Beauty is the Beast: Beasts Among Us - Book 1

by Jennifer Zamboni

  “You can have a good blanket. I’m not worried about it getting shredded. I’ll make sure the food silo is full morning of, and I’ll also get some wet food in to you at some point,” said Percy, eying my handiwork with an approving nod.

  “I can’t believe you feed me that stuff. Wouldn’t canned tuna be better? Or a steak?”

  “You’ve never complained. In fact, you wolf it down in a matter of seconds.”

  “Ha ha.” I stood from my crouched position beside the doggy bed. “I think we’re good. The shavings are all fresh. The automatic waterer is working?”

  “It is. All right, let’s get back to work then.” She dusted off her hands and headed out.

  Back in the garden, I finished turning the soil. The smell of the compost was harsh even to my human nostrils, but I didn’t complain. I’d be enjoying the fruits of our labor in the not-so-distant future. It felt good to really work, to feel how a pitchfork should feel in my hands if I were normal. It didn’t take long to finish up. We were inside and showered by the time Lacey was closing up for lunch.

  “Nice of you to join me. The phone has been ringing like crazy. There were some callers interested in interviewing for the stylist position. I wrote down the numbers on the sticky note by the phone.” Lacey breezed into the kitchen, carefully avoiding the light streaming through the windows.

  Percy pulled the blinds.

  “Thanks.” Lacey dug in the fridge and came up with a blood bag. She’d have to start storing them in her room, if the new girls wanted to keep their lunches cold.

  That gave me an idea.

  “We should get a mini fridge for the storage room so the new girls won’t be wandering around the house.”

  “That’s a great idea! I’ve got my little fridge upstairs, but it’s nice to keep stocked up.

  “Yeah, don’t want anyone finding those blood cubes in the freezer,” I said before tossing back a chunk of deli turkey.

  “I don’t think anyone would know what they were. They’re not exactly labeled.” Lacey said, tearing open the packet with her teeth and pouring it into her Princess mug before sticking it in the microwave for a few seconds for perfect body temperature.

  Ewwy. “Probably, but you know how stupidly curious people are.”

  “I know how bothersome you are,” said Lacey, poking me in the arm with her mug, just barely avoiding splashing me with the contents.

  “I love you too.” I threw a piece of meat at her.

  She threw it back. “Who wouldn’t? You, however, need some work.”

  “What, I’m breathing, aren’t I?” I checked the pulse on my neck with two fingers. “Yep, still alive. Isn’t that your criteria?”

  “You forgot male. Which you are definitely not.” She pointed at my chest with a circular motion.

  “You have a point. You love me anyways,” I said with a shrug of acquiescence and chewed the turkey she’d thrown back at me.

  “Of course she does. I love you too. How’s your turkey?” Percy asked, taking a big bite of her salad.

  “A little boring.” I held up the packet at nose level and wrinkled my nose.

  “You could have bread and condiments with it. There’s plenty of lettuce,” she offered.

  “Do I look like a rabbit to you?” I curled my lip in mock disgust. “I eat rabbits. Yummy.”

  “You’re horrible.” She placed a hand to her neck, clutching at her non-existent pearls.

  “Thank you. I better get ready for work. See you ladies in a bit!”

  “Yep. Oh, do you wanna watch a movie with me tonight?” Lacey gulped down the rest of her lunch.

  “Nope, I’m practicing with my boys.”

  “Mm, your boys.” Lacey licked her lips.

  “Are off limits.” I was protective of my boys, especially from the likes of Lacey-Marie. She’s my best friend, but she’s definitely not the type of woman my boys should be dating. They all deserve someone with a beating heart.

  “I don’t know why,” the person in question grumbled, crossing her arms with a dramatic flair.

  “I like them alive. And besides, they’d be less likely to hang out with me if you broke their hearts.” I left the conversation at that.

  I was really looking forward to band practice. It was my chance to be truly human. I love my job and my girlfriends, but it’s really nice to be normal, or at least sort of normal, every once in a while.

