Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1)

by Angel Lawson

  The admission surprised me more than anyone. There was no reason I should stop doing the things I loved to punish myself. There was no changing who I was, there was only acceptance. Amelia helped me accept who I really was, even if she didn't have the whole picture yet.

  I cranked the engine and it roared with life. An enormous hum vibrated off the walls of the garage. I backed out into the clear evening.

  Amelia’s hair fluttered around her face with the movement of the car. With the top down and the engine purring, her scent and heartbeat where lost under the power of the machine.

  “Sebastian worked on the car last. He’s never satisfied unless he’s upgrading something.” I drove the car down the street. Amelia had no idea of my power behind the wheel of a high-performing car. Other than running, there was no place I was more comfortable.

  "He removed all the original electronics here and installed a state of the art GPS navigation system. It also has a built-in phone and tracking system. If someone even thinks of touching this car the information goes right back to the computer in my office so I can find it." I explained while pointing out the features. "Plus, this car has an enormous engine. It was original to the car, but it’s been upgraded to modern standards."

  We had been traveling through the city at a normal speed but I maneuvered us onto the highway. Once I was sure there were no police or traffic problems ahead, I asked, "Is your seat belt secure?"

  She hooked a finger through the belt and tugged. "Yep."

  I shifted into gear, and as my tires squealed against the asphalt I said, "Hold on tight."

  We shot off into the night to see exactly what a superhero's car could do.

  ~*~

  Exiting the highway, I stole a glance at Amelia sitting next to me. I could tell she loved the speed as much as I did. The whole time we were moving she laughed and squealed and even though I saw her fingers clenched around the leather upholstery I could tell it was out of excitement, not fear. She acted scared but the wide smile on her face told me faster was better, and I was happy to oblige.

  "Okay, you win. I admit it," she confessed breathlessly. "This car is amazing. Who taught you to drive like that?"

  "I taught myself. It's instinctive." I found myself gazing at her hair, loosened from the tie at her neck. It was wild from the high speed and open roof. I couldn't help but grin.

  "What?" she asked, and she realized where my eyes were and she instinctively touched the top of her head. "Oh crap." She groaned and pulled the visor down to see the damage.

  While she wrestled with her hair (I couldn't even look at mine after my near hair freak out earlier) I attempted to walk, not run, to the passenger door to wait for her. Apparently satisfied, she snapped the visor up. I was surprised to see a conflicted look on Amelia’s face.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "Nothing. I look like a rat built a nest on top of my head," she said and narrowed her eyes. "You should have warned me."

  I laughed. "You said it was my choice, and anyway, I think your hair looks beautiful," I said, this time without gagging on my words.

  Amelia's face rushed with blood and my desire grew. I silently prayed for it to pass and focused on the long strands of hair flowing around Amelia's face. My fingers twitched, and before I could stop myself I reached out and pushed a strand smoothly behind her ear, grazing her skin.

  "The wild, untamed look suits you." If I could have blushed I would have, but I couldn't, and it only encouraged me.

  "Thank you," she mumbled and her heartbeat quickened as her own blush deepened.

  As we casually walked down the street Amelia pointed out a series of posters plastered to the side of a building. "Oh, Drew and I are going with some friends to the music festival downtown tomorrow night. You should come with us?"

  I forced myself to pause as though I was considering her offer. I wanted so badly to say yes but large crowds were difficult for me. The smells and sounds were so invasive.

  Normally I would have lied, but in an effort to fulfill my promise I answered truthfully. "I don't really do well in crowds. But thank you for the invitation.”

  "Okay," she said. The hint of rejection was undeniable. I suppressed a frustrated sigh. What a way to start a date.

  In an attempt to make her more comfortable, I began talking about the exhibit and some of the different artists we would see. As always, she seemed so interested in the things I had to say, which caused my ego to soar. We came to the front of the museum and Amelia stopped short. "We're going to the Asheville Museum of Art?"

  “Yes.”

