Creature of Habit: Book Two (Creature of Habit #2)

by Angel Lawson

  Prologue

  Burnt bone and flesh tainted the midsummer air. The foul odor assaulted my senses the instant I’d entered the clearing. Evidence of the fight lingered not only in the air, but in the heavy footprints pressed in the soggy ground. Blood splatter, her blood splatter, darkened leaves and blades of crushed grass. I had to see for myself if he’d come after we left.

  Carefully, I tracked him through the woods, following the trail of his rage. Uprooted trees and cracked stone littered the area like breadcrumbs. The predator’s game had been interrupted and his reaction was like a child’s. Angry. Temperamental.

  He had to learn. Had to understand the result of threatening something that was mine.

  His footprints, unique by his lack of shoes so deep in the woods, led me to the ash pit where a fresh body had been left in his mate’s spot. The man’s head had been torn from his neck, impaled on a sharp stick. No blood fell from the wound. He killed one of his own, a soldier, in absolute fury.

  With the flick of my thumb I ignited my lighter and lit this body on fire, adding to the stench.

  Staying hadn’t been a choice, even if I could have confronted him—ending this now. Her pull was all-encompassing. Her protection my greatest cause. This, I understood fully, would be the death of her. The death of myself and my family. All due to my selfish compulsion. As if to confirm this, on my way back through the forest, something caught my eye. A slash of black writing against a wide granite bolder.

  You Are Not A God

  No, I considered, feeling the heat rise. I am not a God, but my wrath will be just as vengeful.

  Chapter 1

  Amelia

  If I closed my eyes and pressed hard enough against my lids I could see stars burst across the darkness. Like I was floating in space. That I was anywhere but here.

  I'd learned this when I was young, maybe five or six years old. Buddy, my family dog, died, and when my mother came to tell me I refused to acknowledge the truth. Instead I ran from the house to the empty lot on the corner of my street where I sat in the middle of the overgrown weeds. Once settled on the blades of prickly grass I shoved my fingers in my eyes in an attempt to block it out—transport away from my street, my neighborhood. Baking in the humid Atlanta afternoon sun I allowed myself to float away from the tragedy of losing my best friend. My mother tried to lure me back home with promises of cookies and ice cream. My father threatened to punish me, but nothing worked. When I was finally ready to accept the truth I rose from the trampled grass and walked home. From then on, when I experienced something particularly painful, I would shut my eyes and attempt to disappear. Objects didn’t need to touch in space. They swam around one another, magically weaving in and out without making contact. It was the perfect place to hide.

  Grant Palmer wasn’t what he appeared. He wasn’t even alive. I spent a week repeating this to myself, eyes closed, searching for space. Unfortunately, the image of Jenna, slaughtered in the forest, didn’t disappear no matter how hard I tried.

  I quit my job. Refused to take a shower. I huddled on my bed, sticky with sweat from nightmares, and floated soundlessly in my own sense of space. Occasionally, I would gasp for air, seeking clean, pure oxygen. It didn’t exist. Purity was gone. Death presided over my life, accompanied by the sound of tearing flesh and soulless eyes.

  I retreated into a bubble where there were no sudden movements; everything was smooth, muffled, and lethargic.

  Drew came and went but his words made little sense. They came out garbled and confused, all variations of the same question.

  "Are you okay?"

  “What happened?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  I'd pull my fingers from my eyes, blinded momentarily by the light. I repeated variations of, "It's the flu, I'll be fine," before returning to my state of semi-consciousness.

  But I wasn't okay. I wasn't sure what I actually was anymore. I wasn’t afraid, not really. I had accepted that night that I was surely meant to die. My dreams told me so. Sasha had told me so. Who was I to question fate?

  I also wasn't especially confused. The information that Grant and the others were vampires only made things clearer. I’d been the one looking through a dirty lens. When I rubbed the glass, murkiness and mystery cleared up, revealing the cold, stark truth.