  It was a good afternoon, with no screaming kids, which is always a plus, let me tell you. Screamers give you headaches. Screamers make you chop up your knuckles. Screamers make you want to cuss out them and their parents. Of course, you can’t because the client is always right, even when that client is three.

  My adults behaved themselves as well, which was an added bonus. When closing rolled around, I shot up the stairs, leaving Percy to finish close out.

  Now, what to wear? It would probably be hotter than the hinges of hell at Austin’s house. We almost always practice at his place for two very good reasons: He is the drummer, so it’s easier for us to drag our gear to his house than it is for him to pack up his drums and haul them somewhere else. The second reason being: He actually owns a house.

  The other two guys rent apartments, and I, of course, live at Percy’s. I rarely invited them over. Too many questions to be raised. I even did their haircuts at Austin’s house most of the time.

  Given the hot factor, I went for another dark-colored tank, tight jeans, and my buckle-infested biker boots. To keep it off my neck, my hair went up into a messy bun. When we performed, I punked it out, but for practices, practical was key. I threw on a black sweatshirt for good measure, then packed up my things.

  My laptop, music, and tuner went into a backpack. Then I checked and rechecked the clasps on Lola’s case before adding her to my stack. My big amp stayed at Austin’s house; I used a little one at home since I was only playing for myself, not highly distorted guitars and testosterone-crazed men.

  It was too bad I had so much to carry. It would have been a good night to take out my motorcycle. My pack was safer on the front seat of my beat-up black Ford F150 anyhow.

  Austin lived in Bangor, which wasn’t too far of a drive, thank goodness—less road for me to get caught speeding on. I happen to like driving. I like to drive fast. If I could find trails to off-road it to his house, I would. I hand cranked both windows down and let the cool air burst in around me. WTOS roared out of my stereo as I drove. My preferred station usually played good driving music, definitely not family-friendly, so we don’t play it in the salon, but good for driving and kickboxing. It also covered up my roars as I change once a month, or whenever I felt like letting my beast out.

  I parked on the road and lugged my things in through the front door without knocking. It was band night, no need for niceties.

  I was the first one there, besides Austin of course. He was really into his warm-up, his eyes closed and his sticks blurs. He had no idea anyone else was there.

  I held on to a bit of satisfaction as he jumped, sending one of his drumsticks flying.

  “Not cool, Gretch. You shouldn’t sneak up on people.” He retrieved his wayward stick and resumed his seat.

  “I didn’t sneak. I even slammed the front door. You’re just oblivious.” I set my things on my amp.

  Austin’s living room doesn’t have any actual living room furniture. All that is downstairs in his rec/ TV room, where we sometimes hang out after practice.

  Flicking the latches of my case open, I retrieved Lola and plugged my tuner into her.

  “How was work?” Austin asked, rubbing his hand over his short, dark buzz cut.

  “Great. I only worked half a day since I helped Percy with her gardens this morning.”

  “Cool.”

  “How about with you?”

  “Fine. I kept busy.” Austin never talked about work, unlike me, who whined on a regular basis.

  I finished tuning, plugged into my amp, and set Lola on top of the pile.

 
; It took me a minute or two, but I managed to untangle all my cords, including my nifty foot pedals that change my sound with the touch of a toe. I could add distortion or make myself sound like a flute. There were hundreds of options, making the pedal one of my favorite toys.

  I worked on some finger limbering exercises at a low volume, and by the time I was finished, the rest of the guys were present and completing their own warm-ups. I did my best to stay quiet while they tuned. Tuning makes them cranky, for some reason.

  As soon as I finished, I cranked up the volume and tapped out a sequence on my pedal. I set my bow to my string and became an orchestra.

  “Knock it off, Gretch!” Mark shouted over my din.

  “Aw, you’re no fun!” I shouted back as I continued to play a bit longer, then tapped my magic stomp box and became a slightly distorted violin.

  “That’s better!” He plugged in his mic and fiddled with the knobs and slides on the soundboard.

