Oriel blinked. “I’m coming for you? I didn’t realize I was. I thought I was doing you a favor by letting you work for me and giving you a bit of my…prize.”
“Your prize?” Her eyes bugged out. “Isn’t it a little soon into our relationship for you to tell lies? Keep talking like that and people are going to think you’re sticking it to me.” She rolled her eyes. “Lucky you.”
He knew to read between the lines. “Look. I realize you were on the boat first, but do you really believe you were walking out of there with the vial in hand?” He shook his head like she’d told a funny joke. “Honestly, Georgia. You’re lucky I let you have a bit this morning. I’m talking about my livelihood here.”
She ground her teeth together. The man was infuriating. It went beyond normal manly cockiness. He was nothing but a meathead, and she hadn’t ruled out if he was a bully yet. He was approaching bully territory. She knew for sure.
What the hell was she doing here, again? Yachats, Oregon wasn’t the type of place she’d seen herself living. At the very best it wasn’t a hotbed of opportunity for paparazzi and tabloid journalists. There was a smaller chance of her being recognized and reported. But it wasn’t the scene she was used to by a long mile. People here liked to cozy up and take things slow. Take life slow. There were walks on the beach and lazy days spent drinking coffee. Where was the excitement? Where was the bigger and better and more important?
Dead and gone these past two years, along with her old life.
It was sad when she stopped to think about it. Worse when she looked in the mirror. She was a nobody. She’d never be at the national-level anything again, even if she could regain the highs of her past. Her shot at glory was in the rearview mirror. She reached for the granola bar she’d been munching on, stashed away in her side apron pocket. It did no good for her system, but it was a balm on the soul. And there was no one around to tell her what she could eat and when. If she forgot about all the other garbage, it was almost a relief.
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Who’s fighting?” Oriel wanted to know. He stared down at her like a towering blond giant. “I’m trying to show you how to work the machines. I can’t have you serving dribble or my reputation is going to go down the toilet.”
“Tell me about the coffee shop. Why you’re here and what you exactly…do,” she said through a mouthful of oatmeal and chocolate. “You aren’t a vampire but I see a shit ton of them hanging around outside.”
He pointed a finger at her face. “We are going to have to work on your mouth. You curse entirely too much. No, I’m not a vampire, although I have intimate knowledge of their kind. I’m not sure what you mean by hanging around outside, seeing as it’s daytime and even here we get a little sun. However, yes. The majority of our clientele is of the fanged persuasion.”
“Intimate knowledge. Ah, so you were a blood slave.” She drew on her rather limited knowledge of the vampire subculture and wondered if her joke would hit home.
Oriel’s brows drew together. “Excuse me, no. I’ve never been nor will I ever be a blood slave. My mother was a vampire.”
Oh, interesting. A strange twist of events. “So why do you identify as human? Half-breed does not a human make.”
He had the blues playing from a set of speakers set on either side of the blackboard menu. It seemed appropriate, in a way, with the thunderclouds outside. And the matching ones on Oriel’s face. Whiny saxophone warred with melancholy piano at just the right volume to inspire conversation.
“I never said I was a vampire. I never said anything of the sort. I’m one hundred percent human.” He set about furiously polishing the spotless foamer with a towel. “My mother had cancer, okay? She would have died had not a kindly, and I use the term loosely, vampire offered her the out modern medicine couldn’t provide. She turned when I was ten and Jasmine was four.”
There was something in his voice that gave her pause when she was prepared to fire back with a snappy one-liner. A downheartedness. No, that wasn’t exactly it. There was pain, sure, and a slender rod of wistfulness. But there was also anger.
She knew the feeling.
“You want to talk about it?” she offered, leaning against the counter top and crossing her legs at the ankle.
Oriel turned his attention to the speck of dust on the touchscreen computer above the cash drawer. He made sure the entire area was scrubbed before answering her. “Only to tell you I’ve dedicated my career to helping those of the paranormal community. I’ve been involved with it for the better part of my life. I know that they aren’t all bad, they aren’t all a slave to their hunger like the ones I’m sure you’ve seen or read about. The ones I saw when Mom left us. Some of them need help. They need whatever help they can get.”
“Why coffee?” Or rather, the question she desperately wanted to know. Why you?
“Because coffee is the universal ambrosia.” His answer was matter-of-fact. “No matter the creature, the species, the persuasion, they can all stomach the good stuff. I’m not sure what it is about coffee, and I never bothered to stop and think about it, but I’ve made it my business. A single drop of the nullum fame means my customers not only come back, but they also come back with a clearer head. More able to handle themselves and make it through their daily life. It’s a small thing and it means a lot to them.” He’d told her earlier about his system for making sure everyone got their required drop without double dipping. It was thoughtful, intricate.
“Does it bother you?” she asked. “Lying to them?”
His eyes went dark. Hooded. “I’m not lying. I’m just not divulging every single ingredient of my brew. There’s a difference.”
Georgia understood better than he knew. It was why she’d worked so desperately hard to find the potion and keep it. It was the only thing she could handle, the only thing to sustain her and keep her standing. Yes, she could go months at a time without eating. However, the pain was always there, in one form or another.
