My newfound confidence waned the moment Regan stomped away. Reality started to set in as soon as Owen kissed me goodbye at the edge of the trees, leaving me to approach the waiting motorcade without the comfort of his touch. I stopped in front of the open door to the vehicle and turned to look at the house I was leaving behind.
As brief as the visit had been, the vampires had been kind to me. Much kinder than anyone in the pack, if I was going to be honest with myself. They made me feel like I belonged with them, despite the fact that vampires were such a cold, aristocratic race. Or maybe I was confusing my feelings of belonging with Owen.
Either way, I didn’t want to leave the house. The idea of having to return to our neighborhood and face Paradise made my confidence waver like a candle flame in front of an open window. When I realized that Sheridan was going to get in the same limousine as me the flame guttered out completely. In the wake of my argument with Regan, I’d forgotten all about my suspicions and hadn’t mentioned it to Owen or the others. Now, at the thought of being stuck in the car with her all the way home, I couldn’t even make myself return her smile.
Sheridan gestured to the open limousine. “Age before beauty,” she said lightly. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.
I slipped onto the cool leather seats beside Carter’s dad. Sheridan took the bench across from me and slammed the door. The limo’s windows were tinted so dark that Sheridan seemed to sink into shadow when she sat back against the bench, arms draped over the seats, legs crossed at the knees. The position was somewhere between predatory and inviting. Like she was saying, Welcome to my lair, little lamb.
“You must be eager to return home,” Sheridan said.
The car stirred to motion, making me twitch. I dug my fingernails into my knee caps. “Yeah,” I said. “Eager.”
“You performed an impressive upset at the second test. You’re doing well.”
“Thanks,” I said, although she hadn’t really made it sound like a compliment.
“You seem to be familiarizing yourself with vampires well, too.” Her voice was silken danger, but I forced myself to relax. I didn’t want to react to what she said and give away my relationship with Owen, so I looked out the window instead, as if I cared about the road sliding past. Could she know about us? Would Regan have told her?
Recalling what Owen had once told me, I said, “Knowledge is a weapon.”
Sheridan leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her legs. Dim light spilled over her face as the limousine turned. It highlighted the deep lines on her face. “That it is, dear Charlotte,” she said.
I ignored her use of my formal name, certain she only wanted a rise out of me. I cocked my head to the side. “There’s something I’ve been curious about ever since the question was given by Mr. Rossi.”
“Which question is that?” she asked, lacing her fingers together.
“The one about there being a cure for a werewolf ingesting bitterroot. I thought there was no cure, but that was apparently incorrect.”
Sheridan’s mouth tightened fractionally, the only change in her features to give away her discomfort on the subject. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised that werewolves were touchy about one of the few things that could kill them.
She sat back, letting her upper body fall into shadow again. “That question and subsequent answer were not unanimously voted on for inclusion.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there is no cure for bitterroot. Not now. Not ever. Remember that.” Sheridan’s tone made it clear the conversation was over.
Maybe that was what she thought, but I felt a stirring of my earlier confidence rise up within me again. I had to push it. I needed to know. “If the answer wasn’t unanimous, then what did Mr. Rossi think was correct?”
“Tell me, girl,” Sheridan said, her words turning sharp. “If you were quizzed on the color of the sky and told you were wrong for answering ‘blue,’ would you entertain the possibility that the sky might be red?” She snorted. “It’s a waste of time.”
“So the vampires think there’s a cure for bitterroot?” I asked, too confused to be intimidated or insulted by her obvious irritation.
“Listening to the ridiculous notions of a group of vampires is unbefitting an alpha,” she snapped.
I sat back, ruminating on her vague answer. There was something there; something she wasn’t telling me. I thought of the bitterroot someone was growing out in the woods and my throat closed up. If Sheridan had something to do with that, or worse, Regan’s mom’s death, this might be my only chance at finding out.
“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?