Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1) (12 page)

Chapter 22

Grant

Later, I stood in the shadows listening to the sounds of the night as a slight breeze whispered across my face. I touched the key in my pocket, rubbing the grooves over and over, memorizing the pattern.

It was late. The apartment was quiet except for the sounds of sleep. Drew had come home an hour earlier and fallen into bed without checking on Amelia. His breathing and heart rate were steady and even. Clearly, he was unaware of the horrors his roommate had suffered that night.

I’d returned out of some instinctive need to see her. If I had to explain why I wouldn’t have the words to do so. Her home was locked and safe. I'd delivered her there myself, yet I felt the compulsion to see her. I slipped the stolen key into the lock and silently twisted the knob until I felt the click of the chambers as they released.

I moved inside, shut the door, and quietly replaced the key on Amelia's key ring by the door.  I entered the living room and inhaled deeply. The result was a burning desire, harsh and painful, but it signaled the one thing I wanted.

Amelia.

I wanted her alive much more than I wanted her dead.  That wasn’t to say her scent didn’t ignite my hunger. It did. The difference was that I could resist it. I wouldn’t harm Amelia. Now I wanted to immerse myself in her. Protect her.

I crossed the living room until I stood outside her door. Entering quietly, a thin sliver of light traveled across her face. She slept in her bed, curled on her side, wrapped in a mass of sheets. Her blonde hair was tangled and snarled, splayed across the pillow. My eyes traveled the lines of her body, assessing how her hands were clenched under her chin, balled into tiny fists. Her bruised wrist pulsed with heat in the dark.

I picked up the blouse she had worn that evening and pushed it to my nose, burying myself in her exquisite aroma. Dizzy with lust, I found another shirt on her dresser and inhaled. Intoxicating.

Amelia shifted in the bed, rolling to the opposite side, moaning. I dropped the shirt and froze.

I watched her lips and waited, the pink tint visible to my sensitive eyes in the dark. I held my breath, unnecessarily straining to hear that sound escape her lips again. It only took a moment before another low whimper left her mouth.

I was instantly flooded with desire. Unexpected desire, strong and all-encompassing. The reaction traveled down my body signaling, with no room for doubt, the true nature of my cravings. Horrified and shamed, I forced myself to retreat though the apartment. It was one thing to prey on sustenance, it was another to spy on a woman and yearn for her body. Aware of the difference, I left Amelia, the object of my ultimate desire, to her unsettling dreams and prayed we would cross paths again.

~*~

The last time I called a family meeting, I moved out of the house.

Now I required the coven’s help.

In both situations they came willingly, each person taking their particular seat, until the large table was full. Together we formed a formidable group. Five men, two women and centuries of experience.

“Thank you for coming together on such late notice,” I said, greeting each member of my family. Miles sat at the end of the table, flanked by Ryan and Sebastian. Brothers, twins actually, that came to live with us in the mid-1930s at the age of sixteen. Italian by decent, the boys had matching dark curly hair.  Ryan was strong, built like a giant and immensely powerful. Sebastian was smaller in physique, but had an identical face—other than the massive scarred gash that ran from the space between his eyes, down the left side of his cheek, all the way to his jaw.  Similar, grotesque scars marked his chest and lower body as well.

Elijah sat at the opposite end of the table from Miles, laptop open, and Olivia sat by his side, making no effort to hide the concerned frown on her face. Genevieve settled directly across the table from me, placing her glass on the table. To the casual observer the liquid looked like red wine. Of course, it was blood. Human blood. She’d agreed to stop killing humans when she joined our coven but animal blood was out of the question. 

“Genevieve,” I said, in greeting. “How are things with the Council?”

Genevieve and Miles met at the Council two hundred years ago. They both maintained positions of authority although she took a brief sabbatical to work as my assistant over the last two years. I hadn’t been happy about her taking the position as we’d had friction in the past, but Miles insisted. After hearing her forewarnings to Ms. Chase about my behavior, I suspected she was more than happy to return to her original job.

“Just catching up on what I’ve missed over the last couple of years.”

I nodded. “I’m sure that won’t take long.”