  "But, Grant, the museum isn't open at night. We're way past closing time," she said.

  We climbed the steps to the front door and a man in a suit waited for us with the front door open. As we approached, he said, "Mr. Palmer, I'm Michael Barnes, director of the museum."

  "Good evening, Mr. Barnes. I appreciate you opening the museum for us." I glanced at Amelia, who had a look of confusion on her face.

  I gestured for Amelia to go ahead and she walked through the door into the main lobby.

  The director stopped and said, "I think you know your way around, right?" I nodded. "Good, I will be in my office if you need any additional assistance."

  He said 'good night' and walked off. Amelia gave me a hard look.

  "What?" I asked, feeling the grin on my lips.

  "Grant, did you pay them off or something?" she asked in a hushed whisper, suspicion filling her eyes.

  "Shall we?" I asked, ignoring her question, and started for the staircase to the second floor. If Amelia was ever going to fit in my life, she would have to realize at some point the Palmers don't live like other people. We have money, resources and connections. We used them all when the time was right.

  As we walked through the exhibits I allowed her to set the pace, pointing out the pieces that inspired or drew her attention. Amelia was drawn to color; bright hues and abstract work seemed to be her favorite style of artwork. She spent a tremendous amount of time looking at a series of Kandinsky paintings, commenting on the subtle differences in each piece.

  She walked toward one in particular and looked up at me with amazement in her eyes. "I love this one. It's so different with the black background."

  Her bright, innocent eyes were shining under the spotlights and I could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. If only I knew thoughts instead of guessing. I was forced, as usual, to prod her for further information. "The irony of this painting is that Kandinsky was noted for his dislike of the color black. This painting is actually his final one. Composition X is its title."

  She turned away from the picture, a sly smile lifting the corners of her lips, and said in a falsely impressed voice, "Mr. Palmer is there anything you don't know?"

  Plenty. Like, how did this woman have such a powerful hold over me?

  We continued through the museum like this, Amelia pointing out a painting or sculpture, and me answering her questions effortlessly due to the years of sleepless nights and a near photographic memory. We walked slowly, taking in each piece, and I listened as Amelia spoke in a hushed, reverent tone. It was quiet here, not a voice to be heard, a whisper to block out. Just me and Amelia, alone.

  It was close to perfection.

  She wandered a bit ahead of me and I wistfully looked at her hands gently swinging by her sides. I wished I could simply clasp one in my own. I shook my head slightly at the foolishness of my desires. Until I’d met Amelia, I'd never understood the need to touch another person like this. But now it was an ache. An overwhelming need to thread my fingers through hers. To rub my thumb over the creases in her palm or to simply cup the sides of her petite face in my hands.

  "Are you coming?" she called, her voice echoing off the high ceilings from the next room, pulling me from my fantasies.

  I walked in and found her engrossed by a collection of regional artwork. As I opened my mouth to give her history of the painting before us but Amelia turned and asked, "Isn't y
our family from Black Mountain?"

  "Yes. They’ve owned property there for generations.”

  "Have you ever been to Lost Cove?"

  Lost Cove? I looked over her shoulder at a photograph of members of the Melungeon community from the early nineteenth century. Even in the black and white photo their specific brand of beauty was mesmerizing. Had Amelia read about them? My confusion quickly turned to unease.

  Knowing my promise to be truthful would be tested, I braced myself, admitting, "Once."

  "Oh," she said and wandered over to the next one, a painting. The Melungeons had the body of a person but faces like an animal. "This is called Spirit Animal.”

  I followed her for a bit, responding to her comments and thoughts until curiosity got the best of me. I turned to her and spoke her name to get her attention and then asked, "Why were you asking me about Lost Cove?"

  She looked around and found a bench across the room. Amelia motioned toward it and together we walked over and sat down.

  She paused for a moment before speaking, her upper teeth biting down on her lower lip, drawing my attention to their perfection. "I haven't really told you this, but ever since my house was broken into I've been having nightmares.”

