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Gabriel sets his mug on the table, tapping his thumb against the rim. “Perhaps we can do things differently this time,” he suggests, looking my way. “You wanted to separate yourself from your parents, from the way they do things, and maybe now is the perfect time to take a stand and make that differentiation.”
“Differently how?” Marcel asks.
“Let’s say we attempt to stop the war between hunters and vampires instead of diving into the front lines.”
“That would never work,” Marcel says. “They despise our very existence. Even if we’ve done nothing inherently wrong, to them, the fact that we’re breathing is crime enough worth killing us over.”
“Some of them believe that, sure.”
I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes briefly as a sigh passes my lips. “I see where you’re going with this and I don’t like it.”
Gabriel chuckles softly. “Neither do I, really, but I do think it’s worth considering. Otherwise, we do things the old way, and a lot more blood is shed—on both sides.”
“Considering it is one thing,” Marcel comments, “but putting it into action is a completely different situation. How would we even go about proposing…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I don't know, a ceasefire?”
“It's something we would need to discuss at length, weighing the pros and cons, potential outcomes, and risks. I'm not saying it's something we need to dive into immediately; however, I think we need to put it on the table for discussion. This is a war that has gone on for centuries, and while our species has always come out on top, if there's something we can do to stop the fighting, it could save a lot of lives. And I think that's important.”
I thrust my hand through my hair, scratching the back of my head. He's not wrong, and I commend him for his view on the situation. We've lived in a war zone for so long, I think a part of me has gotten used to it in such a way that picturing a world without it seems difficult. Certainly not as difficult as attempting to put an end to the war with the hunters, but a challenge nonetheless.
Calla chooses that moment to rejoin us, wearing the same matching bra and leggings set from our training session. Her hair is tied in a towel and her cheeks are pink. She glances around the table, pausing on Marcel, and offers a subtle wave as her eyes drop to the cooler and her jaw clenches.
Marcel follows her gaze and smiles politely, opening the cooler and pushing it toward her. “Help yourself,” he offers.
“Thanks,” she says, the discomfort in her voice easy to pick up. She grabs a blood bag and pulls out a chair, dropping into it. “I think I should be part of this conversation.”
I lift my brows. “No one was trying to keep you out of it, Calla. You're the one who went back upstairs.”
Her eyes narrow, and she tears open the blood bag, lifting it to her lips.
“I can get you a—”
“Don't bother,” she says, cutting off Gabriel's offer.
“It'll taste better warm,” Marcel comments mildly.
She turns her unimpressed expression toward him. “I’m not really looking to enjoy it. It's a necessity, that's all.”
He blinks at her. “How long have you been a vampire?”
She pulls the blood bag away from her lips, swallowing, then considers it for a moment. “A few days,” she answers finally. “Why does that matter?”
He shakes his head. “I’m just surprised. Most new vampires enjoy the feed if not become consumed by it.”
Her brows tug closer together. “Yeah, well, that's not really an option for me. I think we should talk about this potential new solution or whatever it is you want to call it. You want to work with the hunters now.”
A muscle ticks along my jaw. Her tone is grinding on my nerves and I’m fighting the urge to grab her by the arm and pull her out of the room. She can be pissed about last night all she wants, but the attitude she's bringing to the table is not going to help, and I refuse to put up with it.
“I’ve been thinking,” Gabriel says, “if there's any chance we can not necessarily work with the hunters but come to something of an arrangement wherein we only feed on willing humans and blood bags, of course.”
“Willing humans?” Calla cuts in, arching a brow at him.
“Yes,” he says, “feeders who offer themselves without glamour and are compensated for doing so.”
She wrinkles her nose. “That seems, I don't know, wrong?”
“More wrong than vampires attacking people on the street?” I ask.
She scowls at me. “No, of course not. I just… Fine. Say that works. Why would the hunters agree to it? It's something that’s happening anyway, and they want to stop it.”