  My boss and friend (more than a friend?) was a murderer. A demon. A freaking creature of the night. It was possible he slept in a coffin and transformed into a bat. How was I to know? I’d never been allowed past the rows of pristine clothes and stacks of Post-it-Notes to his private quarters.

  What the hell did he do in there?

  What was undeniable was that I'd seen him tear a young girl to pieces while I watched. It happened mere seconds after she’d tried to kill me. I touched the itchy scabs on my neck where she’d scraped my flesh with her teeth. Grant switched from the man I knew to a cold-blooded monster before my eyes. His swift movements were unnaturally fast, but not quick enough for me to unsee what he’d done. He’d destroyed Jenna. For me.

  One monster killed the other. Did that make it better?

  While he finished her off, I cowered on the edge of the woods shocked, bruised, and damaged. I vomited, not from fear, but from the fact that I watched Grant transform from the man of my dreams to the creature of my nightmares. Everything I’d been denying for so long had become tragically clear. How could I be so dumb?

  The man of my dreams wasn't human. He was involved with some greater society of other worldliness that I couldn't even begin to process. I had known, even before Sasha explained it to me, that Grant wanted me to be his mate. That the connection between us ran deep—to the core—something larger than either of us. Something I couldn’t run from. He would come for me and if he didn’t, Caleb would.

  Death and demons. Two things I never expected when I took the job working for Mr. Palmer. I pulled my fingers from my eyes and rubbed them a little, acclimating to the light. I was ready to come down from space and enter the land of the living.

  Chapter 2

  Grant

  I pushed the image of Amelia, injured and distraught, out of my head while I ran through the wilderness of eastern West Virginia. Caleb’s trail ran cold two hundred miles east of Asheville. I circled the area desperately trying to recover the scent, until I finally broke. Deep in the woods I raged, screaming at the top of my lungs, using the quiet and isolation to succumb to the anger and despair over the loss of my mate.

  When Amelia told me she was going to the concert, I declined her invitation, but knew I would follow to keep her safe. Olivia checked on Amelia throughout the night so I could keep my distance. I was so in tune with her scent and pulse that I was sure keeping up with her wouldn't be an issue. She would have fun and I could have a little peace.

  Hiding among the festival goers, I listened as Amelia and Drew discussed our date the prior night. Her friend was interested in all the details and she freely gave them. She was excited about our night together, which was clear from her bright eyes and red-tinted cheeks. And when Drew asked her if we'd had sex I almost choked, horrified at the bluntness, yet I found myself leaning towards the two of them, desperate to hear her reply.

  My failure came when Amelia struck out on her own, away from her friends. She was in my line of vision the entire time but a swell of people thickened between us and in an instant she was gone. I expected her to have more sense, but I hadn't anticipated Jenna being the one to lure her away. She had told me the night before that the missing girl was monopolizing her nightmares, so when she saw her she was instantly intrigued. I was so blinded by my obsession with Amelia that I had, once again,
underestimated the danger of Caleb and his coven.

  That lack of foresight cost me everything.

  I took to the woods, immersing myself in the only place that ever truly made sense. Predators rule the ecosystem and I hang from the top rung. I picked up a large boulder that was wedged into the shoulder of a cliff, and I heaved it as far as I could throw. My muscles strained under the weight, and the pressure momentarily took away the pain in my chest. I listened as the rock crashed through branches and eventually fell in the dark with a loud thud, breaking the stillness of the night.

  "Feeling better?"

  It was Miles. I’d caught his scent ten miles back. God knows how long he followed my frenzied trail through the forest.

  I ignored the question, a bitter reply on the tip of my tongue, and sat on a wet, rotten log decaying on the forest floor. Taking my silence as permission to join me, he sat next to me and said, "Ryan and Sebastian are at Amelia's keeping watch. Olivia is in hysterics, worried about this human girl you’ve introduced into her life. Genevieve is doing what she can to calm her down.”

