Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1)

by Angel Lawson

  “I suspect he’s worried about the Council. You’ve already pushed their stance on involvement in the human community with the Foundation. He’s gone to bat for you before.”

  “You don’t think he will again?” I asked.

  “I think you may want to talk to him about Amelia, tell him your true feelings and concerns.”

  I laughed. “You don’t think that will make things worse? Miles is open-minded but consorting with humans is a pretty big violation. The biggest, in fact.”

  “I think Miles is fair and I think your happiness is very important to him, but you and I both know he takes the rules of the Council seriously and you’re precariously close to breaking them. You should tell him before it goes any further.”

  “I haven’t made any decisions.”

  “No,” she said, and I heard a small snort. “Honestly, I think you’re safe for a bit. You and Amelia never seem to be on the same page anyway.”

  She had seen something. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know the rules—your rules, in fact. No peeking into Grant Palmer’s life.”

  “Olivia,” I warned, running my hand through my hair.

  “Be careful, Grant. This isn’t a situation you’re used to.”

  I sighed. I could concede that I was way out of my league. "I will."

  I disconnected and continued to look though the files I'd stored up on the third floor. The only entrance to this level was through my private study. I kept huge filing cabinets up here for old newspapers and other information on the ‘cases’ I worked. Once upon a time this was supposed to be my studio and remnants of that life were currently shoved back against the wall and covered by a huge cloth. Another reminder of the life I gave up for the one I chose to live now.

  I went back six months and began looking for any weird incidents I may have overlooked the first time. Anything that sounded like the altercation between Amelia and Sasha. I'd only searched at that time for information concerning the ritualistic murders but nothing else. I’d been so focused on Caleb that it was entirely too possible other crimes had slipped through the cracks. I laid the papers out on the floor and began the tedious process of tagging anything of interest.

  With different colored Post-its I marked each event that seemed even remotely suspicious including, but not limited to, vandalism, muggings, or abductions. Halfway through the March papers, I realized I'd run out of stickers and went downstairs to the supply closet in the kitchen.

  As I approached the second floor stairs I braced myself for the onslaught of Amelia's fragrant scent and presence. I'd heard the garage door open moments before and I knew she had arrived at the office. I arranged my face into what others considered socially appropriate and walked into the kitchen.

  "Good afternoon Ms. Chase," I said, observing her attempt to get a coffee mug off the top shelf.

  "Hi," she grunted, straining to reach on the tip of her toes.

  I processed the moment, watching her struggle with the height. Oh, right, I thought, with a sudden flare of irritation at myself for being so dense. "Let me get that for you.” I easily plucked the cup off the shelf and placed it on the counter.

  The small gestures stumped me every time. Simple things like holding the door, allowing the person to walk ahead of me, or offering to carry in the boxes and bags from the car. Things I hadn't considered in many years. It made me question how other humans felt about my interactions with them…had I failed?

  I walked over to the storage closet and rummaged around, quickly finding the notes I needed due to Amelia's excellent organizational skills. I was prepared to turn around and tell her this when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she was watching me. Oh the irony.

  Her eyes were questioning, tightened at the corners, and I felt them linger. Her interest excited me because no one ever paid me much notice—not for long at least. When they did I could tell what they were thinking by their increased heart rates or listening to their whispered comments. Women were impressed by my appearance and men were in awe of my intimidating nature. Everything about me drew people in for a moment but then, just as quickly, those same qualities made them uncomfortable and they scurried away.

  Amelia stood behind me, her heart rate even and breathing normal, inspecting me. Again, I had no clue what she was thinking and the thought of that was thrilling.

  I turned finally and faced her, noticing a light pink tint to rush up her neck.

  “Thank you for organizing the closet so well. I found just what I needed." I held up the pad of garish pink notes.

  "You're welcome," she said, the same quizzical look on her face as before.

  "I'm going to be upstairs and would prefer not to be disturbed. If you need me call my cell, okay?" I said under her scrutinizing gaze. I shifted my feet, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

  We stood in a sort of tense stand-off until she turned her back to me and hunched her shoulders while she stirred her cup of tea. I took a step backwards, ready to leave the room when she spoke suddenly and stated in a low shaky voice, "I know you have a secret."

  My still heart plummeted to my ancient stomach, igniting a feeling of absolute dread and horror. These were the words of my deepest fears. Miles had warned me—this is what Olivia was trying to tell me. I’d gotten too close. My mouth became dry and I had to force myself to breathe in order to appear normal.

  I steadied my voice. "A secret?"

  The sound of her metal spoon, tracing the edge of her cup, was the only noise in the room until she said, "The signs were all there. I mean, they’re stereotypical but stereotypes are for a reason, right?"

  “I’m, uh, not following.”

  “Well, you’re freakishly neat and tidy. Your closet alone should have sent up a red flag.”

  Okay. This was true. I had an extreme case of obsessive compulsive disorder, but that was hardly an identifiable trait of being a vampire. It was more of a personal quirk exaggerated by the vampirism. I braced myself for more.