Although Miles was the “oldest” in the coven and brought us all together, in our home we collaborated as equals. His long-standing position with the Council made it easier for us to operate as an approved coven. He sat at the end of the table, bald head reflecting the dimmed overhead lights.

“Grant would like to talk to us about the murders taking place near Asheville,” he said. “Things have escalated.”

“As Olivia may have informed you, last night the Predator, who I learned is named Caleb, sent one of his companions to kidnap my assistant while she was out socializing with friends.”

Sebastian and Ryan glanced at one another—obviously they had not been informed.

“In a public location?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes.”

A small crease appeared on Ryan’s forehead. “Did you intervene?”

“With Olivia’s help, I managed to get there in time. Other than a few superficial injuries Ms. Chase seems fine,” I said. “The assailant, Sasha, made a variety of threats but it was clear killing Ms. Chase was not the intention.”

“Then why kidnap her?” Genevieve asked. “Did he want to use her as a hostage?”

“No, not exactly,” I replied.

“He wanted to change her,” Olivia interjected.

“As a companion?” Sebastian asked.

“Unlikely,” Miles said. “From this, and other information Grant has gathered, it seems like he’s building his own coven.”

Elijah shook his head. “It’s not a coven as much a gang. Loosely formed based on one strong leader and a couple of lieutenants. I’ve also developed another theory; that the majority of the gang is made up of fledglings.”

“Fledglings?” Sebastian asked. His eyebrows furrowed together. With the scar he looked downright terrifying. “Why would you want to wrangle a bunch of feral vampires?”

“They’re expendable,” Elijah said. “And scary as hell. They’re hard to fight off even for an experienced fighter like one of us. Difficult to manage, but if trained appropriately they can ultimately be an effective weapon.”

“You think Caleb wanted Ms. Chase as one of his fledglings?” Miles asked.

“I have no idea what his true intentions are, but Sasha made it perfectly clear they would not be leaving the area any time soon and were looking forward to an altercation of some kind. She also made it clear that Ms. Chase is under continued threat.”

“Why didn’t you end her right then, Grant?” Ryan asked, fist clenched.

“I wanted a warning to go back to Caleb. I’ve given him one opportunity to leave this territory, if he doesn’t take it then I have to go forward with a full assault. I felt like this would go over better with the Council if they became involved.” Miles nodded in approval.

“And that’s what you wanted to meet with us about?” Genevieve asked, always the bureaucrat.  I can see why some would consider us a good match. Neither of us had much time for lengthy discussion.

“I need to know if everyone is willing and prepared to help me with this battle.” The group nodded and murmured their support. I sighed and added, “I also need to know you will help me protect Ms. Chase at all costs.”

“The girl,” Sebastian asked, as though he’d missed something.

“Yes,” I said, refusing to make eye contact with Elijah. “Although she no longer works for me, I feel responsible for her involvement. Sasha made it undeniably clear their interest in her is because of me.”

“You fired her?” Genevieve asked, leaning forward. “Grant, she was perfect!”

“Not exactly.”

“She quit,” Olivia chimed in.

“Olivia,” I warned.

“What did you do?” Ryan asked. Miles simply looked intrigued. Sebastian shook his head like he knew it was inevitable. Was it not? Were my behaviors truly that predictable?

“It wasn’t a good match,” I lied. “And that’s not the point. Are you willing to help me protect her? I have requested she come back to the Foundation—just to be safe, but it’s doubtful she will accept my offer.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes and asked, again, “Seriously, what did you do?”

“Grant, we will assist you in any way you need. Protecting humans has always been a priority. That isn’t going to change now,” Miles declared. “I have to ask, did she recognize Sasha as a vampire?”

“No. She was too scared and confused.”

“Did you compel her memory? Wipe it, per protocol?” he pressed.

I looked down at my hands. “She is difficult to influence.”

“No way,” Sebastian said, glancing at his brother.

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Olivia whispered so low only I heard.

“I had no idea,” Genevieve said, holding back a snort of laughter. “No wonder she wasn’t a good fit, you can’t pull her strings like a puppet.”

