The Mates of Monsters

Chapter 33

I push off the bed and shed David's shirt, my mind blank as I wander to the bathroom. I listen-prey-like-for the sounds of people in the house, but I catch no footsteps or closing doors or knocks from upstairs. My body is naked from the waist up, and from the waist down, a pair of panties keep me as decent as an ancient woman, but I don't feel fearful that someone will barge in-that David will visit his own bedroom and see me like this. He never comes upstairs during the day. The kitchen, his office; it's all downstairs. This is my domain for me to saunter about the room as naked and as dejected as I please.

Knowing that I will meet his father today, I dress nicely, summery. I tie my hair up off of my shoulders and step into a fitted, button-up dress with the most feminine feel and dearest buttons. When I button each one, I see David and his cuffs, striding into the room then placing my feet in my shoes.

The skirt of the dress brushes my thighs and I turn in the mirror to make sure that the back doesn't look too short-something my mother used to do for me whether I asked her to or not. She would take one look at me and send me right up the stairs if she had to. She knew I wasn't doing it on purpose, though. I never wore anything risky just to boil her blood; I merely grew out of my clothes, and one by one my dresses got shorter and shorter.

I hear their voices when I reach the top of the stairs: David, Helena, and a stranger. It's his father, no doubt. Footsteps begin their trip from the kitchen down the hall, but they are too light and familiar for me to identify them as David's or the stranger's. Helena comes and grabs onto the railing, but she doesn't conquer a single stair. She sees me and says, "I was just coming to wake you."

I couldn't fall back asleep once David left the bed.

"Come." She reaches her hand and waves me down the steps. "They're in the kitchen. He's waiting to meet you."

It smells like coffee; his father must drink coffee. It reminds me of home. Early mornings and-in the winter-nights after dinner, my parents would brew and it would fill the entire house. I smile to myself at the memory of my father letting me try a sip-it shocked my tongue with its earthy, bitter flavor. I amused him with my childish, scrunched expression of detest, though.

I let Helena lead me even though the path doesn't require a guide. "Don't be nervous," she says lowly, "he's very kind."

"If I mess up, you'll save me, won't you?"

At the final step, she glances back and touches my arm reassuringly. "I found her," Helena says and eases me through the archway.

David is sitting at the counter with an older man, and they look to me with the same warmth in their gaze. I pull out my smile from the storage room stuffed within, and decide my safest bet is to go to them and stand beside my mate. The older man follows me, his head subtly turning as I move along the counter island. His hair is a mix of blacks and grays and silvers, combed back with fingers, and his face is gracefully aged and covered with a dust of a beard. His eyes wrinkle as he grins-a grin like my father's, one of those fatherly ones that everyone recognizes and is comforted by.

"Brigette," David says, "this is my father, Kenneth."

His body moves like the arms of a clock, pointing at me like the only number until I'm next to David. "You can call me Ken," he says and stands. His arms come around me and his hand gives me a relieving pat between my shoulder blades. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," I say as he steps back, returning to his seat. "I heard your journey here went well."

David gives me his seat and joins Helena on the other side of the island. He refills his cup and slyly monitors the situation from there.