Bitterroot Part 3

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “Why do the vampires think there is a cure?” I pressed. “And why don’t you believe them?”

  Sheridan’s eyes flashed. I opened my mouth to take it back but Carter’s dad intervened. “She’s only curious, Sheridan,” he said gently. “She hasn’t been around this her whole life. She doesn’t know all the stories. She’s trying to learn.”

  Sheridan pressed her lips together, eyeing Carter’s dad with a nasty sort of scrutiny before turning back to me and smoothing her already perfect blonde hair. “Fine. There is a legend of a wolf surviving bitterroot. The story goes that the woman was discovered with a vampire lover. She was fed bitterroot as a punishment for her crime but the vampire intervened. He gave her his blood and it revived her. The vampires claimed their blood was the antidote for the poison. All lies, of course.”

  “How do you know it was a lie?” I asked, looking from Sheridan to Carter’s dad. “Maybe the vampire’s blood really did—”

  “Vampire bites are lethal to werewolves,” Sheridan snapped, eyes blazing as she leaned in close. Her mouth was nothing but a sharp, thin line as she glared at me. “As lethal as eating that poisoned flower. Take it from someone who’s witnessed both firsthand, it’s a death sentence to eat that plant or to take blood from a soulless vamp. Nothing can bring you back from those. Any good alpha knows it.”

  Sheridan shifted away to stare out the window, clearly done with the conversation and with me. I caught Carter’s dad watching me with a sad frown tipping his mouth before he, too, glanced away. I dropped my eyes to my knees, biting back an apology. It was clear there was some hidden pain, some memory she’d been referring to. But who did she know that had eaten bitterroot? Or was it about all of her friends who’d been killed by vampires? Either way, there was no reason to be sorry for my curiosity. Or whatever lay behind her sudden fury.

  Then why, after all my suspicion against her, did Sheridan make me feel so guilty?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Regan

  The moment my dad spotted me approaching the dining tent, he scowled.

  “Why aren’t you dressed?” he snapped, his jacket flaring around him as he stalked over to me in the softly lit darkness.

  I waited for the guests behind me to pass by and enter the tent where our dinner was being held, bracing myself. Clearly, I’d chosen a bad time to rebel—tonight’s dinner was the last in a long line of disgusting displays that made up this entire alpha contest and peace treaty business. But I couldn’t comply with the horrific larger pieces like marriage and fighting my sister without finding some way to still be me.

  And mostly, I was sick of being made to wear dresses.

  Farther out, caterers loaded buffet trays on to carts and entered the large, covered tent through a rear flap, but for the moment, we had privacy, sort of.

  “I am dressed,” I said when we were alone.

  Dad’s face reddened and I wondered what had happened to put him in such a bad mood. It couldn’t be simply my choice in party clothes. “Regan, this dinner is the final step in a long, arduous process toward peace. By wearing pants, you’re—”

  “I’m what?” I interrupted, my own temper flaring. “Asserting my authority by wearing whatever the hell I want? Because that’s what leaders do, and starting tomorrow, that’s what I’ll be.”

  He eyed me coolly. “You’re not alpha yet, girl. Watch your tone with me,” he said quietly. “And don’t forget whose sacrifice made it possible for you to ‘assert yourself,’ as you put it.”

  The words were like a punch in the gut. “Of course I won’t forget,” I said, and to my horror, my eyes stung with moisture. “Not a minute of the day goes back when I don’t think of Mom. I do all of this to honor her memory,” I said, trying to pull it together as another wave of guests passed us by on their way to the party. My party. A party full of visiting vampires.

  Tomorrow was the Test of Endurance for Charlie and me. One of us would win and one of us would fail. And these monsters wanted to celebrate it.

  I blinked back the tears before they could fall as Dad yanked me by the elbow so we were farther off the path and in the shadows.

  “I know that, Regan, I’m…” He blew out a breath and ran a hand over his face. When he looked back at me, his features were tired, the lines around his mouth more prominent than they’d been just two months ago. “I’m sorry. I’m honoring her memory, too. I know I’ve been hard on you and more so these last few weeks with the contest. But it’s only because I know I can count on you to do what’s necessary. What’s right.”

