The Most Awkward Family Meeting in Supernatural History

The Most Awkward Family Meeting in Supernatural History

"Six vampires," I repeat, because apparently my brain has decided to focus on the math instead of the impending doom. "In our backyard. At ten in the morning. On a Tuesday."

"I don't think the day of the week matters here, Julia," Amy says, still peering out the window like she's watching the world's most dangerous nature documentary.

"It matters to me," I protest weakly. "Tuesday is supposed to be boring. Tuesday is supposed to be safe. Tuesday is for homework and leftover pizza, not supernatural family meetings that might end in murder."

Dad has gone completely silent, which is somehow more terrifying than when he was shouting. He's staring at the bathroom wall like he can see through it to the vampires currently occupying our backyard, and his face has gone the color of week-old oatmeal.

"This is it," he says quietly. "This is how we die. On a Tuesday. In our pajamas."

"I'm not wearing pajamas," Amy points out helpfully.

"You're wearing a shirt that says 'I Woke Up Like This' and has a unicorn on it," I tell her. "That's basically pajamas."

"It's ironic fashion."

"It's about to be ironic last words."

Mom suddenly stands up from the bathtub edge, her maternal crisis management skills kicking into overdrive. "Everyone needs to get dressed. Now. If we're about to have a supernatural diplomatic incident, we're going to look presentable while we do it."

"Diplomatic incident?" I squeak. "Mom, they're vampires. This isn't diplomacy. This is probably a revenge killing."

"Nonsense," Mom says, though her voice is pitched about three octaves higher than normal. "Maybe they just want to... talk."

"Six vampires don't show up to talk," Dad says grimly. "Six vampires show up to intimidate. Or to fight. Or to—"

Another knock at the back door interrupts him, this time more insistent.

We all freeze like deer in headlights, or in this case, like werewolves in vampire-lights.

"Should we..." I start, then trail off because I have no idea how to finish that sentence. Should we answer? Should we hide? Should we start writing our wills?

"We have to answer," Dad says finally, standing up and reaching for his weapons belt. "Running away will only make this worse."

"Worse than what?" Amy asks. "Death?"

"Torture, then death," Dad says matter-of-factly, like he's discussing the weather instead of our impending doom.

"You're not making me feel better about this situation," I tell him.

"I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to prepare you for reality."

The knocking comes again, and this time it's followed by a voice that makes my heart do something that might be relief or might be a heart attack.

"Julia? We need to talk."

Rowan.

My wolf immediately perks up like someone just announced that Christmas came early and brought her favorite chew toy.

"That's him," I say unnecessarily, since everyone in the bathroom probably has functioning ears.

"The vampire," Dad says, his voice dropping to that dangerous Beta tone that usually makes people confess to crimes they didn't commit.

"His name is Rowan," I say defensively.

"I don't care if his name is Fluffy McRainbow," Dad snaps. "He's still a vampire who marked my daughter without permission."

"I gave permission!"

"You gave permission for marking, not for bringing his entire family to our house for what's probably going to be a supernatural intervention!"

Amy raises her hand from the window. "Actually, it looks more like they're setting up for a picnic. One of them just pulled out what looks like a thermos."

We all stare at her.

"A thermos?" Mom repeats faintly.

"Yeah. And another one has what might be cookies. In a tin. Like, a proper cookie tin with flowers on it."

I blink rapidly, trying to process this information. "They brought snacks?"

"Apparently."

"Vampires brought snacks to our house."

"That's what it looks like."

"For what? A friendly chat about supernatural politics?"

"Maybe they're just really polite vampires," Amy suggests. "Like, 'We're here to kidnap your daughter, but we brought refreshments because we're not savages.'"

"That's not making this less terrifying," I point out.

Dad pinches the bridge of his nose like he's getting a migraine. "Okay. New plan. Everyone gets dressed. We go downstairs. We sit down like civilized supernatural beings. And we figure out what they want without anyone dying."

"What if what they want is me?" I ask quietly.

The bathroom falls silent except for the sound of everyone breathing and probably contemplating their own mortality.

"Then we negotiate," Mom says finally.

"Negotiate with vampires?" Dad's voice climbs an octave. "Martha, they're vampires. They don't negotiate. They take what they want and leave the bodies for the cleanup crew."

"These vampires brought cookies," Mom points out. "Cookie-bringing vampires might be reasonable."

"Or they're trying to lull us into a false sense of security before they murder us all," Dad counters.

"Only one way to find out," Amy says cheerfully, like she's suggesting we try a new restaurant instead of potentially walking into a supernatural slaughter.

