Crimson Groves
By Ashley Robertson
Copyright 2011 Ashley Robertson
Smashwords Edition,
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Thanks to my editor, Stephen Delaney. I couldn’t have completed this book without his attention to detail and expertise. And a special thank you to my husband, Baron, for his unending patience, love, and support.
Please visit my website for a sneak peak of my upcoming books: www.AshleyRobertsonBooks.com
Table of Contents
1…The Call
2… Encounter
3…Transformed
4…Learning
5…Adjusting
6…Celebration
7…Pulse
8…Escape
9…Plan
10…Determined
11…Must Find Blood
12…New Identity
13…Predicament
14…Warned
15…Ability
16…Introduced
17…Left
18…Theory
19…Caught
20…Betrayed
21…Face-to-Face
22…More Confusion
23…Aggravated
24…Missing Pieces
25…Answers
26…Twist of Fate
27…Open Mind
28…Reunited
My eyes shot open wide, instantly seeing what my new body craved. A disturbing thirst grew inside me as I watched tiny droplets of blood trickle down the middle-aged woman’s neck. I stared at the crimson rivulets, mouthwatering, my fangs struggling to stay confined inside. My tongue stroked across my new canines—sharp and hungry. My refusal to bite her and drink her blood had been much easier before I saw it, smelled it, felt it sticking to my taste buds like honey. Sweet, scrumptious honey made of blood.
1
The Call
FOR THE PAST SIX MONTHS I’ve been in a really bad mood. Today was no different. I walked with an empty purpose along the streets of downtown Clermont, staring at the scuffed black tops of my Dr. Martens boots. The empty part I blame on John and Mandy, the purpose…well, that was because I was on my way to work. The tall buildings around me were older, some red brick, some gray cobblestone, and a few of them were just bland shades of white, slightly worn down from the weather. They were linked like a cut-n-paste project at school. Chunky, uneven brick pavers decorated the front of each business and cracked, distressed pieces of sidewalk filled the gaps in between. I tripped over a huge dip in the walkway pushed up by a swollen tree root. I skipped twice, not so gracefully, but luckily regained my balance before completely falling. Thank God I wasn’t wearing heels or I would’ve just eaten the sidewalk. Some days you just can’t catch a break. Maybe I just caught one?
I let out a deep, “woe’s me” kind of sigh and looked up. The descending sun hung in the corner of the sky like a big round drop of spectral yellow paint, fighting to keep its place on a dusky blue canvas. A cool gust of air brushed past. My hair flew sideways, sticking to my face. I wrestled with it momentarily, eyes straining to see beyond the soft blond wisps. I turned a corner and the light wind shifted gears, sweeping my long hair behind me. At least I could see where I was going now—not that it helped my state of mind.
A slightly overweight woman jogged past me wearing typical runners attire: black leggings, skin tight neon green tank, and white Nike sneakers with a black swoosh. Her copper hair, pulled in a ponytail, poked out the top of a white sun visor. A chill brushed against my arms through the paper-thin poly-cotton material of my, black button-up shirt. I wrapped my arms around my chest, rubbing my hands up and down my arms, trying to create a little heat with the friction. It was unusually cool for Florida this autumn—maybe that meant we’d actually get a real winter this year. “Yeah right,” I mumbled under my breath.
The street was getting busier, cars and trucks hurrying to beat the impending rush hour traffic. Some of the restaurants around here offered great happy hours to attract those who didn’t want to brave the streets, or that just wanted to get cheap drinks and bar bites. Even though the restaurant I worked at was upscale, they’d decided to start offering the same types of specials. My boss blamed it on the bad economy.
A group of men in suits was walking in the same direction as me, but on the other side of the street. They fit the profile of the mid to upper class business professionals my restaurant catered to. I came up to the intersection and pressed a shiny chrome button on a pole. Instantly, a light in the shape of a plump stick person lit up bright white. Lucky me! Could my day possibly be looking up? Nah. I let out a heavy sigh and stepped off the edge of the sidewalk. Suddenly a horn bleated. Tires shrieked. It was loud. So loud, I knew it was close—too close. I swung my head up in a panic. A red Volvo was heading straight toward me.