“Genevieve,” Miles said, before returning to me. “Please notify me if she becomes aware of our nature. If she’s truly immune to your gifts then we’ll need to be prepared to take alternate measures. Be careful, Grant. Keep your distance from the girl. The situation with Caleb is already too public. We do not need any other issues.”

“Not a problem.”

Elijah coughed at the end of the table. This wouldn’t be an issue except, typically, vampires do not cough. It was time to wrap it up before more of my inadequacies were revealed. “Thank you for your support. I know together we can stop this bastard.” I looked around the room at the family I knew so well. “Anyone want to go for a hunt? I’ve got a little pent-up energy I’d like to release.”

“Hell yes!” Sebastian cried, glancing at Ryan. The boys leapt up and ran to grab their gear.

“I’m in,” Elijah said.

“Miles?” I asked. It really had been too long.

He smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 23

Amelia

"You look terrible," Drew informed me as I felt the bed give under his weight.

I had my head back on the pillow and my eyes closed tight. Groaning, I pulled the blanket over my face and snuggled into the bed further. Maybe, I rationalized, if I stayed in bed it could all be a nightmare. Drew picked up my hand. I could feel his fingertips gently touch the swelling on my wrist. It definitely wasn't a nightmare.

"What happened?" he asked. "Holy shit, Mel, are you okay?"

I pulled the blanket off my face and looking into his worried eyes I felt my own start to burn. I sat up, leaning back into the headboard. I wiped my eyes and nose with the hem of my shirt. "I'm okay. Really I am. I don't really know what happened. It was all so strange."

Drew and I sat on the bed for over an hour as I told him about my encounter the night before. His eyes were big as saucers the entire time and I got to the point where I convinced myself that I must be exaggerating.

"Do you think she was high?" Drew asked. “Maybe she was off her meds.”

"That’s what I thought, too! But I don't know. I mean, who says that kind of stuff?” I kicked off the blanket to reveal my scraped knee. “I fell when she was chasing me, and then I have these." I pulled the neck of my shirt to show the finger shaped bruises and small scrapes from Sasha's nails.

“Woah. Do you want to go to the doctor? Those look pretty nasty.”

“No. I’d rather just forget it ever happened.” I went on to explain the part where Grant Palmer showed up and saved the day.

“I saw him last night,” he said. “He was looking for you.”

"Well, he found me, although I’ll never understand how. One minute I was at the mercy of a deranged woman and the next, my boss, well, my ex-boss, was saving me." I snorted at the irony.

We both sat quietly for a moment until Drew cleared his throat. "So he just swooped in like some kind of Superman and saved you. Don’t tell Thomas you have your very own superhero, he’d nerdgasm all over the place."

I grunted. "Yeah, if Superman had OCD and was a pain in my ass."

We looked at each other for a moment and burst into laughter, collapsing back on the bed. Drew sat up, shoulders heaving, and said, "I wonder if Superman had separate tiny drawers like how Mr. Palmer separates his socks."

I had described to Drew how Mr. Palmer had a whole dresser full of socks. There were athletic socks, and dress socks. Thick wool socks for hiking or backpacking. Colorful stripes, argyles and plaids. Each style had its own tiny sock-sized drawer in his dressing room.

I rolled my eyes and said between giggles, "Drew, Superman wears tights, not socks. I guess Clark Kent wears socks though to the Daily Planet. I'm not sure, but I suspect Clark Kent is a little OCD. He seems kind of uptight."

Drew nodded, "I don't know if Superman is a good fit, though. I'm thinking he is a little more like The Boy Wonder. You should have seen his face when I yelled at him last night!"

I sat up straight. "Drew, you didn't."

He smiled smugly. "I did and I don't care. He had it coming. Of course I had to force myself to look away from his gorgeous eyes. You're right. He is better looking in person." His eyes glazed over for a moment. I couldn't blame him. He had the exact same effect on me. "He apologized, right? And offered you your job back? Are you going to take it?"

I shoved the pillow under my chin, using it to prop my body up while I sat cross-legged and thought about his barrage of questions. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go back and work for Mr. Palmer. He was such a pig before, but at the same time there were some nice moments where I felt like I saw the kind person who came to my rescue last night. He had promised to behave better and didn't I owe him the opportunity to prove it?