Another knock, followed by Rowan's voice again. "Julia, I know you're in there. We can hear you arguing."

"Vampire hearing," I mutter. "So unfair."

"We'll be right there!" I call out, then immediately wonder if agreeing to meet with six vampires while my family is armed and panicking is the smartest decision I've ever made.

Probably not, but then again, smart decisions aren't really my specialty.

\---

Twenty minutes later, we're all sitting in our living room in what can only be described as the most awkward family meeting in the history of supernatural relations.

On one side of the coffee table: my family, armed to the teeth and looking like they're about to start a small war. Dad has no fewer than five wooden stakes visible on his person. Mom has a crossbow leaning against her chair. Amy is holding what appears to be a silver-plated letter opener like it's a sword.

On the other side: six vampires who look like they just stepped out of a gothic romance novel, sitting with perfect posture and expressions of polite interest, like this is a normal Tuesday morning social call.

And in the middle: me, wearing clean clothes but still sporting a supernatural tattoo on my chin and the growing conviction that this is going to end very badly for everyone involved.

Rowan is sitting directly across from me, and every time our eyes meet, I feel that stupid "OH" sensation all over again. He's wearing a black button-down shirt that probably costs more than my dad's truck, and his hair is perfectly styled like he didn't just show up uninvited to my house with his entire family.

Next to him sits a woman who can only be his mother, because she has the same impossible bone structure and the same way of looking at people like she's reading their souls. She's wearing what looks like designer clothes from some era that was probably very fashionable when corsets were still a thing, and she's holding a delicate teacup like we're having afternoon tea instead of a supernatural crisis.

The man next to her is obviously Rowan's father, and he looks like someone who could probably kill everyone in this room without breaking a sweat but chooses not to because it would be impolite. He's wearing a suit that definitely wasn't bought at a mall, and his eyes are the same pale gray as Rowan's but somehow even more intimidating.

The other three vampires look like siblings—two men and a woman, all impossibly beautiful and sitting with the kind of casual grace that suggests they could turn lethal at any moment but are currently choosing to be civilized about it.

And yes, there are actually cookies. On our coffee table. In a tin with flowers on it.

The silence stretches on for what feels like approximately seven years, during which everyone stares at everyone else and tries to figure out who's going to speak first.

Finally, Rowan's mother sets down her teacup with a delicate clink that somehow sounds like a gavel calling the meeting to order.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us," she says, her voice carrying the kind of accent that suggests she learned English sometime around the Renaissance and never bothered to update it. "I am Evelyn Hale. This is my husband, Marcus, and our children."

She gestures to the other vampires like she's introducing them at a dinner party instead of a potentially deadly supernatural negotiation.

"We've come to discuss Julia."

All eyes turn to me, and I sink lower into my chair like maybe I can disappear entirely if I just believe hard enough.

"There's nothing to discuss," Dad says firmly, his hand moving to rest on one of his stakes. "Julia is our daughter, and she's not going anywhere."

Marcus Hale's expression doesn't change, but somehow the temperature in the room drops about ten degrees. "I'm afraid that's not entirely accurate anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mom asks, her voice tight with the kind of maternal fury that usually precedes someone getting their throat ripped out.

"It means," Evelyn says calmly, "that your daughter is mated to our son. Which makes her family."

"She's our family first," Dad snaps.

"Biologically, yes," Marcus agrees. "But supernaturally, she belongs with us now."

The words "belongs with us" make my wolf perk up with interest while simultaneously making my dad's face turn an alarming shade of purple.

"She doesn't belong to anyone," Amy says loudly, apparently deciding that now is a good time to insert herself into the vampire family politics. "Julia makes her own choices."

One of the vampire siblings—a man who looks like he could be on the cover of a supernatural romance novel—smiles at Amy like she's said something amusing. "How refreshingly modern."

"Don't patronize me," Amy snaps back. "I have a silver letter opener and I'm not afraid to use it."

"I'm sure you're not," he says, still smiling. "I'm Adrian, by the way. And you're absolutely terrifying."

Amy blinks, momentarily derailed by what might be a compliment.

"Anyway," Evelyn continues, like supernatural death threats are just part of normal family introductions, "we've come to collect Julia."

"Collect her?" Dad's voice jumps about three octaves. "She's not a library book!"

"No," Marcus agrees. "She's our son's mate. Which means she's under our protection now."

"She's under our protection," Mom says fiercely. "She's our daughter."

"And she's Rowan's mate," Evelyn points out. "In vampire culture, that supersedes all other family bonds."

