by Angel Lawson
I dropped the bar on the floor, cracking the tile. Just another mess to deal with later. Snagging a towel off the counter, I wrapped it around my waist and passed through my bedroom to the office. Elijah waited at my desk, the scent of death lingering in the air.
“He’s in a container in the back of my truck,” he said, noticing my grimace.
“Thank you.”
“His face…” Elijah said. “That was from the Shifters?”
“Yes, a flock of birds. Huge black ones. Their talons must carry the poison.”
“They sure did a number on him.” He shuddered dramatically. “You probably did him a favor by taking him out of his misery.”
“That certainly wasn’t my intent.”
“Yeah, I figured, you know, since you ripped his skull in half. Jesus, Grant.”
I walked past him and into my dressing room. I tugged on a pair of jeans and a soft, blue T-shirt from my collection. Reentering the office I said, “If you’d seen Amelia you would understand my rage.”
Elijah held my eye but gave me a quick nod of understanding. Sexual assault was not something we handled on a personal level often. Our kind mated for life. If we didn’t, consensual sex among vampires was common—another way of passing time. Once again, the reality of Amelia’s humanness crashed down on my shoulders.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did she end up down there alone? It’s not like you to leave a gap in security.”
I sat on the couch and looked at Elijah. He was tall and confident. His hair a little overgrown for today's style but I wasn’t really in the position to discuss hair. I often heard the women in the office discussing his looks and features. They found him attractive and mysterious. Much like how they viewed me up until recently when Amelia began to soften my image.
"When was the last time you asked a girl on a date Elijah?" I asked with sincerity.
"A date?" he repeated. "Well, if I recall correctly, and God knows if I am, when I was eighteen I asked this girl from my town to the Founder's Day picnic."
I sighed and sunk into the leather cushion against my back. "I haven't even thought of something like this since I was a teenager. Opening doors. Buying flowers, not to mention the possibility of rejection. It's terrifying."
“You just ripped a vampire’s skull into two pieces. I think you can handle a woman, Grant.”
“You’d think,” I muttered.
“I’m assuming this has something to do with what happened today,” he said. “I don’t know what you did but man up—and don’t let your dick make decisions for you. Not now. There’s too much at stake.”
“Everything feels out of control.”
“Yeah, that’s what love does to you.” He stood and walked to the door. “Miles wanted me to tell you that he set up a meeting with the Melungeon. You’ll need to come up to Asheville.”
“Does he want all of us at the meeting?”
“No, just the two of you, but we’ll be around for back up.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “After today, I think it’s pretty clear they’re willing to work with us.”
“I hope so. I don’t think we’ve got it in us to start a second war. Caleb’s enough of an enemy for now.” Olivia’s voice called from down the hall and he nodded in my direction.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Thanks again.”
“No problem,” he said. His mouth shifted into a grimace and he said, “Whatever was going on with you and Amelia earlier? Just let it go. She doesn’t need all your hang-ups right now. She just needs you.”
With those words of wisdom he walked down the hall to meet up with Olivia. Moments later Amelia and I were alone in the house. It was time for us to talk.
~*~
After searching the upstairs, I heard the faint sounds of talking from the entertainment room off the library. I followed the amplified voices and found Amelia curled up on my brown leather couch, her head resting against the cushion at the end. She faced the flat screen TV I'd had mounted behind a large painting that was now pushed aside. The room was dark, but I could still see Amelia's long blonde, wet hair splayed over the pillow and the white bandage stretched over her arm. Her eyes were glued to the screen, shifting back and forth with the blinking images.
I leaned against the doorway and watched her for a moment before asking, “Can I come in?”
Without moving she said, "If you promise not to be weird."
“What? Me weird?”
She rolled her eyes at my lame joke. “About the stuff from today—in the parking deck. I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. Everything is okay.”
I wanted to argue. It wasn’t okay, but she had the right to control this conversation. Handle this the way she wanted to. “Fine, I won’t get weird. Promise.”
“Then come on,” she said, shifting her gaze back to the TV. I would be crushed at her behavior, the aloofness of seeing me, her apparent nonchalance, except for one thing. Her heart betrayed her, beating hard with anticipation and I could smell the shift in her scent, from its natural perfume to heady want.
Encouraged, I stepped into the room and sat on the couch next to her. Silently she straightened her legs and beckoned me to her with her index finger. With relief I crawled toward her, snaking my hands around her waist and settled my weight between her spread legs. Without a word she ran her fingers though my hair before pressing gently for me to rest my head on her stomach.
I inhaled her unique lemony scent and said, "I'm sorry about everything. I don’t even know how to express that adequately."
"You don’t have to.”
We sat in the flickering blue light of the television for a while and eventually I said, "Once, when I was 14 or so, I was fond of this girl on my block. I was too shy to talk to her and I was getting to the age where you didn't speak to girls in a friendly manner anymore, so I would follow her around the neighborhood hoping she would speak to me first."
"What was her name?" Amelia asked as she paused the television with the remote control.
"I have no idea," I mused, and considered the oddity of memory. "There was this event at our church, a social of sorts and it was common to ask a girl to go with you. It was all supervised, of course. I followed her around for weeks trying to muster the courage to ask her to go with me."