It came to a stop just a few feet away. I swallowed my heart, and my pulse was hammering in my head. Smoke drifted up from the tires. A Latino woman was in the driver’s seat. She looked young, barely out of her teens. Her mouth was wide open, her eyes big as golf balls. I swallowed hard, tried to breathe but the air seemed thin. I couldn’t move. My adrenaline was jumping like it drank a can of rocket fuel.
“Ma’am, Ma’am! Are you okay?”
I stared through the windshield at the Latino woman. Her lips weren’t moving. She still looked like she saw a ghost. Maybe I was a ghost? Maybe she did hit me?
“Ma’am!” The voice was closer. It didn’t sound like a woman’s. It was deep and baritone.
I slowly looked around. One of the men in suits was walking toward me. The wind was blowing his dark hair sideways, and his suit jacket flung open. “Are you okay?” he called out. He looked really worried.
“Y—” I choked up. I felt shaky all over. This was ridiculous! Get it together! “Yes, I’m okay.” The words were forced, but at least I said them.
Suit man smiled. Relief spread all over his face. I looked back at Latino lady. She was giving me one of those “move out of my way” looks. And she was texting on her cell phone. No wonder she’d just about run a red light and hit me! Suit man turned around and headed back to his group on the sidewalk. I fought the urge to flick off Latino lady and followed behind suit man.
If you’ve ever had a near-death experience, then you know how your life flashes right before your eyes. I would’ve died sad, desperate, and alone. My tombstone would’ve read, Abigail Vaughn Tate – Beloved bartender. Isn’t that just a great way to go? And I thought I was having a bad day before this. No, I won’t ask what else can go wrong. I really do not want to know.
The Beacon was just a little farther up ahead. Please God, let it be a busy night. Busy enough to keep my mind off John. And Mandy. And my near-death rendezvous. I said a silent prayer reiterating my hopes for the night and then walked through the big wooden door.
“Hey, Abby,” a soft voice called out from behind the hostess stand. Jamie was just out of high school, not quite eighteen yet, but her parents were regulars here and pretty much secured the hostess job for her.
“Hey,” I said, waving at her as I passed by. She looked really nice in a deep red dress and knee-high black boots. Her mousy brown hair was neatly tied up in a bun. As hostess, she was the only employee that didn’t have to wear all black. At least I made more money.
The bar area was in the front
of the restaurant to the left of the hostess stand. A wooden countertop stretched across the entire back wall. Several barstools crowded around it, two of them holding up older men. The wall behind the bar held every type of booze you could imagine, along with two flat-screen TVs. I headed straight behind the bar and stashed my purse in a cabinet by the floor. I stood back up, still a little shaken, and smiled at Justin, my coworker, and then at my two customers.
“Abby, it was a slow lunch shift so I’m getting cut. Tonight’s all you,” Justin smarted. He didn’t look away from the wine glass he was rinsing in a small, square-shaped sink beside the icemaker. His tall, thin frame towered over me, at least a foot taller than my five-foot, four-inch height. His short hair was a color somewhere between blond and brown. He was one of the few people I still bothered to call a friend.
“Sorry, life could always be worse.” I slowly walked past him. “Like getting hit by a car and killed on your way to work?” Take that, crybaby. I looked back to see his reaction.
He swung a curious look at me, one eyebrow arched higher than the other. “You what?”
“Yep! I can’t believe it’s still legal to text and drive. How many more people have to die before they outlaw that?”
“Well maybe you should’ve taken one for the team.” His head rocked side to side. His thin lips arched slightly upward, releasing a sly-looking smile.
“Well, it’s the perfect time for me to be a human sacrifice,” I mumbled under my breath, half hoping he didn’t hear that.