  I gaped at him, still too stunned by his apology to hear the rest. “You’re sorry?” I repeated.

  He smirked. “That’s what I said.”

  In answer, a small smile tugged at the edges of my mouth. “Can you maybe write that down? This is a big moment. I don’t want to forget it.”

  His smirk bloomed into a full smile and then a short, full laugh. I was stunned all over again. When was the last time I’d seen my dad smile or laugh?

  “You’ll just have to commit it to memory. I’m short on scrap paper at the moment,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. It’s burned into my brain,” I said.

  His smile faded and he glanced down at my dress pants and silk blouse once more. “You know how important all of this is,” he began again, although this time without all the temper and condescension.

  I sighed. “The dress Sheridan sent over is awful,” I said. “And being in a room full of vamps has me enough on edge already.” I gestured to the silk blouse and then to my heels, lifting the hem of my wide-legged dress pants for effect. “Trust me, these shoes cost just as much as the ones Gretchen Rossi will be wearing tonight. I’m still plenty formal.”

  Dad regarded me for a minute and then nodded. “All right,” he said finally. “Get in there. It won’t do to be late to your own party.”

  He nudged me toward the carpeted walkway, but I hesitated. “Dad?”

  “Hmm?” He looked up from his watch.

  “I’ve been thinking about this peace treaty and wondering … You signed it because you believed the vamps had something to do with Mom’s death.” Dad’s expression tightened and I paused, choosing my words carefully. I hated to bring it up when we’d just had a great talk, but this was my best chance of getting him to consider my idea.

  “What about it?” he asked.

  “What if the vamps didn’t kill Mom?” I asked quickly before I could back out. “Would that void the treaty? Could we break the agreement with them for this marriage?”

  “Regan, how do you…?” Dad’s glance darted to something over my shoulder. I turned and found Bevin, Carter, and Lane walking up the carpeted walkway.

  “No,” Dad answered in a firm voice that I knew too well. By the time I turned back to him, he was already sliding away, back toward the tent’s entrance, a black-suited shadow against the night. “Nothing can break a blood treaty,” he added and then he was gone—along with my chance to change his mind.

  I muttered under my breath as my friends joined me.

  “What?” Bevin asked, her lips shimmering with a heavy layer of gloss.

  “Dad’s being … Dad,” I said. “You guys look nice.”

  “Thanks,” Bevin did a half-swivel to show off her gown and I caught a glimpse of criss-crossed straps in the back. I wondered how long she’d been waiting for a formal event so she could get dressed up. Bevin loved this sort of thing and we didn’t do them often. Maybe when I was alpha…

  “You look nice, too,” Lane said and I smiled at the sight of her in a knee-length halter. It showed off enough of her tanned shoulders that I knew no one would notice her marred face tonight.

  “Let me guess. Your dad gave you crap about the pants,” Carter said and I finally caught sight of him as he stepped around Bevin.

  My stomach flipped and I did my best to shove it aside. I’d seen Carter dressed up before but something about his icy-blue tie—matching the shade of his eyes so perfectly�
�and crisp white shirt threw me off. I looked down, suddenly overcome, and stared at his shiny shoes.

  “Yeah, he did,” I mumbled.

  Awkward silence fell. I wondered if Bev and Lane picked up on whatever was between Carter and me, but no one pointed it out. Behind Carter, someone cleared their throat.

  “Pardon me, you’re blocking the path.”

  I looked up into the face I was most dreading tonight. “Rossi,” I muttered, praying my cheeks weren’t still as red as they felt.

  “Vuk,” he said, the word popping harshly on his lips. His crimson eyes didn’t waver from mine, and I knew he’d seen everything, picked up on every last unspoken word. Damn him. “You’re looking … vibrant,” he said at length.

  Beside me, Lane muttered something about how vibrant she’d look if she tore out his throat. Owen pretended not to hear, but Charlie chose that moment to arrive. She glared at Lane, her fiery expression a match for her crimson dress. Or maybe her choice of fabric was meant to complement Owen’s eyes. Both seemed to glow in the darkness.

