Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1)

by Angel Lawson

  And apparently, to the men downstairs, she was quite appealing. Which I supposed I could relate to, although in an entirely different way.

  Thomas, from the way he looked and moved around her, liked her face and body. Even through the insulated walls I could feel his heart rate increase every time he came near her. He sniffed, nostrils flaring when she passed—also intrigued by her scent. To that, I could definitely relate. I sat in silence, listening to the way his voice cracked when he laughed and the nervous tremble in his voice. He spoke carefully, searching for the right words. He was trying to impress. He had a full body reaction to this woman. Reactions I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

  To be blunt, I did react to her physically, but not like Thomas, who had a slight, yet visible, tightening in his trousers. I felt a comparable desire in the back of my throat. It wasn’t so much attraction as hunger—a different form of desire. I recalled her pale skin, so fair it was almost translucent. The bluish veins spreading across her wrists and neck. Every second she was in my home I could see, feel, and hear the pulsing beat of her blood as it circulated though her body.

  And then there was her scent. That, I didn’t understand. I was accustomed to hunger. Especially the deprivation. That I could handle, but Ms. Chase? Something about her was different. I wanted to know what it was about her that caused this reaction.

  All of these things were on my mind as I sat behind my desk viewing Ms. Chase, who was now in the kitchen filling two glasses with ice and water. With one hand I swept the work off the desk, pens and papers clattering to the floor, to lean over the monitors obsessively. Through the screen I watched her as she carried the glasses down the hallway to the front door, kindly asking if the two men were thirsty. They smiled happily. They spoke politely about the weather, how warm and beautiful it was today with the sun finally out, how they were lucky to work outside on occasion.

  Fascinated by their simple, polite conversation, I watched how they talked and laughed and communicated. Wide genuine smiles. Easy, light banter. I tried my best to fit in during social interactions, but I doubted I was ever quite this smooth.

  The girl collected the glasses and I noticed Thomas' finger lingered for a fraction of a second on her hand. His face maintained innocence, but as I leaned into the monitor, watching his every move, I saw everything. He wanted her.

  Ms. Chase turned, walking back inside, and her hair flipped just slightly, and Thomas moved closer and again sniffed the air.

  Mine.

  Like an animal needing to mark his territory, I leapt from my seat and raced down the hallway. I ceased to inhale, shutting out her scent. I learned quickly that it didn’t matter. I felt her in my bones.

  thump thump thump thump thump

  mine mine mine mine mine

  The vibration echoed, over and over in my head, unraveling all of my carefully constructed control and discipline. Like a chain being broken in half, my resolve to stay behind closed doors for the day didn't even last a full morning. My efforts to passively observe crumbled into a heap of failure as I rushed down the stairs, too quickly.

  She shrieked, startled by the sight of me suddenly by her side. Aware of my mistake, and in an attempt to maintain a semblance of control, I froze. The glasses in her hands tumbled forward, landing on the glossy hardwoods one at a time.

  "Oh my God,” she said, glass shattering around her toes. “I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up, right away.”

  The two men dropped their tools and came running in from the porch, stopping cold in their tracks when they saw me. I positioned my body between them and the girl. Thomas’ eyes flicked to Ms. Chase. “Are you okay?”

  “She’s fine,” I declared.

  They slunk back to work.

  Ms. Chase regained composure and I attempted to do the same. She took a deep breath but I held mine, trying to figure out a way to justify my presence. In seconds, I had completely unraveled. I hadn't planned ahead and now I was faced with an enormous dilemma. Here I was, standing in front of her after seeming to appear out of thin air.

  What could I say? The truth? That I rushed down here, like a fool, to claim my territory? That I was ready to fight these other men over her like a dog would fight for his dinner?

  Even I knew that wasn't acceptable.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked unevenly.

  The minute I opened my mouth I would be overwhelmed by her scent. Could I resist her? Maybe. But I also thought I could stay in the house while she was here and not approach her. Look how wonderfully that turned out.