  "You're here keeping tabs on me. Where is Elijah?" The years of independence were slow to shift aside. Reaching out to Amelia forced me to reach out to my family as well. I needed them and part of me hated it. It was one thing for my family to see me when I was happy or successful. It was another for them to find me in pain, licking the wounds of my failures.

  "Elijah is doing some research. He may have a lead on the jewelry left at Amelia's house," he said.

  We sat in silence. Even through the recent strains in our relationship we had always been connected. He’d been the one to find me, feral and aimless. He nurtured me and accepted my flaws. In many ways he replaced the father I had lost all those years ago. There were times when I rebelled against him and his ways. Then there were the other times, the ones when I made him proud. Our relationship was complex yet eternal, constantly shifting with the passing of time, but always fundamentally the same.

  I thought of these things when I asked, "How much do you know?" I was hesitant to admit my failure, but prepared for his reproach.

  I could see Miles clearly in the darkness. Part of the vampire package was perfect night vision. Even now I could see the dark rings under his eyes, indicating his need to feed. The moonlight cast a light on his bald head. He’d neglected himself to search for me. Why couldn’t they let me go?

  "Olivia saw Amelia wander off to follow Jenna and the ensuing fight. What you did later to Sasha.”

  He wasn't going to bring it up. He would wait for me to speak of it and tell him in my own words how my world came crashing down. I scuffed my toe in the dirt, pushing aside years of leaves and decay. I didn't want to admit my failures, but I had no choice.

  "I've lost her, you know," I confessed, almost more for myself than for him.

  "Humans are resilient, but they are also inherently flawed. It may have been too much for her…" he trailed off because it was more of a question than a statement. Perhaps wishful thinking.

  Uncomfortable, I stood up and walked several paces away. "My fight with Jenna was brutal. She had a fledgling's strength and I had no choice but to use extreme force. I just don't know how Amelia will recover from that. Or ever see me as anything other than a monster."

  “You saved her life. That has to count for something.”

  “Not enough.”

  Miles remained calm, his pale face glowing silver in the moonlight. "Grant, I’m not sure about this relationship with Amelia, you know that. I am not convinced it’s the right path for you to follow. Despite my reservations, what I do know is that you need to give her time. As far as The Council is concerned and the legality of your actions, Olivia is convinced she won't reveal our secret. This gives you some leeway.”

  I nodded, squelching my feelings about The Council and their unwelcome intrusion into our lives.

  “As your friend, I suggest that you wait this out. If she’s the extraordinary human you think she is, then hopefully she’ll come around. You just need to let her have the space to decide if this is something she can or even wants to adjust to."

  I knew he was right. He always was. Miles was the rational one. He’d spent centuries working for The Council, seeking ways for vampires to live amongst humans peacefully. He was patient and thorough. I would have thought I was the same way until Amelia entered my life.

  I found his eyes in the darkness and said quietly, "I've waited so long for her. I'm not sure I can bear it if she doesn't want me."

  “If you push Amelia, I have no doubt she will run. Her brain has to absorb this information and digest it. You’ve mentioned before she’s obstinate and strong-willed. You have to let her adjust to this on her own terms.” I nodded in the darkness, displeased to hear what I knew to be the truth. He laughed softly. "I know this is painful for you. Patience has never been one of your stronger virtues. But if you think she is worth it, you can wait."

  We sat in silence for a while before Miles eventually left to hunt and I traveled back the way I came, running hard and fast to clear my mind. I forced myself to go home and not go directly to Amelia's. The twins were there and they would take care of any problems if necessary. I was determined to give her space. As much as I could. But I also decided that I would wait and watch and remain nearby so that when, or if, she was ready, I would be there.

  Chapter 3

  Amelia

  Again, I woke to the darkness of night, the air thick with heat. My sheets, damp from the oppressive summer humidity, clung to my skin. With a shaking hand, I pushed the sticky hair off my forehead and flopped back on my pillow. Now that I had pulled myself from straight out denial, I had to face the reality of my situation. I finally allowed myself to think about Grant.