  “Charlie, you look positively radiant,” Owen said, turning to Charlie and taking her hand. For a horrifying moment, I thought he’d bring it to his lips—in which case, I’d kill him here and now—but he only shook it lightly and released it.

  “Thank you,” Charlie murmured and shifted nervously to me. I could easily read the curiosity in her raised brows. I still hadn’t told anyone else about her and Owen. I didn’t need Bevin saying “I told you so.”

  “Are you all waiting for me?” she asked.

  Bevin snickered and I pressed my heel into her toe until she shut up.

  “Yes,” I said. “Now that we’re all here, let’s go in, shall we?”

  Owen and Charlie immediately fell to the back. I could hear Owen whispering softly but the words were swept away and I let them go. It was best I didn’t hear them. I focused instead on shoving Bevin and Lane to the front, intent on keeping them as far from Owen Rossi as possible tonight.

  Carter ended up beside me. Our arms brushed and my skin tingled where it touched his jacket. All I could think was how, after tomorrow’s test, this might be the closest we’d ever come again to physical contact. I looked over in time to see him glance away. Maybe he was thinking the same thing.

  Dad was absent from the entrance this time. Instead, Sheridan waited to greet us, a drink in her hand and a lethal smile on fuchsia lips. “Good evening, boys and girls,” she said. Her smile froze when she saw me. “Regan, did something happen to the dress I sent over?”

  “Yes, it was produced,” I said.

  Lane smothered a laugh and earned a glare that was quickly diverted back to me. “I sent you that dress for a reason,” she said.

  “I’m sure you did as I’ve noticed it’s the exact same dress Charlie is wearing tonight,” I said with a pointed nod.

  “What?” Charlie asked, glancing down at herself.

  Sheridan rolled her eyes. “It was to make a statement,” she said simply.

  “Which is exactly what I decided to,” I said, brushing past her into the tent.

  Underneath the cover of the white canvas, the party sparkled with flickering lights and crystal glasses. Candles had been lit as centerpieces and, overhead, string lights hung like twinkling rafters. It might’ve been a garden party in the back acre, but nothing about it was casual. Even the white cotton tablecloths had gold lace embroidering at the edges.

  It felt like a last supper before the final march to death.

  Music came from somewhere in the far corner. Violin, probably. I was beginning to notice the king and queen had a penchant for strings. This party was clearly more of a success than the last mixer as I noticed several vampire couples were dancing. The werewolves swayed a little in their huddled groups but no one ventured onto the wood-planked floor.

  “Would you like to?” Carter asked in my ear, and I jumped at his closeness.

  “What?” I asked, whirling to face him. He stood close, his forehead creased with worry.

  “Dance,” he said, nodding at the empty space just four or five steps in front of us on the dance floor.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Come on. It’ll be good PR. Let everyone see your pants,” he said and his sly grin convinced me.

  Out on the dance floor, I turned and let my arm snake up his shoulder. He took my other hand in his and began to lead.

  “It’s a nice party,” Carter said.

  “Smoke and mirrors,” I muttered, my lip curling in distaste. Carter’s brow rose and I went on. “Tomorrow, Charlie and I battle it out once and for all. All of this is just a ploy to make us all forget how horrible it will be.”

  “It will be over,” he pointed out. “You can move on.”

  But instead of reassuring me, all his words did was make my stomach tighten. “How, Carter?” I could hear the desperation leaking in but I couldn’t stop it. “How can we move on? If I win tomorrow, Charlie will never forgive me.”

  “Because of Owen,” he said, his voice tight.

  I nodded miserably. “And I’ll never have you,” I added, clinging to his shoulder.

  We danced in silence for a moment. Carter’s grip on my back tightened, pulling me in close. It was punishment, really, smelling him, feeling him pressed against me. I wondered if it looked as intimate as it felt to anyone who might be watching. But, for once, I didn’t care.

  “I wish tomorrow wouldn’t come,” I whispered at last.

  “And if Charlie wins?” Carter asked and there was no mistaking the hope in his words.