  My sound came out of the monitors, and I was soon joined by bass and guitar with little pauses in between as Mark adjusted to his heart's content. He was a bit of a perfectionist when it came to sound, which is fine because he was good at it. Luckily for us, he could also sing and play guitar.

  “Great, let’s get started. We’ve only got a couple of gigs this month, so let’s make them count. Any ideas for the sets?”

  “Nope!” I called out, not caring what we played.

  Scott made a few requests, and Mark wrote them down, tweaking and adding to the lists he already had.

  “All right, guys, I’ve got a tentative set here. All stuff we know and love.” He handed us each a copy.

  He’s so very organized.

  “Gretchen, have I told you what a beautiful woman you are?” Scott called out.

  “At least once every time you see me.” The compliments would get him nowhere. I knew better than to date humans. It never ended well. Besides, despite it only having been a couple of dates, he had been going out with Penny.

  “Oh, chilly,” he laughed.

  “Quit flirting and practice, lady and gentlemen. One! Two! Three!” Mark counted us into the first song. Mark had written the intro to the rock ballad as a waltz, and it worked surprisingly well.

  I love music. Absolutely love it. We all got lost in the rhythm of practicing, stopping each other periodically to work over rough patches. All in all, we had those songs down pat. We ended the practice with a jam session, all facing in toward each other, making it easier to improvise and follow along as we watched each others’ fingers, tapping feet, and nodding heads.

  I got a little carried away, then brought myself back down to someone who didn’t have a hundred years worth of practice. I hadn’t thought anyone noticed.

  As I was packing up, Mark wandered over.

  “That was killer. Do you think you can work that in somewhere?”

  Crap, someone did notice. “I don’t know if I can do that again,” I confessed untruthfully.

  “I bet you can. Come on, Gretchen. You’re really good. I don’t know why you dumb down your playing like you do.”

  Because I can’t afford to be noticed. “It was a fluke, but I’ll do the best I can.”

  “Are you going out with us tonight?” Scott asked, hugging me from the side, his shaggy hair tickling my cheek.

  “Yeah, sure. Now get off me.” I shoved him away. His flirting might seem harmless, but I’d smelled his interest before. Drinks could make that worse, but we could still have some fun.

  “Great. Leave your stuff here. You can ride with me.”

  “Only if you let me drive back.”

  “Sure, but only if you can get the keys out of my pocket.”

  He was teasing. He’d better have been teasing. I rolled my eyes and chose not to respond.

  “I’ll see you guys over there. Don’t forget to lock up,” Austin called on his way out the door.

  We finished packing up, and I followed Scott out to his gorgeous Mustang.

  “Can I drive there?” I batted my eyelashes at him.

  “No.”

  “Please?” I snaked my bare arm around his waist.

  “Okay.”

  “Yay!” I took the keys from his hand, ran around to the driver’s side, and slid onto the leather seat. I breathed deep of man and leather. There isn’t a better combination.

  I turned the key in the ignition, and she roared to life. Ah, bliss.

  Scott slid into the passenger seat, and we tore out of the driveway. I had some fun hugging the corners and gunning it down hills until we got into town, where I behaved myself. It was a short drive, about seven minutes total. I pulled into the parking lot and turned her off, waiting until Scott got out before locking the doors and shoving the keys in my pocket.

  Scott slung his arm around my shoulders, and we walked in. Then I shrugged away from him to grab a chair.

  I ordered a rum and coke. The boys all got beers.

  “We got a new girl,” I announced.

  “Yeah? Is she hot?” asked Mark.

  “Is she single?” asked Scott.

  “Yes-ish, and no, she’s married with two kids. Sorry, guys. She’s been a lot of fun to work with. You should have seen the other girl we interviewed. She was nice at first, then Toni walked in—”

  “Toni?” asked Scott.

  “The new girl,” I clarified.

  “Good name,” Mark commented.