Amelia's fingers pushed the hair off my forehead. "Did you?"
"No, an older boy asked her first," I said, trying to remember their faces.
Amelia was quiet and the only sound in the room was the television across the room. "Other than me inviting you to the museum, I never even considered asking a girl, much less an independent, strong woman, on a date before."
"Grant, you are so entirely stunted sometimes," she said, her shoulders shaking slightly with laughter. I rolled over on my back so I was facing up, lying on my back between her legs. My head rested between the curve of her breasts and I fought the desire to nuzzle like a cat against her body.
"I’ve always attended social or charity events alone. I smiled and shook hands. I spoke when necessary. I wrote the requisite big check and had my photo taken for the newspaper and hoped no one noticed I looked exactly the same as last year." I let my hands wander up Amelia's arms, grazing over her collarbones and reaching up in her hair behind her neck. "But I didn't care. I never did, until this afternoon when you came in the room humiliated and heartbroken. Anything that is important to you is important to me. Remember that and always tell me what those things are."
"I will," she promised and her fingers left my hair. They stretched down my chest to my stomach, smoothing the cotton of my shirt.
I turned again, pulling myself up to meet her eyes. "Can I kiss you?" I asked.
She nodded, closing her eyes in anticipation. I twisted my body and pressed my lips to hers softly, not wanting to rush her after the trauma of the day. She obviously didn’t agree, pushing her tongue past my lips, seeking my own. She tasted better than she smelled and her hands, exploring my arms an
d chest, brought me to a quivering mess.
Breathing against my mouth, she asked, "You know what's important to me?"
I gave her a quick 'no' as I basked in her touch.
"This"―she placed kisses just above my neck―"part of your body. It makes me insane." I felt her tongue flick out and she sucked her way from my chin to my earlobe.
Her hands had moved to my pants and she tugged my shirt free, working her fingers and the fabric upward with fervor. Amelia's fingers prodded and her nails scraped down my chest. Her heart beat madly, filling my ears with its violent thudding and without thought my hands moved up her thighs, willing the fabric away. She pressed her hips against mine and threw her head back in pleasure. God, how quickly I could have her naked and beneath me.
How easily, I could taste the blood that ran through her veins.
A primal scream reared in my head and the line blurred as I blinked at the white flesh and bluish veins inches away. Conflict shuddered through my body, between the hardness in my pants and the hunger burning in my throat.
“No,” I hissed, struggling to reach my selfish, possessive side. Scrambling, I pulled away until I was across the couch from her, while Amelia, recognizing the danger, sat up quickly, tugging her shirt down. She struggled to catch her breath and I focused on the hard, raised nipples straining against the fabric. Another wave of want passed over me, more sexual desire than hunger.
"I'm sorry," I gasped.
She shook her head in forgiveness, but her voice shook when she spoke. "No, that was my fault. I pushed it. I pushed you too far."
We sat across from one another, Amelia taking slow breaths to calm down, while I made every effort to regain control over my desires.
Suddenly she grabbed the remote and turned back on the show she had been watching before. I followed her eyes to the screen and studied the perplexing images in front of me. “Have you seen this before?” she asked.
I shook my head and tried to focus on anything but her…her neck, her breasts, her heartbeat… "Why is that blonde girl beating up all those weird looking guys?" I asked.
Keeping her eyes trained ahead she said, "That's Buffy." As though that explained everything.
I sat for a moment absorbing the action on the screen before I tried again. "Who's Buffy?"
Amelia looked over at me this time, incredulous and said, "You're kidding right?" Before rolling her eyes and turning back to the television.
"I don't really watch much television," I said in my defense.
With a glint in her eye Amelia began telling me about the show. "The blonde is Buffy. She's the vampire slayer, you know the 'Chosen One'."
I shook my head slowly. "No, I'm not aware of any of this. A vampire slayer? That little girl?"
"Yes, her entire life is spent slaying vampires and demons. She kind of has superpowers. Extreme strength and senses."
"Interesting," I said, trying to keep my amusement at Hollywood's version of vampires controlled. "I'm assuming she uses a variety of the staples…holy water, crosses, and wooden stakes?"
"Yes. That's exactly what she does." She huffed a little, catching on to my tone. "Anyway, Buffy slays vampires, but, in an ironic twist of fate she falls in love with one."
"Oh, the irony,” I said wistfully. “Does he love her in return?"
"Of course. But their relationship is doomed from the beginning. It's all very tragic."
I quirked an eyebrow at her and tentatively slid my hand up her warm calf to reach her hand dangling over the top of her knee. Half serious, I asked, "Do you think we're doomed as well?"
She allowed my fingers to thread through hers and the minute we touched her heartbeat went from a sound in my ears to vibrating through her hand to my own. Her eyes were steady against mine and she said, "Honestly I don't know. It seems likely, don’t you think?"
"Yes it does." I agreed. "Does that bother you?"
Amelia pulled my hand to her lips and she kissed the top, parting her lips and pressing down on my skin with her tongue. The move caused a jolt of electricity to run through my body and a huge grin to spread across my face.
