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Chapter 11 - Party

Is it just me or has he decided to take up matchmaking? Clifford's phone rang, as if it were an answer to my question. It even relieved me. I don't need a bride, especially one that's forced upon me.

Gillian sat down in her father's place. Without looking at the menu, she called the waiter and placed an order.

"You won't order anything?" the girl turned to me.

"Roast lamb," I repeated her order. Interesting. We have the same tastes.

"Wine?" the waiter asked.

"Yes, a glass."

"Just water for me." she smiled sweetly.

Gillian turned to the window. Everything about her thoughtful profile was attractive without exception. Long thick eyelashes, a small even nose and especially plump lips.

The dishes were brought.

The girl smiled in anticipation. She immediately began to eat. The pleasure from the very first piece of meat, which she slowly savored in her mouth, involuntarily caused a smile. Me, and smiled? For real, and not politely or tensely, just because I wanted to. I remembered how Elizabeth devoured the meat dishes with the same pleasure.

Literally a few minutes later, there was no trace left of the lamb.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked, noticing the untouched roast.

I pushed the plate towards her.

Gillian burst out laughing. The ringing laughter penetrated the farthest corners of my tormented heart. She was embarrassed, but still removed the empty plate and began to eat my portion. It was an indescribably funny sight.

"Christian, you are not a man of many words." My name, flying from her lips, stirred up a new wave of feelings inside. I didn't immediately understand whether I liked it, these emotions were so strong.

"I prefer to keep quiet while eating."

"You're probably right, then I'll keep quiet too."

Suddenly the girl froze, and her eyes lost their natural shine. She looked at me, but as if through me. Then she jerked her head, blinked quickly and looked around, as if she didn't remember where she was.

"Gillian, are you okay?"

"Yes, why?" she got nervous.

"Nothing."

The girl frowned, jerked her hand sharply, and the fork flew to the floor. We both reached for her at the same time, our fingers accidentally touching. Our eyes met. The voices around suddenly died down, and the customers faded into the background of the eyes. The pulse of both increased and for some time, their breathing stopped.

It can't be. I can't feel something like that for an ordinary girl. She's not even a she-wolf; she's just a human. He interrupted the pleasant moment by putting the fallen cutlery on the table. He called the waiter to change the fork to a clean one.

"Everything okay?"

She peered into the face. "I need to go."

"Okay." Disappointment flashed in her gray eyes and for some reason it hurt.

I quickly pushed the unpleasant feeling away. I paid the bill.

"Sorry, I must take my leave."

Gillian nodded.

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

I turned around and walked away from the one who dared to upset my equilibrium, the stability of indifference within. And the strange thing is that the closer I got to the exit of the restaurant, the easier it became.

Then the days flowed in their usual rhythm. The search for obsidian bullets once again reached a dead end. Apart from my wife and me, it seemed that volcanic glass had never been used on other wolves. Even the werewolves from my pack were killed differently.

The thought began to creep in that they were made especially for us. But then the question arises: Who? We never had any enemies, we lived a secular life, and not as hermits and did not allow tracking us, always erased any traces.

The phone rang.

"Yes?"

"We did not learn anything new, Mr. Salisbury. The following generations, who by right of inheritance should have become hunters, really do not know who their relatives were in the past."

"I see."

"There are rumors that an ancient werewolf has arrived in the capital. He is older than you."

"Do you know the name?"

Eric is a mercenary, he and his partner are ordinary wolves and not humanoid beasts like me. They were able to retain more human traits in themselves. Despite the losses, they did not become cruel and embittered.

"As soon as I know, I will let you know."

"I have already sent the payment to your accounts." The sound that followed notified me of the transfer.

"Thank you."

These two did not choose me as an alpha, but their behavior corresponds to the behavior of wolves in packs. Loyal, faithful and ready to take risks.

Money relieves me of responsibility if something happens to it. I have forgotten what it is to care about someone, to be afraid of someone. I am satisfied with this arrangement. I do not want to be dependent or tied. This is a burden that can drag me down at any moment, and I am not finished yet. Weakness is not the character trait that accompanies revenge.

A whole month has passed. Summer is coming to an end. The Staffords sent an invitation to a masquerade. This family loves to organize grand balls, like in the old days, the tradition has not changed for several centuries. I witnessed the bright and magnificent celebrations of those times, which were organized by their ancestors.

I returned to London only six months ago and would not mind immersing myself in the atmosphere of the time when I was truly happy in my native land.

I had clothes made to order to create a truly similarity. The tailor praised me for my knowledge of early nineteenth-century fashion. If he had known how old I really was, my admiration would have turned into fear.

A grand event, rumors of which have spread throughout England, a reason to show off expensive outfits and jewelry. Guests will arrive from all corners of the country, and maybe even from abroad. All high society will become participants in the splendor of the past.