  "You told me you were having problems sleeping. Nightmares? What about?" I asked, feeling myself hovering over the line of honesty. I had wanted to know the truth about her dreams for weeks. I’d caught bits and pieces when she mumbled in her sleep, but the clearest part was my name at the end.

  "It's the same one. It's horrible. I'm chasing after that missing girl, Jenna, the one from all the posters?’ She paused, crashing her face in her hands. Amelia knew about Jenna. What else did she know?

  "I chase her and she falls, then I fall and well, the only way for me to get away is to climb up a cliff, but I can't do it alone. Then in the end, you come and save me." Her face flushed a bit, but she didn't seem truly embarrassed. She looked almost thankful.

  "I'm sorry you've been having bad dreams," I told her. "I don't understand though, what does this have to do with Lost Cove?"

  She sighed. "No, I'm sure you don't. There is this girl at the coffee shop. Her name is Laurel. You know, the dark haired one, she's a Melungeon."

  Of course. The girl was a Melungeon. I hadn’t made the connection during her attempts to secure me as a potential mate. I held back a snort. What a pair we would have made.

  Amelia took a deep breath and continued, "She told me this crazy legend about how her family believes in vampires and how they used to hunt in the Smokey Mountains. The church leaders in Lost Cove think they’re back. Her community is convinced Jenna is a victim of a vampire attack." She rolled her eyes at the end, making me think she didn't fully believe the story.

  Who would?

  I wasn't exactly sure how to respond and finally spit out with a nervous chuckle, "That's an interesting story. Did she say anything else?"

  Amelia hopped up from the bench and walked over to another painting. "She went on to tell me about shape-shifters and all this totally weird religious stuff." She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. "She wasn't much of a believer. It's so strange, me having these horrible dreams and then she told me these crazy legends. I felt like they were connected. Your family is from that area and you're in my dreams. It all seemed like maybe it was more than an odd coincidence."

  I pushed off the bench and stood behind her, watching her as she studied the painting in front of us. I wanted to tell her everything but she was so unnerved, and disturbed by the information, I was worried I would only make it worse. Instead, I leaned in and said, "I am sorry about your nightmares. I don't want you to worry. I promised you I would make sure that you are always safe."

  She turned and we were now facing one another, so close I could see my reflection in her eyes. I absorbed her face, soaking up every detail. The smattering of pale freckles across her nose, her long feminine lashes, the crease under her left eye…I felt a jolt of energy spreading from my left hand up my arm.

  She'd placed her hand in mine. Her skin was warm and soft and filled me with such a strong current of electricity I thought my heart may actually start beating. Amelia's eyes widened and I heard a small, but sharp, intake of breath come from her mouth but she didn't let go.

  Please never let go.

  She dipped her head for a moment, forcing me to lose eye contact, and I heard her softly say, "Thank you for keeping me safe." The back of her neck burned scarlet and she whispered, "In real life and in my dreams."

  Intentionally this time, I found the strength to lift my free hand and placed my fingers under her chin, tipping her face upwards. The softness of her body amazed me and it took all the control I had not to run my fingers down her neck and push my nose into her hair. With one hand clasped in mine and the other cupping her face, I met her eyes. "You're welcome."

  Chapter 40

  Amelia

  "Amelia, you have to wipe that smile off your face or Thomas is going to get the wrong idea," Drew scolded.

  I tried. I did. I even used my fingers to push the corners of my lips downward but couldn't. They were permanently stuck upwards. Like the Joker.

  The Joker. This made my smile widen even further as I laughed to myself thinking about comic books, Batman, and the best date I'd had in my life. Drew rolled his eyes while I giggled at one-sided jokes, and eventually directed his attention to the large stage in the middle of the park and the roadies setting up the next band's instruments. Jess and Thomas were attempting to get beer in the staggering lines across the field, and we saved our spot laying on blankets that we’d spread across the grass.