  I determined I had two options and quickly decided between them. Option one involved speaking to her. Out of the question. Option two was rude and unprofessional, but at least everyone would get out of here in one piece. I said nothing and silently waited as the girl in front of me calmed herself.

  In a matter of seconds her breathing regulated, including her chest moving at an appropriate rate. The flush that ran down her neck and up her cheeks soothed, but not completely. Her green eyes narrowed to suspicious slits and she tilted her head, glancing between me and the mess on the floor.

  I stared back, blank faced, looking like the world’s biggest asshole.

  Ms. Chase chewed over some words, biting them back. Probably another ‘fuck him’ and leaned over to clean up the shards of broken glass scattered across the floor.

  A flare of hope flickered. Maybe she would determine I was a gigantic jerk and she would quit. She could walk away and leave me to my business. I’d hire someone else who didn’t have an indescribable allure. Except, just as I’d convinced myself of the possibility, a third, horrific option opened before my eyes. Ms. Chase bent down to retrieve the broken glass. Her fingers moved near the razor sharp edges at the same moment as the shrill ring of my phone cut into the thick, oppressive silence. I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. She looked up, leaving the glass on the ground and I lunged, grabbing the edge of her jacket, and said in the most charming voice I could muster, "Please. Let me do that."

  Chapter 11

  Amelia

  "Please. Let me do that."

  I froze. His voice was so soft and smooth, almost mesmerizing. No, it was mesmerizing. With only the slightest hesitation, I stopped what I was doing and stepped aside. When I finally found my own voice, it sounded high pitched and squeaky next to his. “No, Mr. Palmer, I can—“

  “Ms. Chase,” he said, grinding his teeth.

  An argument formed on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back. "Thank you. Um, let me get the broom."

  He nodded curtly, and as I walked in the direction of the storage closet in the kitchen his phone chimed again. This time he answered. I waited in the hallway, giving him privacy, but I heard every word.

  "No. It's fine,” he said, without a greeting. "It's under control.”

  He waited, listening to the voice on the other side, feet crunching glass.

  “I know,” he said, voice strained, followed by the chime, signaling the end of the call.

  I waited a moment before entering the hallway with the broom and dust pan. "I really should do this," I said, thinking, somehow, this would come back to haunt me.

  "Ms. Chase, please hand me the broom. I really don't want you to cut yourself. And, it was my fault. I'm the one that startled you."

  I relinquished the broom and he swept up the mess scattered across the hallway. I tried to keep the gaping at a minimum, but it was hard. As with everything else, Mr. Palmer continued to surprise me. Each movement he made was quick and precise. His long fingers wrapped around the handle of the broom and I couldn’t help but notice how smooth they were. His skin was flawless, like he’d never experienced a moment of manual labor in his life, yet he seemed comfortable with this task.

  He wore khaki-colored pants and a white linen button-down, dressed up but not in a suit. His hair was dark brown, but lighter streaks glinted from the sunlight streaming in the open front door. It was styled messy, intentionally so, like a model. In fact, eve
rything about him looked intentional. And perfect. From his disheveled bedhead to his expensive, worn leather shoes. I couldn't see his eyes, as he was looking down, looking for glass. I wanted to know what color they were. Blue? Green? Whatever they were, I assumed they were also amazingly perfect.

  He looked so young but his movements and gestures were that of a much older man. He was tall but he wasn't very big. No. It was more like he was long and lanky without the awkwardness of a young man. I glanced away, forcing myself to stop all the analyzing.

  He searched the floor for any remaining pieces of stray glass. He spotted one hidden in the corner, invisible to my eye, and quickly swept it into the pile. He turned and asked, "May I have the dustpan please?"

  Our eyes locked briefly and I saw them. Violet.

  Not blue.

  Not green.

  Violet.

  "Um…huh?" I asked, unable to speak coherently, transfixed by his rich amethyst eyes.

  Amusement twitched at the edges of his mouth. "The dustpan, may I have it?

  "Yes, sorry. I think I'm just a little flustered still," I explained. He gave me a quick nod of understanding.