  The person, not the vampire.

  Up until this point, neither of us had made a move. I’d quit the Palmer Foundation and didn't even attempt to call in and make excuses. Grant had been noticeably absent from my life as well. I had become used to his phone calls, drop-ins, and heroic visits in my dreams. I hadn't heard from him since the concert and it was clear he wasn't going to contact me first. If ever.

  During my seclusion, my mind divided into two separate theologies. One firmly believed that I had made up the entire event. That it was simply another one of my vivid dreams and I needed to get a grip on reality. Did the first attack by Sasha represent a psychotic break? Could my dreams be further evidence of that?

  The other struggled with the harsh realities from that night. Vicious purplish bruises on my arms, painful peeling scabs on my throat and knees. The vivid memory of Grant tearing that girl apart with his hands and mouth.

  Both sounded ridiculous, but I knew which one was real.

  My nightmares had shifted into something worse. They began with a familiar play-by-play of the actual events except for the end. In the updated dream, Grant didn’t save me; instead, I was led into the thick, dark forest. My fear wasn’t for Jenna or Sasha or even the other vampire named Caleb. My real threat lay beyond the tree line. My heart wedged in my chest, panic rose in my throat, as I waited for him to appear. But he didn’t, and even in my sleep, I feared he never would.

  Except tonight. He was there, lingering in the dreamy shadows of the forest, waiting to reveal himself. I sensed Grant’s presence, the static rolling from his body, the intensity of his eyes behind the cover of darkness. Before he showed himself, I lurched out of my heavy sleep, still aware of the tinges of electrical current smoldering in the air. A low ache trembled from my stomach to my limbs.

  The air crackled around me and I became terribly self-aware. I stilled on the bed, listening to the quiet of the apartment. To the utter, impossible silence of my room. I heard nothing—felt nothing. A spark flickered in the air. I sat up quickly, tensed, and whispered, "Grant?"

  My ears strained against the night, only noticing the faint whine of the appliances throughout the apartment. Then I heard him.

  "I'm here." His voice was soft a
nd more alluring than I'd remembered.

  My body had mixed reactions. I felt my muscles relax but I was acutely aware of the erratic beat of my heart. I licked my lips and took in a deep breath. The small space of my room was engulfed with an electric surge that frightened me. My hands grasped for the edge of the quilt and I pulled it to my chin protectively.

  As though a blanket could offer protection from a demon.

  The room was smothered in darkness. I couldn't see him, there were no outlines or shapes to make out in the room, but I felt him near me.

  I took a slow steady breath and asked, "Why? Why are you here?"

  He didn't answer right away and I thought possibly he’d left.

  “Grant.”

  “I’m here because this is where you are.”

  His confession knocked me back into my pillow. A bubble of fear rose in my chest. I wasn't afraid of Grant, not the sort of fear I should have. I was terrified for a dozen other reasons. None rational. Sasha's words were stamped in my mind. Grant wanted me for his mate. A word that conjured the idea of extreme possession. Humans don’t use this word for one another. Only animals.

  Unable to process this concept, I pushed them aside and did what came naturally to me in awkward situations. I made a joke. "Don't you have to get permission or something to enter my house?"

  I heard him laugh bitterly under his breath. "No. That's…um, no."

  "Should I get out my holy water or garlic? I hid some under the bed," I pushed again, easing the oppressive pressure in the room.

  I waited for his laughter to wash over me but it never came, instead his tone was harsh. "God, Amelia. How can you trivialize this?"

  I rolled to my side, pulling my blanket up to my chin, and peered for him in the dark room again, in the direction of his voice, but couldn't locate him. It was better this way. We could speak more freely in the dark. He could do whatever he wanted and I wouldn’t see it coming. I was at his mercy.

  "What else am I supposed to do? Start screaming? Run away? I don't think that would turn out so well for me." A bitter taste rose in my throat.