I started to trot and picked up my pace once Olivia caught up. Pushing a thick branch aside, I noted, “Caleb may not have won the war but he sure as hell left the Palmers a fucking mess.”
We stopped near the outskirts of Bozeman at a small diner. Judson had insisted on a public space. With heat. We agreed, but it had to take place at night.
“Over there,” I said, nodding to a booth next to the window. The bright light from the road sign cast a yellowish glow on Judson and Adam’s faces. Adam. I didn’t know he was coming and my body reacted on instinct.
“Settle,” Olivia said, placing her hand on my shoulder. I forced myself to calm down. To relax my shoulders and loosen my jaw. I wiggled my fingers out of the tight fists at my side.
“I’m fine.”
Adam stood before we reached the table. For once the smug, cocky expression was off his face and he said with sincerity, “I’m so sorry. I promised that I’d keep her safe. I failed. Miserably.”
His confession ripped a hole in my chest. Sure, I was angry at him. I wanted to blame him for not protecting Amelia at the house that day, but only because it was easier than admitting the truth to myself. Amelia’s death fell at my feet. “Caleb was a formidable opponent. He challenged all of us and left a massive wake of destruction.”
“Is she…”
“She’s safe. And dealing with her transition.”
“So she’s…” The hard edge came back in his tone. “She’s one of you now. A demon.”
“Yes, except… well, that’s why I asked you here.” Judson gestured to the seat across from him, and Olivia and I slid into the booth. “Amelia went through the conversion successfully. Her body transformed as expected, but something… peculiar happened.”
“What is that?” Judson asked.
“She has a heartbeat. It’s faint, but there,” I said.
“A heartbeat?” Adam asked. “Then she isn’t dead?”
“Oh, she’s dead,” I stated. “Trust me. I heard her neck snap. I saw the life drain from her eyes. I watched her body change—alter—into something different. Something stronger.”
“But she has a pulse?” Judson asked.
“Yes. Very faint. I’m not sure a human could hear it.”
“How?” Adam asked, looking between me and Olivia.
I tossed out the only theory I had. “She was wearing the necklace Laurel’s mother gave to me to give to Amelia.
“The blood stone,” Judson replied. “My wife gave this to you?”
“She did. And, Amelia was wearing it when she died. When I heard her heart beating after her neck was broken. I didn’t understand how at the time—I thought perhaps I’d made it up. I pushed the “how” aside and used the opportunity to save her. Tell me, what did that stone do? Why—how—does Amelia still have a heart beat even though she is clearly dead?” I asked in a low, demanding tone.
Judson ran his finger over the rim of the brown coffee cup in front of him. “The blood stone is an offering following the death of one of our own. Glass and blood are fused together and with the right hand, like my wife’s, a powerful amulet is created. Typically it’s the way to keep our loved ones close—to not completely lose them after death—after burial. But this? This is unexpected. For it to be given to a non-Melungeon, such a thing is unheard of. And for this result—to keep her heart beating… I can’t comprehend this outcome.”
“So this isn’t usual?”
“No,” he said, eyes fearful.
“No,” said Adam. “But those wearing the bloodstone aren’t usually bitten and transformed into vampires either.”
Silence fell over the table as we all let that sink in.
I glanced at Olivia, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation. “Did you know this would happen?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, not when I gave it to her. I’m not even sure she knew it would happen. But I did have a feeling it was important for her to have and wear.”
“I never gave her that necklace because I knew it was different—that it had some sort of mystical powers.” I exhaled, trying to control myself. I wasn’t angry, but I was definitely scared. “I could feel the magic coursing through it. I didn’t like not knowing what it could do, so I kept it away from her.”
“In the vault, right before you made your choice, I had a vision. I saw what it would do. That even though Amelia was willing to sacrifice herself, that final gift from Laurel would help keep part of her humanity intact.” She turned from me and faced the Shifters. “That blood stone, tied with Amelia’s death and transformation, allowed Laurel’s death to not be in vain.”
“Other than a heartbeat, what does it mean?” Adam asked.
I ran my hand through my hair and looked out the window of the diner into the snowy night. I thought about Amelia, at home and in pain. The way the pounding of her heart made getting used to her new senses nearly impossible. I also admitted, if only to myself, that the sound of blood pumping through her veins made me happy beyond all reason. It was selfish. I was selfish.
It also scared me because her blood was a lure. For me. For others.
“Grant?” Olivia asked, wanting to know, too. What did it mean?
I said the only thing I could. The truth. “I have no fucking clue.”
Chapter 15
Amelia
November 14
Dear Diary,
I just broke the twenty-second pencil out of a pack of twenty four. I hate pencils.
I hate journals.
I hate the fact I destroyed three Mac books, one laptop, and one PC before Grant decided the police would think we were an underground hacker group by the number of electronic devices we were bringing out here to the middle of nowhere.
I'm hungry and hate deer. Yes. I said it. I hate de-
"Damn," I muttered as pencil number twenty-three broke under my too-strong fingers.
