm his way out of this one.

                                                                                   ***

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. A ripple of consequences that can affect people you don't even know, living in a completely different country. Or so they say. Cal didn't really believe that. Not to that extent at least. How the hell could his choices affect some bloke in Nigeria or a child in Paris? It couldn't. People that banged on about shit like that were pessimists, glass half empty kinds of people. The kind of people he didn't need in his life. Yes, he'd broken a few rules turning back but he'd harmed no one. It wasn't that big of a deal.

The doorbell chimed echoing through the house. Cal groaned. He wasn't in the mood for company or irritating cold callers. Vampires still got hangovers (cruelly) and his was bordering on epic, like the party last night had been. He glanced at Tasha who slept beside him and realised he would have to get up, even if she was feigning sleep to get out of answering the door. "I know you're awake," he told her flinging back the covers and throwing on a pair of joggers.

"Nope, I'm fast asleep," she replied as he walked out the door, he smiled. Cheeky minx would pay for that one when he came back.

He flung the door open, barely holding back his irritation. His head was pounding and he wanted to get back to his bed. "What?" 

"Cal Lucien?" the gentleman asked. He was well dressed in a smart, grey, pin stripe suit, a red silk handkerchief protruding from the pocket. His dark brown hair was peppered with grey and the lines on his face were deep and craggy. This was no salesman or member of the God squad. This was trouble.

"Yes," he replied, eyeing the man wearily.

He produced an envelope from a black leather briefcase at his side. A4, manila with no recognisable markings. He handed it to Cal without a word, then turned on his heel and left. Frowning Cal closed the door before opening the offering. A single black and white photograph occupied the envelope. A black and white picture of Mast Manor with Cal in the foreground having just exited the building. Turning it over he read the scrawled handwriting.