“Let me guess…you’re still pissed about John and Mandy?” His voice sounded very “nanny nanny boo boo”.
“Shut up, Justin,” I hissed. “I don’t want to talk about them!” I looked toward the end of the bar where the old men sat. Thank God their eyes were homed in on the football game.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off.” He ran his fingers through his hair leaving no proof that he’d ever touched a single strand of it. “I mean, you still haven’t talked to them, right?”
I absolutely hate how Justin tries to pry into my business. He’s not much of a gossiper, thank God, but sadly (for me), he doesn’t know when to leave things alone. “No, I haven’t.”
And just as if their ears were burning, here they came, walking straight toward me. John was 5’11”—slender, brunette, hazel eyes, charming—and the sight of him still caused my heart to do somersaults. He was wearing the jeans I’d bought him for his birthday last year and an off-white polo. He grinned at me: dazzling, breathtaking. Then I glanced over at Mandy. That brought me back to reality. She was just a smidgen shorter than John. Her drably ash blond hair dangled slightly below her shoulders. Some kind of clip held a large hunk of it to the side. A pair of faded skinny jeans and a tight red top with spaghetti straps completed her look.
“Abby, please come talk to us,” pleaded Mandy. She wore so much makeup, I thought she was made of plastic. At least her hooker red lips matched her shirt.
“Get the hell out of here!” I hissed. I tried to keep my voice down, but anger surged up like a tidal wave.
John shook his head. “Please just step outside and hear us out.”
I stared daggers at the man I’d once wanted to share my life with forever, blah, blah, blah. “There’s nothing to talk about! Please leave now or I’ll have you both removed!”
Mandy took a small step forward. Her eyes looked watery. I could easily fix that problem—by ripping them off her face. “Please,” she begged. Her voice was broken, desperate, pathetic.
“Look, you guys need to leave. Now.” Justin came over next to me and slid his arm around my shoulders.
“We don’t want any trouble,” John said. “We just need five minutes with Abby. Please.”
I slowly swung my head to the right, then the left. “The answer is NO! Please leave!” My voice was borderline hysterical. I stole a quick glance around the bar and was thankful the customers weren’t watching me; even though I have no doubt they could hear everything going on.
That was all it took for Mandy to start crying. I sure didn’t remember her crying this much when we were best friends. “But Abby,” she wailed, “it’s been over six months. I miss you! You need to hear our side of the story.”
“I already saw your side of the story! I don’t need to hear anything else!”
Justin pulled back his arm and took off around the bar. “When I get back, the manager will be with me, and your asses will be thrown out!”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re outta here!” John’s gorgeous face crumbled a little. He grabbed Mandy’s hand and pulled. She resisted at first. Justin watched from the side of the bar area, halfway between the exit and me, his eyes locked on my enemies, warning, challenging. John tugged again and Mandy gave up, turning around and following him out.
Shaking his head and looking relieved, Justin said, “What a bunch of freaking jerks! Can’t they take a hint? You’re better off without them, you know?” His tone was louder than I liked. He headed back to the bar and sat down at one of the barstools.
“Thanks for helping me, but I really don’t want to talk about this.”
Placing his elbows on the counter, he said, “I don’t blame you. You’ve had quite a night so far.” He looked away, heavy in thought, and then turned back with his inquiring gaze. “So do you think you’ll ever listen to what they have to say?”
Tossing my hands in the air I exclaimed, “I don’t want to talk about them! Please! There’s nothing more to say!”
Justin sat there for a minute, speechless, watching me with his moon-shaped brown eyes. Then moving his arms from the counter to his lap, he said, “You look like crap! Your eyes are bloodshot, your hair’s a mess, and you never smile anymore! I can’t believe you’re letting them get to you like this. What happened to my dear sweet friend, Abby? You remember her, right?”