  I pulled away to look up at him. “Don’t you see? If Charlie wins, whoever’s been playing at threatening her will actually have to act on it.” I shuffled my feet so I could see the back half of the room, searching Charlie out as I thought about the danger she was still in.

  “I know. You’re right,” Carter said, but I barely heard him.

  Charlie stood in the corner near the bar speaking in low tones with Owen. But that didn’t concern me nearly as much as the drink she cupped in her hands and the strange look on Sheridan’s face as she watched the glass intently. Like she was waiting for something to happen.

  I watched as Charlie nodded absently at something Owen was saying and then slowly raised the cup to her lips. She sipped and lowered it again and, for a fleeting second, I thought maybe I was just being paranoid. After all, every other time I’d braced myself for some sort of attack, nothing had happened. The vamps had surprised me with how well they’d behaved at our social gatherings.

  But, like a bad freeze-frame, the moment the liquid slid down her throat, Charlie’s expression contorted. She blanched and blinked furiously before staring down at the cup with a frown that turned quickly to alarm. She coughed, once then twice, then doubled over as if gagging. Owen bent low and said something, but rather than answer, Charlie shoved the cup at him.

  All color drained from her face and panic speared through me. I caught sight of Sheridan—the satisfied smirk on her painted lips before she covered it with concern—and I froze, my worst nightmare realized.

  “Charlie!” I screamed. I shoved away from Carter and ran for my sister as she crumpled to the floor.

  Owen caught Charlie in his arms just before she hit, saving her from banging her head on the hard ground. The music died off abruptly. Someone behind me called my name but I didn’t turn back. All I cared about was saving Charlie. And then killing whoever had just done this to her.

  I snapped a look at Sheridan. “Don’t move,” I breathed and then collapsed beside Charlie. “What happened?” I asked Owen, breathless from panic.

  He looked up at me, his wild eyes the only indication of his concern. “I don’t know. She was fine and then…”

  I could almost feel sorry for him then. The lost look he wore. The way he cradled her head in his lap. Almost. “It’s the drink,” I said flatly.

  Owen sniffed it and his eyes narrowed, finally taking on a lethal gleam. He offered the glass to m
e and I inhaled the scent of party punch laced with something else…

  I stared at Owen with wide, disbelieving eyes. Carter dropped down beside me—then Dad. Sheridan didn’t move from where she hovered behind me. One by one the guests crowded around. I ignored them all and stared at Owen. Something about the way he watched me suggested he already knew more than he was letting on.

  “This is laced with bitterroot,” I said. Finally, my gaze flickered to Dad and the others. “Charlie’s been poisoned.”

  Gasps and murmurs went around. Dad’s expression hardened but it was nothing compared to Owen’s.

  “Growing this is forbidden. How did this get here?” I demanded.

  Dad and Sheridan shared a strange look but neither answered. Suspicion twisted hard inside my gut. I opened my mouth, ready to blast Sheridan here and now, but Owen interrupted me.

  “I can show you,” he said in a voice that belied no emotion. I knew from experience that a vamp was most dangerous when he acted unaffected. Whoever was behind this was going to feel the wrath of both of us then.

  “Or she can,” I said, cutting a look at Sheridan.

  “What are you saying?” Sheridan asked sharply.

  “Sheridan had nothing to do with this,” Dad boomed and there was something about the look he and Sheridan shared that had me rethinking my theory.

  “Of course I didn’t.” Sheridan stared down at me, but guilt was not what settled on her painted features. “Good Lord, you think I had something to do with this?” She huffed. “Of all the asinine … Clear out, all of you!”

  The crowd hesitated only a second and then quickly dispersed with Judas and Carter’s dad herding them out.

  “Sheridan, tell them,” Dad said to her when they’d gone.

  “All right,” she said quietly. And then to me, “I can show you where it came from. But I can’t help you cure her. Only Owen can do that.”

  Owen’s features changed only to register quick surprise as he read between all the lines. “Me,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion at Sheridan. “How?”

  She sighed. “There’s a lot to explain. Come on. Let’s get Charlie home.” She glanced at me and then at Dad. “I’ll find Blaine. He can explain this better than I can,” she added before melting into the crowd.