“You expect me to believe you are a philanthropist for the supernatural.” She slowly nodded. “How selfless of you. I’m just another one of those broken baby birds you need to nurture and hand feed back to health. Aren’t you? Admit it.”
Oriel tipped his head back on a disbelieving laugh. “Maybe I want to keep you where I can see you. Otherwise, who knows what you’ll do.”
“I almost think you’re intimidated by me.” She felt a swell of power that had nothing to do with her paranormal status and everything to do with her feminine nature. One hip cocked to the side in a remembered gesture from her better years. “Tell me the truth, Mr. Justice. Are you afraid of me? Is it because you find me attractive? Because you worry I’ll slip the vial right out from your pants?” She sidled close enough to touch him and placed her fingertips on his leather belt. “Tell me the truth.”
She watched his Adam’s apple hitch. Oh yes, there was definite interest. “I have to make sure you aren’t going anywhere. End of story. You are a very attractive woman, I admit. Is that what you want to hear?”
His hand came to rest on top of hers.
“Sure, it doesn’t hurt.”
“I have no interest in you beyond what you represent. You’re a competitor. Yes, a threat. Hopefully a good worker. Nothing more, I promise.”
There was a moment. When his eyes connected with hers and she could almost pretend nothing had changed for her. She was a normal woman attracted to a normal man and in a good position to follow through with her desires.
Then the bell rang and a vamp with three-inch fangs lengthening out of his mouth broke the moment in two.
“Half-caf latte, soy,” he called out.
To give Oriel credit, he didn’t jump away from her. Instead, it was a slow reverse, keeping his hand on hers as long as possible until the distance drew a disconnect. “Do you feel ready for your first customer?”
Did she have a choice? His husky voice had her in a spell and she shook her head to break it. “Let me
watch you until I get the ropes. If you don’t mind.”
The gig wasn’t hard, she decided a week later, pressing the button on the percolator to get the brew going. She wouldn’t go so far as to insinuate a trained monkey without arms could do what she did, but it was close, and she found against her better judgment she was starting to enjoy the comfort of a routine. It was nice to feel needed again. To feel like she wasn’t an aberration.
Oriel and Jasmine were the only ones with access to the nullum. It was kept in a location they changed frequently, and with the brother and sister pair each handling half of the twenty-four-hour shifts, they were available to dole out the brew when a customer came in whose date in the database corresponded with a refill. It was an intricate system that had Georgia wondering how Oriel slept through the sheer amount of thinking needed. How had he thought of it in the first place?
Guess the potion was too special to give away.
It was nice to have coworkers she could laugh with and trust with her secret. Oddly enough, none of them had seen her movies. She was a stranger to them. Instead of feeling it in a negative way, it was refreshing. Between Hilary, the daytime girl Kim, and the nighttime barista Raoul, they hadn’t quite figured her out, although they kept trying to ferret out little bits of information about her status, where she’d been and what she’d done. Then again, she hadn’t figured out what she was, either. At least no one judged her for her differences. There was no one to wonder what she’d been doing with her life or wonder why she was still alive when she shouldn’t be.
And there was Oriel. Handsome Oriel, the surfing sasquatch—who, despite the cute nickname, had never been on a surfboard in his life—with his imposing muscles and need to have things done a certain way, in a certain manner. His eccentricities and his odd raven that came into the shop on his shoulder from time to time were quirky enough to have her wanting to know more.
She came to enjoy the nights where they worked until dawn alone. Because it didn’t matter that she was expected to pull overnighters as well. It didn’t matter that she was waiting on people—a far cry from her former position where she’d been the one with a crew ready to do her bidding—and it didn’t matter that she was surrounded by the bloodsuckers and shapeshifters of the Oregon underworld.
The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention made her feel as close to normal as someone like her could get. It had her nearly forgetting about her plan to snatch the potion from him and bolt before he realized. Nearly.
She glanced around the main room, taking in the teeming masses of supernatural creatures hammering for a seat. It was packed that afternoon. Full of women in beanies and men who looked like they would rather devour a book than a human. If she’d walked into the shop b accident she would have never guessed she was among the seedy underbelly of the normal world. The people who were not supposed to exist. The stuff of stories.
And now she was one of them.
It was three o’clock in the morning and Oriel was in the bathroom, leaving her alone on the floor. She didn’t glance up when the bell jingled. Used to the action once the sun went down.
“Welcome to The Dark Caf. Make yourself at home,” she called out by rote.
The shapeshifter saddled up to the counter like he owned the block. Despite the hour, a pair of wraparound sunglasses covered his face. There were no overt signs declaring his status. However, in the last week, Oriel and Jasmine had taught her more than how to make the perfect cappuccino. She could distinguish supernaturals on sight and had even gotten as good as to differentiate between the shifter species. The one at the counter was from the family Ursidae. Bears.
He held up two fingers to get her attention. Georgia wiped her hands on the towel tucked into her bistro apron and nodded, glancing across the shallow bar top. “What are you having?”