Laughing at my reaction Amelia scooted closer and said, "Not enough to give you up."
Chapter 24
Amelia
Grant surprised me the next morning by asking me to ditch my plans for the day and drive up to Asheville with him. I glanced at the schedule on my desk feeling confused by the spontaneity. Grant was many things, but spontaneous wasn’t one of them.
“You want me to come with you?” I asked.
“Just for the day. I’ve got the meeting with Miles and I thought maybe you’d like to see the house.”
I eyed him carefully.
“What?” he asked.
“I mean, you’ve made it pretty clear going to Asheville and visiting your family as a whole is something you hate to do.”
“I don’t hate going to see them.” I gave him a hard look. “Okay, there have been times when I’ve loathed going to see them. Things are different now.”
“Different how?”
“I’ve had to work a lot closer with Elijah and the twins about this vampire situation. More so than I have in many years. Normally I worked alone and found any interference from them as an intrusion. Caleb has required me to seek help. I’m thankful they’ve been available.”
“Okay,” I said. “I guess that makes sense.”
“There’s one other difference,” he said, lifting my chin.
“Oh yeah?”
“I’ve never had an Amelia Chase to show off before.”
“Oh god, is this going to be super awkward?” I asked, feeling the heat rush up my cheeks.
“Only as weird as inviting a human into a coven of vampires.” He laughed.
“Only that.”
Meeting the family. Officially. It was a big step in any couple's life, but even more-so for Grant, who had never brought a girl, at least a human one, home before. I was nervous, which Grant could sense, so during the drive up he would reach out and touch my hand or arm or leg or hair in an attempt to soothe my anxiety. These little touches only made me want to crawl over the middle console and straddle his lap so I could kiss him. These thoughts made me blush, which would cause Grant to glance at the flushed skin on my neck in a way that made me feel like I was the vampire equivalent of a piece of gooey chocolate cake.
It was a vicious cycle.
I sighed and picked up the iPod, scrolling down the endless lists of music. Grant's eyes were on me, tensing as I manhandled his player. I was testing him by touching his stuff, but so far he behaved and wasn't about to crawl out of his obsessive-compulsive skin because I may possibly leave finger smudges on the screen. I shot him a quick smile as I made my selection and pressed play.
He raised his perfectly arched right eyebrow, and I just sat back with my eyes closed. I loved messing with him, he was such an easy target.
"So, are you sure you're okay with me leaving you with Olivia while I go to my meeting?" Grant asked.
"Why not? I've spent time alone with Olivia before. She's going to loan me a dress for the charity event." I added, opening one eye to glare. "Since I didn't have time to look for one myself."
He sighed and furrowed his brow. "I’m sure we can have something shipped—anything you want."
"Don’t be ridiculous."
“You’ve seen my closet.” An amused grin crept over his face. "Don't say you weren’t warned."
"Warning heard," I said, playing with his fingers. "Tell me about the meeting."
"We’re meeting with the Shifters to try coming up with a plan on how to deal with Caleb."
"I never asked, how did you know that cat was a Shifter?"
“We can communicate telepathically.” He shrugged like this was normal. It wasn’t and apparently the look on my face expressed that. “Part of becoming a vampire is lowering to a base animal instinct. The need to stalk, hunt, or kill. The desire for blood. On some level it’s just one animal tal
king to another.”
“Can you use telepathy when the Shifters are human?”
He shook his head. “No. Only when they’re in animal form.”
“Okay so how does this work? Do they get to pick the animal they want to turn into? How come Laurel wasn’t a shifter?”
I noticed Grant's eyes tighten, and with a swipe through his hair he explained, "Typically the young men in the community are either born with this ability or not. It seems connected to puberty, the first phases showing as they mature. Increased speed, eyesight, and hearing—whatever correlated with their affinity toward a specific animal.”
“What kind of animals do they change into?”
“Mammals and birds, obviously. Even lizards or rats. Any native animal to this territory is possible. Coyotes and bobcats are some the more powerful animals. Bears, too.” He glanced at me. “Not that it matters much, you’ve seen how effective a smaller animal can be.”
The trees passed by in a blur and he continued, “The original ability to shape-shift came from the combination of backgrounds. The Cherokee have strong ties to the earth; add in a little African magic and European sorcery, creating the perfect storm. At first it was a way to hide themselves from warriors or soldiers looking to bring down their community. Kind of like a built-in camouflage. It’s an incredible protective feature. Over the years they’ve evolved, becoming as much predator and animal. Truly a situation of survival of the fittest. Whatever animal they shifted to have sharper claws, pointier teeth, and are fast and sleek. Some are enlarged as well.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.”
“Then my coven settled here decades ago and found ourselves in a difficult situation. We’d spent years avoiding humans and killing only animals. We thought the remoteness of Black Mountain, which was very remote at the time, would keep us in plentiful food and safe from humans. Instead we found humans that shifted into animals. Things got complicated fast.”
“How?”
“Almost,” he said with a tense look. “Miles got in a fierce fight with a black bear. He managed to overpower the bear after inflicting a life threatening wound. Just as he was about to make the killing blow, the bear, weak and dying, shifted to human form.”
