Oliver's face soon turns into a deep shade of red, anger twisting his facial features into a grimace so ugly that monkeys' butts look prettier in comparison.
He's glaring at me, throwing daggers my way.
If I keep laughing, I fear I'm gonna get killed, so I put a hand to my mouth and muffle my laughter as best as I can.
Dude, is it me, or do you have anger issues? Chill out, will you?
"My grandson has a point." Fake Sir Akerley has decided to chime in, it seems. I guess he can't stay still and keep observing things when his clan head is obviously taking my side for whatever weird reason. "Scott and Jordan are our guests of honor, and I recommend you treat them as such."
"Yes, Sir."
If you keep gnashing your teeth with that much strength, they're going to crack, Oliver. Just saying.
On the bright side, the warning does the trick, and no one pushes the matter further. Their clan head has pretty much told them to shut the fuck up, so they're going to shut the fuck up, no matter how dissatisfied they are with the order. They can't show disobedience.
Even Oliver and his cronies have to keep their mouths shut. They're not yet dumb enough to go against their patriarch. Too bad. It'd have made a great show.
"Still, have you figured out what's going on with the kobolds?" Oliver smirks, back to the offensive. Even if everyone here knows he's the mastermind pulling the strings behind the scenes, it doesn't mean anything if we have no proof to accuse him. Even if we're the victims, our testimonies are worth shit in their eyes. We need concrete proof, and not just words.
How awfully convenient.
"For what it matters," Jordan smiles coldly as he bends over to pick up a suitcase, "we've compiled our findings in a file. I'll be passing copies around, and one copy has already been sent to a prosecutor and another to the government."
Wait, what?!
When the heck did he do that?! Buddy, you woke up yesterday, yesterday. So how did you—ah, don't tell me… Jordan, you workaholic numbskull, you've pulled an all-nighter to go through all the data James's men gathered, haven't you? Of course, why am I even asking! You just had to work on the case and compile the file until the wee hours, huh?
I swear that guy…!
Doing a week's worth of work in less than a night! Brilliant! Magnificent! And certainly not detrimental to his health!
My husband pretends not to notice my accusatory gaze. Oh, yeah? Wait until we get home. We're up for another talk.
"This…! This is defamation!"
Oliver's angry shout draws my attention back to the dinner table.
Aw, so many shocked faces. Poor babies. They're surprised a special investigator actually does his job and investigates a murder spree. Did they truly expect that Oliver would leave no traces of his affiliation with the kobolds? When he's this blatantly arrogant? Once James and Jordan knew where to look, it was easy to find.
Pals, some of you picked the wrong pawn to bet on and have gotten on the heir's bad side. Good luck.
"Whether it's defamation or not, that will be up to the prosecutor to decide."
Jordan barely glances at the fuming Oliver, as if he's not worth his time, before switching his attention to Fake Sir Akerley.
"The government requires that you confine Oliver in the mansion until the trial. If you can't, you have to send him to the special jail facility in the city. If Oliver is nowhere to be found at the trial, you, as the clan head, will be held accountable."
"Ah? Who the fuck do these blood sacks think they are?!" One youngster cried out, his disdain for the government palpable. "They have no right to insult Sir Oliver, even less Sir Akerley!"
See? It's that kind of belief that they're above everything that leads them to make blunders even elementary school kids know not to make. Sorry, but every action comes with consequences. It's about time you learn about it.
"This is outrageous!"
"They don't know their place!"
"What kind of bullshit—"
"Enough!" Fake Sir Akerley cuts the brat off. "We'll comply with the demands, and I don't want to hear any of you utter a single complaint. Did I make myself clear?"
Whoa, the guy's tone is frosty. He might not be the real patriarch, but he sure knows how to use the title to his advantage. Admittedly, he's also a highborn vampire, probably just below Sir Akerley in the hierarchy.
"As for you three, I'd like to have a word with you in my office."
He's saying he'd like, but it's not like we have a choice in the matter, do we? Telling him "no" is not an option.
***
The dinner ended in disaster, and watching the chaos unfold filled me with great joy. Now, though, we have matters to attend to, and James guides us to Sir Akerley's office. The Fake Akerley had left the dining room earlier to tuck in his grandson.
Yeah, no, that was a lie.
If anything, I bet they needed some alone time to discuss their next course of action. Things most likely didn't go the way they had expected, as I have a hunch they thought Oliver wasn't brainless enough to leave so much evidence behind. The list of evidence submitted in the report… It's so long that I was left gobsmacked when I read it.
The guy could have at least put in some effort. I know vampires tend to look down on other species, but come on…!
Anyway, with the file already given to the government and the prosecutor, there isn't much Sir Akerley can do. He and his double aren't fools like the youngsters and know better than to incur the government's wrath for no reason. They remember the vampire hunts and the blood that had been shed.
James knocks on the door, and a "come in" resounds. The next second, he smiles apologetically to us before opening the door, and we enter the room.
I stop in my tracks, then discreetly eye Jordan and James. Neither is reacting, so I believe they're not seeing Sir Akerley, who's sitting on a chair a bit further away from his double. He's supposed to be tucked in bed, after all, so he has nothing to do here. I won't make the same stupid mistake I made when I arrived at Jordan's house this time, and I pretend not to see him.
We sit on the sofa in front of the one Fake Sir Akerley is sitting on. It's a bit cramped with three adults next to each other, but no one wants to sit beside the clan head. Oh my, I wonder why.
"I won't beat around the bush," thank God, finally one who understands the principle of communication, "did you or did you not feed on Scott's blood, James?"
Oh come on, now, are you still stuck on that? We've already established that James survived thanks to Lucy. The real Sir Akerley seems to know a thing or two about the clinic, and yet the fake one still asks? Tsk.
Well, his question is doomed to stay unanswered, as silence stretches and James pinches his lips. He can't lie to his patriarch, but he still doesn't want to say it.
How sweet.
"James, as the heir, you know just how important nutritious blood is to our clan. We are having a crisis with some youths who don't get enough nourishing blood and are dying as a result. That's one reason behind Oliver's support, and yet, you're keeping quiet about a blood sack whose blood is nourishing enough to keep you alive when you had a hole in your heart? Do you understand the implications of your silence?"
Oh, not everyone's blood is the same. Well, that makes sense, I guess. So, am I really a premium blood sack? How flattering!
"And what if my husband's blood is nourishing?" Jordan's cold voice fills the room, and his smile is sharp like a knife. Ah. He isn't happy.
"Did I talk to you?"
Oh, this one isn't too happy either.
"No, but I did." Jordan's voice drops another degree colder. "What if my husband's blood is nourishing?"
"Do you need to ask? What do you think a blood sack is for?"
Ah, pal, you shouldn't have said that, and I instinctively put an arm in front of James's chest in a protective manner, aware Jordan is about to lose it. The shadow of his true form is telling me as much.