  “Yeah. I’ll try to drag her out sometime. Anyway, the other girl tried to start stuff, and Toni just ignored it.”

  “That’s good. She’s gonna have a lot to put up with, with you girls.”

  “Gee, thanks, Austin.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Anything new with you guys?” I asked.

  “Nope,” said Mark.

  “Nada,” said Austin

  “Not a thing. Come dance with me.” Scott grabbed at my hand.

  “Help?” I pleaded to the others.

  Mark and Austin shook their heads and raised their hands.

  Troublemakers. I think they’d have liked it if Scott and I got together. Of course, there’s the fact he’s a lot younger than me, and the fact that I turned into wolf while, um, amorous.

  I let him drag me to the dance floor and danced until a slow song came on, when I attempted to beat a hasty exit.

  “Relax, Gretch. I’m not going to bite,” he muttered at me.

  “Yeah, but I might.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  You should be, I thought.

  I danced with him until the song was over. Then I extracted myself from his arms. “I want another drink.”

  It was as good an excuse as any.

  “Yeah, me too.” He followed me off the dance floor.

  I ordered myself a draft beer. It was more than I usually drank when I was out with them, but I had the next day off. I wasn’t going to get drunk, and I was going hunting with the wolves the next night.

  “Shots on me!” I called out to my group.

  I got a few extra moochers, but I didn’t really care. I had a pocket full of tips.

  When we finally got out to the car, Scott was starting to slur.

  “You’re gonna stay on Austin’s couch. How much did you drink?” I asked.

  “Dunno, a few.”

  “A few too many.”

  “How come you’re not drunk?”

  “I pace myself. Come on, get in.” I also hadn’t taken any of the shots I’d bought.

  “Yeah.” He flopped into his seat, and I closed the door behind him.

  The drive back to Austin’s house was a quiet one. I drove nice, knowing the cops would be out looking for troublemakers. I walked Scott into the house and let him make it down to the basement on his own. I packed my stuff, and turning to leave, walked smack into Scott.

  “Gretchen?”

  “What, Scott.”

  “Go out with me sometime?” he asked.

  “No. Go to bed.”

  “
Why?”

  “Because I can’t.”

  “I’ll ask again.”

  I sighed and walked him back to the top of the stairs. “I know.”

  “Night.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek.

  I watched to make sure he made it down the stairs all right. Mark was watching me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing.” He got his stuff and walked outside with me.

  “See ya later?” I climbed in my truck.

  “Yup. Night, Gretch.”

  “Night.”

  I sat in my truck for a few minutes, listening to the distant sound of spring peepers. The quiet calm was nice. Being alone wasn’t so bad. Scott would never be an option, no matter how much he tried to be.

  The vaguest hint of sunshine woke me, and I rolled to grab my phone from the nightstand. 5:01 a.m. glowed brightly back at me. I groaned and threw an arm over my eyes. I’d slept like crap. With several deep breaths, I tried to will myself back to sleep, squeezing my eyes shut and burrowing my face into my pillow. Just as I felt my body relax, my eyes popped open. If only my brain would just shut off. If I were one to journal, getting my thoughts out would help. But I’m not. Been there, tried that.

  Releasing a sigh of exasperation, I threw the blankets off and heaved myself out of bed. I wasn’t going to sleep, so I decided to do something semi-productive. I snuck down the stairs, keeping close to the railing where it was less likely to squeak and creak, and padded barefoot around the salon as I debated washing the floors.

  Later, I thought.

  In the kitchen, I rummaged in the fridge for milk, mourning the fact that I couldn’t have hot chocolate. I loved chocolate, but with the whole doggy thing, it’s a definite no-no. I allowed myself a piece of really dark chocolate perhaps once a month while the moon was still in the sky. I haven’t gotten sick yet.

  The chocolate syrup was sitting next to the milk, tempting me with its sweet goodness.

  No, no chocolate.

  My willpower failed, and I measured out a teaspoon of the goopy stuff into my glass. It wouldn’t be strong chocolate milk but it was better than none.