  “Obviously your body is like…killer.” Her heart beat like a hummingbird's wings and I could almost feel the heat of nervousness rolling off her body. Only this silly woman would be embarrassed as she destroyed my life. Abruptly she said, "I mean, killer. I know a lot of men who would die for your physique."

  She thought I looked amazing. A smug grin crept across my face before I shook it off, wondering for the millionth time what thoughts were running though her head. I was aware women found me attractive, as it was one of the lures that made humans such susceptible prey. To hear Amelia say those words brought about a rush of feelings I wasn't used to, but was it really important to say right now?

  "Your skin is flawless, unblemished. And your hair…it’s a work of art."

  “My hair?”

  I hated my hair. Loathed it. It was the one thing that drove me absolutely insane post transition, but that alone was nothing definitive. I mean, look at Miles. He was bald. Forever.

  She stepped closer and peered at my neck and chest. “You man-scape, right?”

  I shook my head silently, afraid to speak. I had no idea what this 'man-scaping' thing was but I knew I didn't have it.

  "Huh," she considered and turned back to the counter, her long hair swaying a bit as she took a sip of her tea. "You probably have more clothes than Kanye West."

  The uneasy knot in my stomach quickly morphed into one of confusion. Kanye West? Who?

  She continued, rambling now. "Sometimes you speak like you've never been around a woman, and you never have company, and the only time you did it was a man. Who, coincidentally, was also unbelievably gorgeous."

  What? I literally was unable to follow her train of thought. What man was she talking about? I searched my memory and came up with the only male visitor we'd had.

  Elijah.

  She stilled, palms flat on the counter. When she spoke it was low and with conviction. "Like I said, I know what you’re hiding, Grant.”

  Here it comes. Images of w
hat would come flashed in my mind. Would she run screaming? Would I have to kill her? In over a hundred years I'd never had a moment of exposure like this.

  “I want you to know that I support you—no matter what.”

  I waited for a beat. I waited for the earth to stop. For the fear to sink in her eyes.

  “Uh, what?”

  Amelia spun around and looked me in the eye. The wrong emotion was written across her face. Instead of fear she looked, as she had just proclaimed, supportive? "You're gay.”

  I was stuck in the moment, hands clenched, prepared for exposure but I heard her words echo in my ears. Gay?

  "I, um…what?" I stumbled over my words. I never stumbled over my words. Everything about this woman completely bewildered me. She reduced me to a bumbling idiot.

  Apparently a gay, bumbling idiot.

  She took a step forward, bringing a fresh wave of her scent toward me, the excruciating aroma of lemons filling my senses. Her normally pale cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Her eyes were shining and her lips were puffed out with satisfaction, having ’outed’ me.

  I'd never found her more attractive.

  "You're gay,” she said again. "It's okay. I totally support you and your decisions. Well, not decisions since I feel we are all born one way or another, but regardless, I think it's great."

  She thought it was great that I was gay. I supposed that was a preferred alternative to me being a blood sucking monster.

  She was still talking and I picked her up mid-sentence, "…and you know, I hate sounding so stereotypical but you really do just have way too much clothing for a straight guy. Not to mention the fact the girl at the coffee shop, the really cute one? She told me she has never seen you with a woman, either. And that she has slipped you her number more than once only to find it still on the table when she cleaned up. I mean, she’s really pretty. Come on, you're young, single, incredibly gorgeous, rich, successful. You," she stepped closer and jabbed a finger in my chest, "are totally gay."

  The minute her warm fingertip made contact with my chest, even through the barrier of clothing, sparks of heat spread across every inch of my body.

  Focus, Grant. Now was not the time to get the warm and fuzzies for this girl. She thought I was gay and apparently so did everyone else. I’d severely underestimated my presentation to those around me.

  She withdrew the tip of her finger and I instantly missed it. I absently rubbed the spot with my thumb trying to feel the sensation again.

  She stepped back and picked up her tea and said, "No wonder you’re angry all the time. Keeping a secret like that must be exhausting. Then to make matters worse, I’d caught you red-handed with that hottie the other day! Don’t worry, I won't tell anyone. It’s your decision when you want the world to know." She smiled and winked leaving me alone in the kitchen.

  I stood for a moment fighting the urge to tell her otherwise. As ridiculous as it sounded, this was possibly the best mistake she could make. My real secret, that I was an eternally frozen twenty-two year-old vampire that kept up a charade of normalcy by posing as the CEO of a multi-million dollar organization was beyond horrific. Add on the fact I had a side job of fighting crime and tracking bad guys during my long, endless nights, and things became absurd. The only thing more absurd was that I was currently battling conflicting desires of hunger and lust over the most fragile girl I've ever encountered.

  I ran my hands up my face and fisted them in my hair. I wasn't sure when my life had turned into an epically bad horror film, but clearly it had. Oh wait. I did know. It was the day Amelia Chase entered my life. That was the cosmic fate that now added the term ’gay’ in front of Vampire CEO Crime Fighter.