I glanced sideways to the Rolling Stones T-shirt hanging over the edge of my hamper. It probably wouldn't hurt my reputation to go back and prove myself as well. Part of me felt a sense of gratitude for last night. How do you turn away from the man who saved you from a psychopath? I wasn't sure I could. And even though I was putting on a brave face for Drew, I was scared of Sasha and her threats, and Mr. Palmer made me feel safe.

I sighed and said, "I have to think about it, but I may. I feel the need to do this the right way. If I have to leave again it will be on better terms."

He nodded and stood. "Let's go get some lunch. I need a major dose of carbs after all those drinks last night. Plus, I have to tell you all about my night with Jess and then tell you about the silly girl Thomas left with!”

“He left with another girl?” I couldn’t decide if I was offended or not.

“To be fair, you left with another guy.”

I got off the bed and straightened up the blankets and pillows. I put my dirty laundry away, shoving it on top of the ruined shirt, and began gathering my things for the shower. I heard a tap on my door and Drew cracked it open with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You know, I couldn't help but think about what The Boy Wonder would look like in a cape?" he asked.

I grinned mischievously. "I already have. And he's hot."

I turned back to my dresser and began rummaging through my clothes, looking for something to wear that would cover all my wounds. The injuries were a horrible reminder that Sasha was still on the loose, and I shuddered at the thought of her finding me. I really was lucky Mr. Palmer had found me in time. The alternative was too disturbing to think about. Superman or Boy Wonder, I wasn't sure, but last night, in the dark alley, he was definitely my guardian angel.

~*~

I walked up the steps, standing under the protective covering near the office door, nervously deciding if I should do this. ’This’ involved me going back to work, sucking up my pride, ignoring my instincts to turn around and walk away forever. I’d left my key with my resignation letter when I walked out on Friday so someone had to let me in. I pressed my finger to the buzzer and shockingly, Grant Palmer opened the door. I figured he would’ve found that robot already.

He stood in the doorway, hair in disarray, wearing a gray V-neck sweater and his standard crisp black pants. His violet eyes looked brighter than before and his complexion had a healthier hue. He had the appearance of a man who had a refreshing, well-rested weekend.

At least one of us had.

I knew I was staring, mouth agape, partially from the shock of seeing him in the doorway, partly from his overwhelming hotness. Gray was definitely his color. Okay, anything was his color but gray took things to another level. I tried to close my mouth and appear nonchalant, like my appearance today had been expected.

Mr. Palmer widened the door and gestured me inside. "Good morning, Ms. Chase. Please come in."

"Thank you," I responded, relieved that he was welcoming and hadn't changed his mind about asking me back to work.

I shrugged out of my raincoat and hung it on the rack in the foyer. Mr. Palmer disappeared around the corner so I walked back to my desk as though everything was normal, as though I hadn't walked out of here in his dirty, ruined shirt, leaving my resignation letter on the desk in a fit of self-justification.

The desk was clear, the letter gone, yet my key was sitting on top, next to the credit card and phone I'd left on Friday, along with a new list of daily instructions.

I felt rather than heard him standing in the doorway. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. He awkwardly leaned against the door frame, legs crossed at the ankle, hands shoved in his pockets. He appeared causal, informal, yet his posture was stiff and forced. Mr. Palmer looked like the type of person who dined at the Ritz but at the moment forced himself to stay at the Days Inn, like he was uncomfortable in his own skin. I got the feeling he would rather be anywhere else than right here.

I didn't blame him. The situation over the weekend was probably disturbing to him and possibly made him question my ability to make good judgments. What kind of girl gets herself into that kind of trouble? I prided myself on making good, strong decisions. He probably thought I was an idiot for wandering off with a strange person like Sasha anyway. The more I thought about it the more irritated with myself I became. For Christ’s sake, there was a serial-animal-attack-killer out there.

His eyes were still on me, waiting for me to turn and acknowledge him, but I pretended I didn't notice and sat at the desk, reviewing my duties for the day.

"Ms. Chase," he said quietly.