  He quickly swept up the pile of debris and stood. "Ms. Chase, I apologize for startling you. I have a horrible habit of sneaking up on people. It’s unacceptable.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “I would also like to apologize to you for the other night. My behavior was out of line." He lifted his hands in the air, one occupied by the broom and one with the full dustpan and said, "I'd introduce myself properly with a handshake but unfortunately…"

  His voice was still soft, yet there was something missing. He sounded so formal and stiff—slightly robotic. His apology rang with sincerity yet came across as somewhat forced, like words from a script. Nothing about this man made any sense.

  "Here, let me take those.” I reached out for the broom and dustpan. "And please call me Amelia. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Palmer.”

  He handed them over to me and I put them away. I returned to find him standing in the same place, unmoved, with an intense look of concentration on his face.

  "Was there something you needed?" I asked which caused him to look at me with a confused expression. I pressed. "When you came down here? Did you need something from me?"

  Recognition flittered across his face, as if he’d only just remembered why he came down in the first place. "Yes, I heard the delivery man come in and I thought I’d take the box upstairs and ask you to unpack it for me."

  “I’d be happy to.” I followed him to the parlor. He picked up the large box with ease. It must not have been as heavy as I suspected.

  Halfway up the stairs, I heard my name being called from behind. I turned to find Thomas in the hallway. Mr. Palmer was already at the top of the stairs so I quickly ran back down to see what he needed.

  "Do you need something?” I asked.

  Thomas glanced up the stairs. In a low voice he said, "I wanted to ask you if I could have your number? Maybe I could call you sometime?"

  This guy had balls. Asking me on a date in the middle of work hours. I hoped Genevieve was wrong and this was the kind of thing Mr. Palmer wouldn’t catch on to. I was already walking on eggshells.

  “Here.” I fished a business card out of my pocket. In a quiet voice I added, “Call me after work, okay?”

  From the top of the stairs I heard a loud noise and I waved Thomas off. I ran up the stairs, two at a time, to find Mr. Palmer. He was on the landing waiting for me with a look of irritation on his face.

  Great. Back on the shit list.

  Flushed and out of breath, I explained, "I stopped to help Thomas with something, sorry."

  Abruptly, he turned away and went into his dressing room. I hesitated for a moment but followed him, unsure of my next step. I wasn't sure why he was irritated with me, it had only taken a second to speak with Thomas and it wasn’t like he knew we were talking about non-work-related activities.

  I entered the dressing room and he pointed to the box on the floor. I could tell from his stiffness that the slight progress we had made downstairs was gone. Evaporated like water on a hot day.

  "This package is filled with clothing and accessories. Please place them in the appropriate areas of the closet. Then take the camera, the one in the bottom drawer over there," I followed the direction of his finger as he pointed to of a row of drawers against the wall. "Photograph each outfit. In the box you will find an envelope with an itemized list that will provide information about what article of clothing goes in which section of the closet and binder." When he finished he turned without another word and walked through a side door I’d been instructed not to enter.

  Wow. Okay, maybe he wasn’t so much a recluse but just a total weirdo.

  Admittedly, he hadn't been overly friendly downstairs but he did, at least, appear sincere. Now he treated me like a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar by a mother with eyes in the back of her head. What had I done? I ran through the possible offenses. Other than speaking to Thomas, and leaving him waiting for a moment, I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Whatever, I thought. Genevieve hadn’t told me about this side of Mr. Palmer. Quirky? Yes. A little strange? Sure. Standoffish? Definitely. But hostile and jerkish? No. Not at all. Actually, I felt like Genevieve really liked Mr. Palmer. She seemed genuinely fond of him. That meant whatever was going on between us was, well, between us.

  I found a pair of scissors and opened the package. Inside were tightly packed stacks of dress and causal shirts, four or five pairs of nice pants and two pairs of jeans. There were also shoes, belts, and other accessories. I took a quick peek at the labels and rolled my eyes at the designer names. Ralph Lauren, Dior, Prada. I was sure the shirt I was holding cost more than my entire summer wardrobe. The items in this box alone would be enough to dress a normal man for a year, not just one summer. Honestly, he was going to run out of room soon to store it all.