Now I was the speechless one. I turned around and stared at the mirror nestled behind the wall of alcohol. My reflection gazed back at me between the Grey Goose and Kettle One vodkas. Justin was right. What a sad, pathetic, lonely person I’d become. Over the last six months, I’d managed to distance myself from anyone who cared about me. Losing my boyfriend to a backstabbing best friend was too much for me mentally to handle.
“Abby,” Justin called out. I turned to face him. “You need to get back out there. Start dating. Maybe act nicer to the guys hitting on you. You never know, one of them might actually be a good match for you.”
“I’m not interested in meeting anyone while I’m working. Especially not at a bar!” I rested my hands firmly on my hips.
He looked down and hesitated for a minute, and I fought the urge to be immature and storm away. Then Justin stood up and said, “Whatever you say. Anyway, I’m out of here. Oh I almost forgot your dad called earlier. I told him you wouldn’t be in until later. He said he would call back.”
I stared at Justin, feeling like he’d just slapped me across the face. He turned around and headed out of the bar. My father called? I hadn’t spoken to my father in fifteen years. What would he be calling for? He left my mother and me when I was ten, and we never heard from him again. My mother didn’t take it very well—years of depression turned into dark anger and loathing bitterness. Then one day out of nowhere, she started blaming me. “Abby, you were always such a brat! No wonder he took off. I should’ve gone with him,” were the last words she ever said to me. I moved out shortly after that (with my good friend Mandy) and never spoke to my mother again. I heard “through the grapevine” that she remarried and had two more kids. Well, I guess she finally got her perfect little family after all.
Justin’s words echoed inside my head over and over again. I couldn’t help but feel anxious over the potential call I’d be receiving. Would he really call back? What would I say? What would he say? Shaking my head, I decided to put it out of my mind. The chances of him not calling back were far greater anyways.
“Excuse me, Abby,” Mel called down to me from the end of the b
ar, “can I get another glass of wine?” Mel was older, in his late sixties, had plump high cheekbones, thin stringy white hair brushed sideways in an effort to conceal his growing bald spot, and, was very overweight. His pants didn’t stand a chance of containing his oversized belly.
“Sure, sweetie.” I reached behind me to grab a bottle of Sequoia Grove, which was our house cabernet. Then I grabbed a fresh wine glass from the cabinet above the bar and slowly poured in the red liquid, filling the glass over half way.
Mel smiled. “You’re the best. Thanks for the extra wine.” His chubby fingers gripped the stem of the glass as he carefully swirled the contents inside allowing the wine to breathe a little before he raised it to his lips and took the first sip.
“No prob—”
Ring ring ring—the sound of an impatient phone wailed behind me. I turned around and stared at it, unable to move.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Mel asked, sounding a little confused.
Nodding my head, I reached for the phone and grabbed it, yanking it to my ear. “Thanks-for-calling-The-Beacon-this-is-Abby-how-can-I-help-you?” My shaky voice pushed each word out so fast they ran together, making my entire greeting sound like one long word.
“Abigail?” a deep, gruff voice spoke. “Abigail Tate?”
“Yes, this is she.” My free hand found a few strands of hair and started twirling them.
“Abigail, this is your dad, if I can even call myself that anymore.” A long pause went by and all I could do was wait for him to continue. “Look, I know how bad I wronged you. And I know how angry you must be, but I need you to listen to me. Abigail, you’re in danger. He’s coming to find you. Somehow, I’m not sure how, but he figured it out. He knows how special you are. You can’t let him find you. You need to lay low and—”
I didn’t give him a chance to finish talking. “I haven’t heard from you in fifteen years! And finally, finally, I get a stupid phone call. But it’s not because you miss me or even because you want to apologize for walking out on me. It’s not even because you care to know what I’ve been doing with my life! You just called to tell me some crazy story because you think I’m in trouble? Oh and let me guess, my hero father is going to rescue me? You’re freaking crazy! Don’t ever call me again!”
Crimson Groves Page 1
