Of Blood & Consequence (Book 2 of The Blood Bond Series)

10. Secrets

"Delia!"

She continued to move away from him, grabbing a blanket and extra pillow from the hallway closet and scooting into the living room quickly. Flopping down on the long couch, she fluffed her pillow briefly and pulled the soft blanket over top of her in direct defiance to Michael's loud protests.

"I'm going to bed, Michael. Good night."

Michael flipped up the bottom end of her blanket, pulling her legs up and sitting down, settling her ankles on his thighs. She pulled them away and curled up into an awkward ball. He pulled her legs down again and clamped his hands around her to keep her in place.

"Stop it, Delia. I told you there's nothing really to say. My parents suck, end of story."

But that wasn't all. If there was nothing to tell, then why not just say it? Scream it for everyone to hear even.

Delia knew one thing—when someone said there was nothing to tell, there was a whole lot more going on behind the scenes than they wanted you to know.

She had been kept in the loop ever since she had gotten entangled with the supernatural world, and Michael was supposed to be her soulmate—her equal in everything.

Except, it seemed, when it came to the family life he never mentioned and never wanted to talk about with her.

"If it's nothing, then you should be able to tell me whatever it is," she grumbled irritably under her breath. Her words were muffled by the blanket that she was curled up under, and Michael tried to pull it away so he could hear her better.

Or at least get a good look at her face and gauge just how pissed off she was on a scale of One to Volcano. When he was successful and her eyes averted from him, he knew he was in deep shit.

He sighed.

"Sposina, it's not just that they are not good people, but they are the worst kind of vampires. If they were Ward and June Cleaver, I'd have no problems with you meeting them and getting to know my parents, but they are treacherous, devious, and manipulative. They'd try to...well, to woo you onto their side, convince you that what they're doing it just—for the betterment of the vampire community. It's not—no matter what they say, it's all to their own greedy, clawing benefit. Everything has to do with their bottom line, lining their already overfilled wallets. Living in splendor—luxury—is the most important thing to them, and they don't care who they step on in order to get what they want."

Delia still didn't get it. Sure, they sounded like assholes, people that were only concerned with their own comforts, but a lot of people in L.A. were like that. It was no new thing and wasn't all that rare.

Shit—her mother was the same way, so she didn't understand why Michael was being so mysterious about it.

Delia didn't feel like listening to his excuses as to why he couldn't talk about them. She wanted definitive answers, and she wasn't stopping from giving him the cold shoulder until she got some.

"That's fine, but I want to be alone tonight. I need to think. Please, Michael. Leave me be for now?"

He breathed out an exasperated breath, stood up from the chair and hesitated as he stood in place. Unused to this level of emotion in anyone—after all his mother might have pleaded with him, but it was all crocodile tears he was sure—he didn't know what to do. Stay and try to coax Delia back into the bedroom, or leave her alone like she claimed she wanted to be.

Women were so confusing for him.

After a few more moments, he watched his mate's eyes shut as she stretched her limbs to take over the couch.