  It took me several hours to coordinate and photograph all the new items. As the minutes ticked by, I found myself glancing toward his door, wondering if he would ever come back. I’d created an intense fantasy about standing up to him, asking him what his problem was and why he thought he could treat me so badly.

  I daydreamed of walking up to him and poking his chest with my finger, which of course would be difficult since he was so tall. I’d probably hit him in the belly, which would be way less effective. Either way, then I would force him to look me in the eye and admit he was being a jerk and that his first apology meant nothing. I wanted to tell him that he was a spoiled little boy who needed to treat people with respect.

  That was what I wanted to do.

  But he never emerged, so it didn't matter.

  I sighed, because I’d never do it. I was too much of a chicken. I gathered a handful of leather belts and hooked them one at a time on a rack hanging from the wall. If I’d known I would spend my summer hanging up clothes, I would've gotten a job at the GAP.

  I completed my work in the dressing room and went downstairs. I ate my lunch at my desk, finishing the data entry I'd started that morning. Thomas and Mark left while I was upstairs, and when the guy fixing the security system arrived late that afternoon I simply showed him what needed repairing. Mr. Palmer never reappeared from his rooms.

  At six o’ clock I packed my bags and left my daily report on the desk. At the front door, I paused for a moment at the bottom of the steps, positive that I could hear the faint strains of music from above. It must be nice to hide away while everyone else fixed your problems.

  Chapter 12

  Grant

  The buck fell easily and I drained his blood with efficiency. As I wiped a drop from the corner of my mouth I heard the snap of a branch and froze. The other forest animals fled the instant I took down the deer. I should be the only one out here. Too late at night for hunters and too far off the beaten path for hikers.

  Just me
and my prey, or so I thought.

  The air stirred, pushing a gust past me. I inhaled. Musky and cool. The smell would appeal to a human, but for another creature of the night it kicked my instincts in gear.

  “Who’s there?” I asked. It was, after all, my territory. Silence was the only reply but now I saw the edge of a heavy wool jacket and a flash of short red hair. “Show yourself, friend.”

  He stepped from his spot, hands up. “Just traveling through,” he said. His voice carried a Midwestern drawl. “Heard you on the hunt.”

  I didn’t acknowledge the buck I’d just consumed, but I knew what he was thinking. Feeding on animals wasn’t popular among my kind. “Ah, so you’re new to this area. I’m Grant Palmer.”

  “Palmer?” The instant the word left his mouth I caught an additional odor. He wasn’t alone.

  “Traveling companion?” I asked.

  “Nah. More like a snack I’m saving it for later. These mountains are pretty dense, not a lot of civilization.” Again, his eyes flicked to the animal carcass. “But I guess you already knew that.”

  “Pickings get a little slim out here. You wouldn’t mind giving me a taste would you?”

  A muffled squeak came from behind the man’s back. In the shadows I made out a small shape—a girl from the looks of it. Her hands were tied with a thick rope. Was this man part of the Predator’s group?

  He hesitated as expected. Sharing wasn’t a priority of our kind. Finders keepers was more like it. I took a step closer and made eye contact with the girl. “You okay?”

  She froze but I didn’t look away and I heard her weak plea, “Help me.”

  I nodded and said, “I think she’d rather come with me.”

  The vampire frowned. “Doesn’t work that way, friend. This one is mine and I have plans for her. You’ll need to get your own—unless you like eating filthy animals, and something tells me you do.”

  I clutched the handle of the knife in my hand and moved fast, slicing away at the binds. The girl stumbled back while the vampire sprang into action, rushing at me with full, unbridled force. I swiped at his legs, tripping him. He landed with a thud, sliding across the forest floor—leaves and dirt scattering on impact. With the upper hand I pounced landing hard on his chest. We tussled on the ground, rolling down an embankment, until we got to the bottom. Wrapping my hands around his throat I declared, “You made a mistake coming into my territory. The Palmers run these mountains and kidnapping girls is against our standards.”