I turned slightly, acting surprised at his presence. "Oh, Mr. Palmer. Can I help you with something? I was about to tackle this list." When I faced him, he was standing in the exact same pose as before. He hadn't moved a muscle.

"Yes. Well, I noticed you parked on the street. And after Friday evening, I wondered if you would prefer to park in my garage."  Was that a hint of concern in his eyes? If I had to guess I would say that it was and I had no idea how to handle such a completely unexpected gesture. I thought for a moment of my dingy little car, mingling with the beautiful machines Mr. Palmer possessed. I wasn't comfortable with this idea at all.

I smiled appreciatively, "Thank you for the offer. It's really thoughtful, but that's okay. I don't think anyone will bother my car. It's a total hunk of junk."

His eyes clouded and he opened his mouth slightly. I waited expectantly for him to speak but the words appeared stuck in his throat.

Oh no. I'd offended him. He reached out to me and offered me something of his to make me more comfortable and I shot him down. I felt the heat rush up my face as I, once again, managed to screw things up with my boss.

I managed to keep the polite smile on my face the entire time and finally, he grunted, "It's not your car I'm worried about, Ms. Chase." He turned abruptly on his heel. Astonished, I listened to his feet rapidly ascend the stairs, and the sound of a door clicking sharply.

He was worried about me.

I was definitely surprised and admittedly more than a little flattered. I sat for a moment, considering what to do. He was right. It was safer for me to park in the garage, away from the busy street. Away from unstable, creepy-eyed women and their morbid fantasies.

I decided to take him up on his offer and move my car but I wasn't sure how to go about approaching Mr. Palmer in his home. In the past, he had always just appeared at some point. I had never sought him out.

I wasn't exactly sure of the protocol.
Do I simply go upstairs and knock? Should I call him on his cell phone? Do I leave him a note and run my errands and hope he notices it while I'm gone?
I groaned.  Why was I waffling over such a simple matter? Everything about this man was complicated. His work, his antiques, his closet, his socks, and now parking—or rather, communication. With a resigned sigh, I decided to take the bull by the horns and just go up there and knock on his door.

I tentatively climbed the steps and reasoned that he was already annoyed with me so it would make no difference anyway. This would either be the right thing to do or one more notch on my not-so-stellar career with Mr. Grant Palmer.

At the landing, I hesitated, deciding which door to use. The one from the wardrobe? Or the one from the hallway that entered his private rooms?

Again I chided myself for over-thinking such a minor detail. It was utterly ridiculous.

I clenched my fists and walked with determination through the dressing room and went directly to the door on the opposite side of the room. I lifted my hand up and rapped forcefully, hoping he would hear me.

I waited a moment, holding my breath and counting the seconds, pondering what to do if he didn't respond. Should I knock again or should I just turn around and leave? Ridiculous.

Fifteen…twenty…twenty-five…my face was undoubtedly turning red due to lack of oxygen. I was going to have to make a decision.

I raised my arm again, knuckles clenched to knock, but without warning the door swung open and I found myself face to face, or rather, face to chest with Mr. Palmer.

I dropped my hand to my side and peered up to see the expression on his face. He didn't seem too annoyed or angry so using my most convincing voice, I said, "That was very thoughtful to offer me a spot in your garage and you're right, it is safer." I gave him the smile I used on the barista when I want extra whipped cream. "Does the offer still stand?"

After a tense moment of scrutiny under his swirling violet eyes, he nodded and dipped his fingers into his pocket and extracted out a small black square.

"Let me show you how to work this." Again, faster than I could respond, he was gone, back down the stairs, leaving me to follow in his wake. I raced after him to keep up, but only managed to slam my arm against the bannister.  A sharp flash of pain traveled up my injured arm.

"Ugh," I muttered, and rubbed my wrist. It was still sore and tender from Friday night. I had worn a long-sleeved shirt hoping to hide it from view. I glanced up and Mr. Palmer stood in front of me. How did he get back up here so fast?

“Did something happen?” He looked at my fingers rubbing the red flesh with distaste, his jaw locked and stiff. In that moment, standing in the hallway, at the bottom of his steps, tired of his judgmental glances, and cold, gruff attitude, I snapped.