Joss Whedon owns "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and related characters; Patricia Briggs owns "The Mercedes Thompson Series" and related characters; I own nothing.Author's Note:
I fully and wholeheartedly blame Ava and akat for this. ~*~*~
Leah Cornick stood in the corner of the room, wine glass forgotten in her hand. The room was full of people, but she only had her eyes on one. One pair, to be more exact. Her hand tightened on the stem and she had to force herself to relax her grip so as not to shatter it. The objects of her silent rage--her mate and the main Slayer with the ridiculous name--either had no awareness of her gaze or they chose to ignore it. Leah didn't know which infuriated her more. Leah did her best to listen in on what they were saying, but there was too much space between them and too many people to hear their conversation.
She had known that her husband's proposed meeting with the Slayers and their little council of theirs was a folly from the beginning, much like his plan to bring the weres into the public. But then, when did her mate ever respect or even listen to her concerns? So she kept silent and seethed beneath the smile she plastered to her face when she was out in public, and ignored her mate in private. He didn’t say anything to her but she could sense his growing frustration with her through their mate bond.
Bran leaned down to listen to something the Slayer bitch was saying and Leah had to fight her urge to march over and assert herself against this woman, this interloper. Her wolf growled, demanding that Leah release her in order to show this Slayer just what she was interfering with. Leah ignored her. There was a time and a place for such things, and this reception after a day of meetings wasn’t it.
What stung Leah the most was the fact that this Buffy Summers appeared to command her mate's respect with such little effort when he afforded her so little. She was his mate, yes, and had the power in the pack that the position entailed, but what was that power truly worth when it was obvious to all that she was merely a placeholder for that Indian bitch and worth less to him than his precious sons? Even though she had known what she was entering herself into when she mated with the Marrok, it was still a bitter pill to swallow after all of these years.
She couldn't take any more of this without snapping. She could feel Anna's eyes on her as she left the room, but she didn't care what Charles' pup was thinking.
Her wolf howled and she smiled as she left the building where this idiotic reception was being held, stalking towards the woods that housed the campsite they were renting. She ignored the cold late January air biting through her clothes and clawing at her skin. She would soon feel the blood on her muzzle and let the thrill of the chase drown out her bitterness and her anger, at least for a few brief hours.
Tonight she was going to hunt.