Page 1 of Thunder with a Chance of Lovestruck
PartI
Past
ChapterOne
Drest
New York,NY, thirty-nine years ago…
Drest Bright of the Nightshade Fae Clan read over the files before him once more, doing his best to keep an even façade. His fingers skirted the edges of the manilla folder, all while struggling with the impulse to tear it to shreds. All he wanted to do was cram the folder along with all its contents right up the backside of his district chief.
The object of his annoyance was currently seated at the end of the long conference room table, no doubt waiting for any sign of a reaction. The only thing more ostentatious than the yellow-on-orange geometric shapes of the wallpaper was the man’s shirt. Gilralei “Gil” Travrye more than likely thought he looked good and as if he was adapting well to modern fashion trends.
Drest had known him over a hundred years, and if there was one thing you could set your watch by, it was the fact Gil would be a day late and a dollar short when it came to anything to do with fashion.
Gil had been in charge of the New York area Nightshade Hunter Section since the Dutch first settled the area. He didn’t look much older than fifty but was hundreds, if not thousands, of years old. Far older than Drest even, which was saying something.
Gil and Drest had never seen eye to eye. In fact, they butted heads over almost everything. Drest knew part of the reason he’d ended up assigned to the New York district of the Nightshade Fae Clan was because the higher-ups knew Gil would make his life a living hell.
And Gil had certainly stepped up to the plate, ready and willing to do whatever was necessary to make sure Drest’s time in New York was anything but pleasant. The folder with Drest’s newest assigned charges listed in it was proof that Gil had it in for him.
The man leaned back in his executive chair, steepled his hands, and continued to watch Drest. The edges of his mouth drew up in a smirk that Drest wanted to punch off his face.
He resisted.
Barely.
“Drest, why don’t you tell the group who it is you’ve been assigned as charges,” said Gil, looking smug.
Instead of giving Gil what he wanted—an outburst and protesting—Drest set the folder along with the files on the table before him and plastered a smile on his face. “The Frankenstein family line that’s here in New York. Tarrytown to be specific. That’s what? About thirty minutes from the city? Maybe an hour with traffic?”
Hushed murmurs went through the meeting room.
Drest’s cousin, who also happened to be his best friend, Stratton Bright, was in the process of making himself a cup of coffee. At the mention of the Frankensteins, Stratton jerked and spilled coffee down the front of himself. He then turned partially, his gaze meeting Drest’s.
Gil rocked in his chair just enough to take his smugness up a level but not enough to fall out of the chair (pity). “I know you have a history with the family. It was either give it to you or Stratton. Since he’s not had a charge assigned to him in decades, you lucked out.”
Asshole.
Drest bit back the response he wanted to give. “Yes. The Frankensteins and I go way back. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting any of this generation. Can’twaitto make my introductions.”
Stratton’s eyes widened.
Drest shook his head just a tad to keep his cousin from giving Gil the satisfaction of a negative reaction. Turning his attention to Gil, Drest kept his face even. “I really hope Victor comes around. Is he state-side or still bouncing around Europe? It’s been ages since he and I were in the same spot. I’d love to catch up.”
Gil’s self-righteous attitude wavered enough to leave Drest’s smile being genuine.
There was no way Drest was going to give him the gratification of knowing he hated the assignment.
Stratton dabbed at his shirt with a wadded-up bunch of cocktail napkins before giving up and taking his seat at the long conference table. He and Stratton were more like brothers than cousins. Both had managed to piss off Gil more than once in their time too. And both seemed to always be on thin ice with the people in charge.
That was fine by Drest.
He’d rather be a troublemaker than a kiss-ass like Gil’s assistant, Farin, who was currently sitting next to Drest. Farin was nearly as old as Gil and just as much of a jerk. His long deep red hair was pulled back from his entirely-too-boyish face. The man was Drest’s age but didn’t look to be out of his twenties.
Unlike Gil, Farin wasn’t dressed to match the décor. He had a light blue, , two-button corduroy blazer with wide lapels. The navy dress shirt he wore under it had large white flowers printed on it and was something Drest wouldn’t be caught dead in. Come to think of it, Drest wouldn’t wear any of it.
No. He liked to keep his clothing choices simple and had learned over a century ago to avoid fads as much as possible. Since he’d come to the Nightshade building directly after his shift ended at his full-time job (the one that was known to humans and was his cover), he was in what he wore to work nearly daily. His blazer was navy and some kind of cotton blend. The dress shirt he wore under it was a solid-colored light blue. There were no flowers or excessively wide collars to be had. Not for him. His tie was hanging over the rearview mirror of his sports car and would remain there. He hated wearing them.