I closed the soft, butter-yellow leather journal sitting on the desk before me with a huff. To the right was a pile of pencils, each snapped in half, points demolished, and I tossed the new one into the pile, causing the others to scatter messily to the floor.
I was alone. Well, as alone as Grant would leave me. I could hear him puttering around the other room, organizing the latest package we'd received from Olivia. I think he was almost giddy to arrange everything all over again in the new house. The day his beloved T-shirt collection arrived you would’ve thought it was a truckload of humans for dinner.
Twisting my neck slightly, I listened and could make out the gentle sound of fabric, followed by the sharp scraping of metal. More clothes I assumed, the metal being Grant hanging them in the closet, meticulously by color, type, and material.
I picked up the final pencil and gently gripped it in my fingers like a five year old being taught at school. Being a vampire was almost like learning everything all over again. Waking up graceful and poised was a myth.
Or maybe it was just me.
In the first month, I had almost destroyed the Palmers’ cabin piece by piece. Grant spent most of his day (the hours he was not cataloging his socks), repairing the destruction that I left in my wake. Every touch was too hard or too fast or just wrong. Hinges snapped from the wall, chairs carved deep gashes into the floor. Once I'd even miscalculated the distance from the bottom of the porch stairs to the top and my toe caught on the second step, causing it to rip loudly and fling across the yard.
Each time this happened, I would shout and get angry, frustration boiling under my skin as Grant watched me. At times he seemed amused, but there was something else—a concern. Was I not doing the fledgling thing right?
Days after my transformation, he brought me a deer and handed it to me like a gift. It smelled terrible, like nothing I'd ever want to eat and I begged him on the spot to find me some real food. We both knew what I meant but he ignored my pleading, pushing the small reddish-brown deer towards me, instructing me with the faintest glint of delight in his eye how to bite and d
rain the animal in front of me.
His pleasure in my discomfort incited an epic tantrum and I flew across the yard, uprooting as many trees as possible before he tackled me to the ground, pinning me under his weight. The words, "Go find me a fucking human," crossed my lips during the struggle, but my ever disciplined and patient boyfriend disregarded my words until I agreed to calm down.
Now, sitting at the desk, in front of the journal Miles gave me to document my life as he’d suggested to all of the fledglings in his care, I glared at the little mound of pencils on the table, and now, the floor. I knew Grant was right, I needed to gain control over my body and my senses. I didn't want to be like the fledglings leering over Caleb's shoulder at the bank. I wanted to be like Olivia or Genevieve or the other Palmers. Strong and controlled. As much as I hated it, the journal was the first step to getting there.
I heard his footsteps before he reached the door, and I leapt to my feet—the chair flipping over backwards. Grant picked it up before the thought ever crossed my mind. He was still faster than I was, even with my fledgling abilities. He doted on me more than I ever could have imagined, even when I didn't want him to.
"Are you ready? It's almost dusk," he asked, repositioning the chair after giving it a once over to make sure I hadn't broken it. He looked down at the pencils and the journal, bending on his knee to collect and deposit it in the trash.
The obsessive compulsive vampire returns.
"Successful?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.
"Yes, a little. I only broke twenty-three pencils." I laughed bitterly.
"Well"—he smiled encouragingly, rubbing his forehead with the eraser end of a pencil—"that leaves one to work with, right?"
I stuck my tongue out, but he didn't take the bait (he never did), and I instead found myself pulled forward in a tight hug. I tried to relax into his body. I loved him so much, but everything was so confusing. Touching him was like diving headfirst into a mound of ants. It was too much, too hot, too prickly, too—everything. The familiar yet different pounding in my chest gave my feelings away.
My heart.
Grant explained to me that the necklace from Laurel had magic inside. That it had done something to me. Changed the result of my transformation.
“How?” I asked.
“We’re not sure yet,” he said.
He asked me dozens of questions about my emotions, my desires. Even if I felt guilt or compassion.
“Should I?” I asked.
“Typically, vampire’s emotions land on a scale between Caleb and myself. Guilt is learned. Killing a human doesn’t innately make us feel bad—not until we come to an understanding of life and death.”
The memory of that statement made me want to stop hugging him and slap the philosophical dumbassery off his lips. Except I didn’t feel guilty about it, which gave me some slight perspective.
I now realized why it had been so difficult for him to make these transitions in our relationship. It felt so good it was almost painful. The lines between love and lust blurred and it freaked me out.
Grant felt my tension and released me. I pretended not to see the look of desire that filled his eyes. Always appropriate, he took my hand and simply grinned. "It's all progress."
I smiled back hesitantly and allowed him to lead me toward the door out into another night of sunset.
~*~
November 16
Dear Fucking Diary,
I hate deer.
Chapter 16
Grant
We hunt at dusk. Carefully. Slowly.
I teach her the sounds of the forest. What the cracking of a branch may be. The difference in weight between a deer and a bird. I show her markings. The ones we want to follow—the others we avoid.
“See that,” I said, pointing to the fine silk hair clinging to a tree. “That’s an elk.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
I picked up the hair, just three short pieces and held them under her nose. “Smell them. That’s an elk. Different from a deer or other animal.” I took her hand and laid the hairs across her palm. “See the color?”