  I was beaming. I knew it. I could feel the girly, pathetic, "I'm falling for him" giddiness emanating off of my body. My non-date with Grant took a sharp and sudden turn when I slid my hand into his very smooth, cool one. It was forward of me, I knew from experience that he wasn't fond of touching, but as he towered over me and promised to keep me safe, I knew I had to see what would happen if I did. I wasn't disappointed. Separate, we were two people muddling through life. Together we were electric. I knew this the instant we finally, physically connected.

  "Amelia, you're almost vibrating." Drew looked me up and down slowly with narrowed, suspicious eyes. "Hell, did you have sex with him? You have this post-coital glow going on."

  "What?" I shouted, a little too excitedly. "No! God. No. Nothing like that." The thought horrified and excited me at the same time. Grant was barely receptive of me touching him. At this point I could hardly imagine anything further.

  That was a lie. I had imagined it. For weeks now, if I was honest with myself about it. The thought of his perfect lips on mine and those freakishly long fingers roaming around my body. Fantasies that had distracted me more than once when I should have been focused on other things. I considered it the whole time we drove home from the museum.

  He walked me up the stairs as usual. The only difference was, he walked a little closer and once or twice I felt his tentative hand graze my back, which was enough to cause shivers to run down my spine. I thought for sure he would kiss me at the door, and I waited eagerly as he stared at my mouth instead of my eyes. I noted how his gaze kept shifting down to my exposed neck, hunger and desire present behind every blink. But behind the desire, I could see the smallest hint of fear and doubt filling his violet eyes. Something held him back, and I wasn't going to blow it by shoving my tongue down his throat.

  "No. He didn't even kiss me," I confessed unhappily.

  "So you're acting like this and you didn't even get a kiss? Wow. Remind me not to be there when you finally do take this further."

  I blushed, but it was more about my own silliness than his innuendos. Drew and I had discussed sex more often than was probably normal. We didn't keep secrets, but something about my relationship with Grant kept me teetering on the edge. I wasn't even sure it was a relationship. I was close to squeeing just from simply holding his hand. That was very fourth grade and not impressive, but with
Grant something told me it meant much, much more.

  "I have no idea where this is going so don't get your hopes up. Grant is…well the more I get to know him, the more questions I have.”

  "That doesn't make any sense," Drew said.

  "Well, Grant is…" I stumbled, looking for the right way to say it. "Grant is, you know, wealthy, intelligent, young, amazing looking, talented, but…"

  "But? He sounds perfect to me."

  I grimaced a little and stretched my legs out on the red and blue blanket we had brought with us. "But he's not perfect. At all. He is completely compulsive to the point he can hardly function. He is alarmingly socially awkward. And half the time he acts like a 45 year-old, repressed man hell bent on maintaining a perfect lifestyle at the expense of actually living his life."

  Drew leaned back on her palms, his legs crossed. "And the other half of the time?"

  I smiled at the thought of the other Grant. "The rest of the time he is like a twenty year-old who loves gadgets, fast cars and hiding from his family."

  My fingers found a tuft of grass on the edge of the blanket. I tugged at it softly. "But then, there is something else. I don't know what it is. It runs deeper. Sometimes it scares me and other times it just pulls me to him like whatever he's hiding is the most amazing thing I could ever desire. Like he’s the most amazing thing I could ever desire." He caught my eye and I confessed, "He also has this whole 'tortured soul' quality. Somehow, he's damaged, and I want to help fix him."

  I continued my grass molestation while Drew was oddly quiet. The field around us was filling up with happy festival-goers. Drew said, "Amelia. That sounds really intense. But, you can't save people, you know that."

  "I know. I don't know why, but I am so drawn to him. Well, part of it may be the fact I think he may be Batman. You should see his car." And I rambled on about the convertible for a while and our date trying to lighten the mood. I did not tell him about Lost Cove, Jenna or the spark that flared when Grant and I touched. Those were my thoughts to ponder and I wasn't prepared to share.