"Well, we're not vampires," Dad says through gritted teeth. "In werewolf culture, family comes first."

"How quaint," says another of the vampire siblings—the woman, who's wearing what looks like vintage Chanel and an expression of mild disdain. "And how utterly irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?" Mom's voice reaches frequencies that probably shatter glass in neighboring counties.

"Completely," the woman continues. "Mate bonds transcend species politics. Julia belongs with Rowan now. It's supernatural law."

"Whose supernatural law?" Dad demands.

"Everyone's," Marcus says simply. "It's older than your pack, older than our coven, older than most of the political structures that currently govern our kinds."

I look around the room, watching my family and Rowan's family face off over me like I'm a prize in some kind of supernatural custody battle, and realize that nobody has actually asked me what I want.

Which is probably for the best, because what I want is for everyone to stop talking about me like I'm not sitting right here.

"Excuse me," I say, raising my hand like I'm in school. "Can I say something?"

"No," Dad and Marcus say at the same time, then glare at each other for having the same response.

"I think Julia should have a voice in this," Rowan says quietly, speaking for the first time since the introductions. His voice is calm, but there's something underneath it that suggests he's not as relaxed as he appears.

"Thank you," I say gratefully.

"The child can speak when the adults have finished negotiating," Evelyn says dismissively.

"I'm seventeen," I protest. "I'm not a child."

"You're not an adult either," Dad points out.

"I'm old enough to be mated," I say, then immediately regret it when everyone in the room turns to stare at me.

"That's the problem," Dad mutters.

"Look," I say, standing up because this conversation is happening around me instead of with me and I'm tired of being treated like a supernatural soccer ball, "maybe we should all just—"

"Sit down, Julia," Dad says firmly.

"Don't tell her what to do," Rowan says, his voice carrying an edge that makes my wolf purr and makes my dad's hand tighten on his stake.

"She's my daughter," Dad snaps. "I'll tell her whatever I want."

"She's my mate," Rowan replies, standing up as well. "And I won't let you treat her like property."

"Property?" Dad's voice cracks. "You're the ones who came here talking about collecting her!"

"We came here to bring her home," Marcus says, also standing. "Where she belongs."

"Her home is here!" Mom shouts, joining the standing party. "With us!"

"Not anymore," Evelyn says, rising gracefully from her chair like she's performing in a very elegant, very deadly ballet.

And suddenly everyone is standing, and there are weapons being drawn, and I realize that this civilized family meeting is about three seconds away from turning into a supernatural bloodbath in our living room.

"Stop!" I shout, jumping between the two groups before someone does something irreversibly violent. "Everyone just stop!"

The room freezes like I've hit a pause button on the world's most dangerous reality show.

"This is ridiculous," I continue, looking around at both families who are currently pointing various lethal objects at each other. "You're all acting like I'm some kind of prize to be won instead of a person who can make her own decisions."

"Julia," Dad says carefully, "you need to choose. Them or us."

The words hit me like a slap. "Choose?"

"You can't have both," Mom adds, her voice breaking slightly. "If you go with them, if you choose him over your family..."

She trails off, but I can see the threat hanging in the air between us.

"If I go with them, you'll disown me," I finish quietly.

The silence that follows is answer enough.

I look at my parents—the people who raised me, who loved me, who taught me everything I know about being a werewolf and a daughter and a person—and see the fear and desperation in their eyes.

Then I look at Rowan—the boy who saved my life, who makes my wolf sing, who somehow became the most important person in my world in the span of two days—and see the same fear reflected back at me.

Everyone is waiting for me to choose.

Everyone is waiting for me to destroy either my family or my future.

And I realize that no matter what I decide, I'm going to lose half of everything that matters to me.

"I..." I start, then stop, because how do you choose between the people who made you and the person who completes you?

How do you pick between your past and your future when both of them are threatening to disappear if you choose wrong?

How do you make a decision that will define the rest of your life when you're seventeen years old and wearing a supernatural tattoo that you still don't fully understand?

"I need a minute," I say finally.

"A minute for what?" Adrian asks, still holding what might be a very expensive pocket watch like he's timing this entire conversation.

"To figure out how to choose between the only family I've ever known and the mate I'm supernaturally bonded to without destroying everyone I love in the process," I snap.

"Ah," he says, putting the watch away. "Yes, that might take more than a minute."

And that's when I realize that this might be the most important decision of my life, and I have absolutely no idea what the right answer is.

Or if there even is a right answer.

But I do know one thing: whatever I choose, someone is going to get hurt.

And knowing my luck, it's probably going to be everyone.