“Darker? Maybe redder?”
I smiled. “Exactly.”
She froze.
I watched.
She inhaled, nostrils flaring.
“What do you smell?”
She sniffed again. Stuck out her tongue. “Something small. To the north.”
She spun quick on her heel and darted into the woods. I followed, allowing her some space. Even as night fell, I tracked her easily. Saw her skin glint off the snow. Heard her footsteps and the faint thump, thump leading me to her.
Always.
She stumbled twice along the way, breaking branches on small shrubs. She grazed trees, leaving fibers behind. A piece of her hair clung to a log. When I reached her, she lay flat on the forest floor, a fluffy gray rabbit trapped under her body. Amelia and the animal had matching eyes—shining wide with fear. Their heartbeats raced together.
“Can I?” she asked. We’d done this for days now, but the rabbit was the first she’d trapped on her own.
“All yours.”
She fed. Messily. Ravenously, until there was only the one heartbeat pulsing through the woods. Hers.
Mine.
~*~
Ryan waited for us on the back step, sitting like a hulking statue. His eyes roamed over Amelia, stopping on her blood splattered shirt.
“Nice meal?” he asked in a soft voice.
“How are you, Ryan?” Amelia asked. She stood at an awkward distance. Probably afraid he’d try to hug her. I’d informed the family of her current physical limitations.
“I’ve been better.”
“Sebastian?” Amelia asked, surprising us. In her recent state, asking about others hadn’t been one of her priorities. Frustration, anger, and hunger seemed to be her focus.
“I’ve got some leads. Thank you for giving Grant that information—about the train tracks. It was him.”
“Good.”
She skirted past us without another word and closed the door with a loud, unintentional slam. Something heavy crashed to the floor.
“Shit,” she swore from the other side of the door.
Ryan laughed. “Poor girl. Sucks to be a fledgling—especially a micromanaged one.”
“I’m not micromanaging her.”
“No?”
I glared. “No.”
“You know the rest of us had a chance to blow off a little steam at first. Run wild. Kill a couple people. Spread some oats.” He cupped his hands together. “Starting off on the Palmer diet has to be tough.”
“She’s doing well.” He gave me a hard look. One that told me exactly how well he thought she was doing. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go for it,” he replied.
“You’ve heard the heartbeat—the blood. Does it tempt you?”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “If I answer truthfully will you kick my ass?”
“No.” The other eyebrow raised to match the other. “No. I swear—just answer me.”
“There’s something there. A lure. Power maybe? What would it taste like? Would it be different? She’s immortal, feeding from her may have…”
“Benefits?”
He nodded and asked, “Have you?”
“No.”
“Thought about it?”
I shook my head. “No. Not any differently than I have for a while now. My desire for her is… well, it isn’t blood driven. I worked through that a long time ago.”
Ryan had confirmed my fears. Amelia’s transition was different. The consequences would be a challenge for all of us.
I kicked the snow and changed the subject. “Tell me what you need.”
“Your help with Sebastian.”
I looked to the trees. “You know I can’t right now.”
“I know you’re involved with Amelia. I understand this. But Sebastian has escalated. From what we can tell, I think he’s killed at least fiv
e other vampires. Miles had to notify The Council—after everything with Caleb.”
“What did they say?”
“That if I don’t stop him, they will.”
I exhaled and sat on the step next to Ryan. I opened my mouth to speak, and a loud crash sounded from in the house followed by a string of expletives. After a moment of silence we both burst into laughter.
“Clearly I can’t leave,” I said. “But we’ll figure something out. What can I do?”
“Neither Olivia or Elijah is in a position to go back in the field. But they can stay here. They’ll do whatever you ask.”
I ran my hand through my snow dampened hair. “Ryan…”
“Grant, help me track him—like you did with Caleb. Help me get my brother back.” The unspoken statement was about my involvement in Sebastian leaving. My relationship with Amelia that sent him over the edge.
I stared up at the sky—at the millions of stars above. “I’ll help. From here, and then when we’re ready, I’ll go with you.”
He threw a thick, muscular arm around my shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” I said. “That’s what family is for.”
November 23
Dear Diary
I can't sleep. Not at all. I knew this going in. I knew Grant never slept but I didn't really understand what that meant.
The woods surrounding the cabin are quiet—yet not. Animals, wind, the house itself all create their own sound. The creaks and cracks. The whistles and howls.
The good news is some of the constant sounds have faded a bit. The hum of the refrigerator. The buzz of the computer. The furnace doesn’t shock me each time it sputters to life.
And my heart no longer jars me with every beat.
Grant said he doesn’t know why I have it—other than it’s connected to the necklace given to me by Olivia—a gift from the Melungeon. From Laurel. It carried magic of some kind, leaving me with a trace of my humanity. Stashed away in this box in the woods makes it hard for me understand what that means. Humanity. Do you have to see other humans to remember how to use that part of yourself?
I wouldn’t know.
Creature of Habit (Book 3) Page 11