In her mind, it came out too New York City. Like a waitress at a diner with her hair fizzing around her head and another ten hours on the clock. She had to work to stifle the grin.
“I want an Americano. Extra juice.” The man sent her a leer and leaned closer. His nostrils flared. Smelling her.
Extra juice? She’d been plainly instructed not to tell anyone about the secret ingredient they used. There was something in the man’s tone, a current of energy. If she were going on suspicion and intuition, she would almost say he knew.
Which was impossible. Wasn’t it?
She shook her head and adopted a firm but kind tone, the way Oriel instructed her. “Sorry, sir, did you mean an extra shot of espresso?”
He leaned closer, nostrils flared. Shifted his glasses to the top of his head and searched her face. She couldn’t make out the color of his eyes. They were a muddied mixture of blue and brown, the colors darkening toward his pupils. He wore navy-colored jeans and a white t-shirt, casual but not unintentional. His hair was dark blonde, but lighter streaks glinted from the sunlight streaming in the open front door. It was messy. Also intentional.
His smile emphasized the squareness of his jaw.
“You know what I mean. Georgia.”
For a moment her blood turned to ice and she wondered what the hell this man wanted with her, how he knew her name. Then she remembered the nametag pinned to the front of her apron. There was nothing insidious there.
Her smile was strained. “Do I?”
“I think you do. I think you, like me, know there’s more to these drinks than meets the eye. And you know exactly what it does and where Justice keeps it.”
“Whatever it is you think you know,” she said, leaning forward to mimic his posture, “forget it. I can’t help you. Now, how about that Americano?” She turned toward the machine and stopped when the shifter’s hand shot out, his fingers tipped with claws and latching on her wrist. They were cold.
“What if I told you that you don’t have to settle for a single shot?” the man said with a glint in his eye. A hint of fang to let her know he was inches away from a full-blown transformation in the middle of the shop. His hair was soppy, pushed to the side to hide a burn near his temple. “That you can have as much as you want if you only knew the right people?”
She tugged at the vice-like contact. It didn’t loosen. Instead, his claws bit into her skin and blood dripped down on the countertop. Georgia refused to cry out. “You’re going to want to let go of me right now.” Her words trembled and goosebumps rose on her skin. “My boss will be in any moment.”
“You think I’m scared of him? I came to see you. Georgia.”
“You can stop saying my name like you know me.” In a show of bravado, she leered at him. “You don’t know diddly shit.”
“I know a lot about you,” he answered calmly. His grip tightened, claws inches from a vein. “I know where you came from. I know the man who made you what you are.”
Her grin fell and landed on a splat on the floor. “What did you say?”
The shifter squeezed her wrist once more before releasing her and dropping back into his seat with a chuckle. He was pleased with himself. “You heard me.”
It was too good to be true. Remember what she said, about everything coming at a cost? “What do you want?”
He shrugged and his leather jacket shifted with a crunch, making her wonder what he had in his pockets. “I want to help you. I want you to be complete in who you are, and I know you won’t get it here, with Justice’s hard and fast rules on the nullum fame. He wants it all to himself. Don’t you see?”
She glanced around to see if anyone else had overheard them. There were two college wolves with earbuds on clicking away at laptops. A trio of vamps in deep conversation near the door. No one close enough to send a prying ear in their direction. “He’s helping people,” she insisted through her teeth.
“He’s greedy. Keeping it like a dragon with his hoard. I know someone, Georgia, someone who can help you learn to control your powers. Who will give you unlimited access to the potion whenever you need.”
“If this person you know has
it, then why are you here complaining? Go somewhere else and get your fix.” She held her wrist against her apron to keep from getting blood on the floor, hoping the stain wouldn’t show through the black fabric.
“Listen.” The shifter leaned closer. “This is your chance. I’m here to offer you the life you can only imagine having back. Do you want to return to the spotlight? To be loved again? If any of it rings true, then you have to listen to me.”
“I don’t have to do anything you say, buddy.” But there it was in her head. An image of the future she’d had stolen from her. Glitzy parties, glamourous admirers, and lights glinting in her face. Moonlight and magic where she didn’t disappear into the shadows. Everything had been taken from her in fire and blood.
Was it really possible to have it back again?
The stranger released her with a satisfied smirk. Knowing the seeds he’d come to sew were planted.
“Think about it. You aren’t going to get what you need from him.” He inclined his head toward the back door where Oriel was soon to burst through. “He’ll keep the potion from you even when you are desperate for it. Trust me, Georgia. You’ll never get where you want to go if you stay here.” He pushed away from the seat and set her with a stare. “Think about it.”
“How do I get in contact with you?” she asked slowly.
“I’ll find you again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just keep an eye on him. Watch what he does, where he goes. Watch what he does with the potion. You’ll see.”
It tempted her, she mused, watching the shifter leave through the front door.
What am I doing here? She stared down at her hands, at her apron, at the soft soled shoes with extra arch support Oriel told her to buy because it would be better for her back. She stared at the rapidly healing slice in her wrist where the bear shifter had cut through her skin.
Okay, the shoes were comfortable, but there was no way in stone cold hell she was telling him.
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