  As much as it pained me, instead of denying her theory I quickly decided I was going to remain non-committal. If my being gay explained my odd behaviors or physical appearance, then I could live with it. The theory gave me a bit of freedom and it ensured a reason to keep my distance. I needed a good excuse to force me away from the feelings and emotions that had been building since the day she tainted my home. It was all one more lie in my elaborate charade but I needed her to stay close to me while maintaining the image I had crafted. If this meant from now on, in my home, Grant Palmer was gay, then so be it.

  I snuck one last look at Amelia at her desk, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, reading emails on her computer before I climbed the stairs. Watching her sitting there feeling safe and content for that one moment made me realize I had bigger things to focus on, and I went upstairs to get started.

  Chapter 25

  Amelia

  “You said what?”

  Drew sat across from me at a table at my favorite restaurant, Little Bird Café. It was the best place to get organic, vegan food in town and I could only talk Drew into coming when I had some really interesting gossip to share. He complained the whole time that it tasted like cardboard. I’d been a vegetarian since I was nine and my class took a field trip to the meat processing plant. Once I found out exactly what was in a hot dog, my carnivore days were over.

  "Shhhh…or you will get me fired. For real this time," I hissed. I knew I wasn't supposed to tell details of my job to Drew or to anyone else but I couldn't help myself. The whole day had been too much.

  He looked around the nearly empty diner and whispered, "You actually accused him of being gay?"

  I nodded, stuffing a hunk of falafel in my mouth. It was the same day as my confrontation with Mr. Palmer. I knew I had been somewhat inappropriate with my boss by questioning his sexuality, but I honestly hoped it would make us more comfortable around each other now that his secret was out in the open.

  "What did he say?" he asked.

  I swallowed and took a sip of my drink. "He didn't say anything. But he definitely didn't say no. And what guy wouldn't deny that he's gay if it wasn't true?" I reasoned.

  Drew shrugged. “True, but as much as I’m glad to hear my chances have gone up exponentially, he totally doesn’t ping as gay to me.”

  “You would if you’d seen his boyfriend the other day. He is equally gorgeous and so tall…." I let my mind wander to the shaggy-haired man who visited last week. "The tension between them was thick. They’re perfect for each other."

  Drew didn’t look convinced.

  “Whatever, it seemed to do the trick. He was a lot nicer to me after that. What’s going on with you and Jess?"

  The change in topic was what Drew needed to stop focusing on Mr. Palmer. I listened as he went on about Jess and how they were meeting up later this evening to go see a movie. That piece of information sent an unwanted chill up my spine.

  “You guys be careful, okay? Earlier I saw a poster at the coffee shop about a girl who went missing from the theater.”

  “Wrong profile, honey. I don’t think kidnappers are into men,” he said.

  “Just be careful, okay? After the other night everything is giving me the creeps.”

  "Yeah, okay. We will definitely watch a movie at his house instead, even if that means I have to sit with Jess and Thomas all night for another round of lame games." He wrinkled his nose and I shook my head glad it was him and not me. “I guess I don’t have to tell you to take precautions.”

  “Nope, I’ve got that covered.”

  I'd taken to triple locking the door. The door, deadbolt and chain were locked every time I was home. I compulsively checked my windows and the balcony door. Plus, I practically ran from my car to the apartment every time I came home. I would have actually run if I hadn't been afraid of tripping in the middle of the parking lot. I really did appreciate Mr. Palmer allowing me to park in the garage. I felt much safer and I had the sense he was going out of his way to make me feel more comfortable.

  "You know, how about you and Jess come to our place tonight? I was going to read anyway so you can have the TV to yourself. No need to hang out with his roommates and play video games all night."

  "Really? That would be great.” He pulled out his phone to text Jess
the change of plans.

  The possibility of Sasha finding me was slim. She’d probably been locked up already for whatever mental-breakdown she’d had. Even so, I couldn’t shake this feeling that someone was watching me. I had it at night and sometimes at work. Drew’s phone buzzed and he smiled. “He’s coming over.”

  “Good,” I said, already relieved we’d all be in the same place.

  ~*~

  Several days had passed since I'd outed Mr. Palmer and things were, to my pleasant surprise, much better than before.

  He seemed a little more relaxed and less tense when he was near me. My attempts at small talk were received better and I actually was able to get him to tell me a little more about his work at The Palmer Foundation. To my disappointment, he clammed up when it came to any personal information.

  Understandable, I guessed, since he was my boss. We'd had such a rocky start, but at the same time it was awkward to work so closely with someone in their home and know so little about them. Therefore, it became a personal challenge to get him to reveal any small tidbit of information about himself. I'd decided to use his art, music and antiques as a method to find out more.

  It was Friday, the day for dusting and general house cleaning. I'd asked him to work a designated day into my schedule so I could dress accordingly. He happily obliged and we even sat down with our calendars earlier this week and planned together. Little moments like these helped me get a chance to know him better. I realized he had a biting sense of humor when he relaxed enough. I also noticed, as we sat across the table from one another, that he smelled like no other man I'd encountered. It was all I could do to not walk over to him and run my nose up and down his body. For once in my life, I maintained composure and stayed in my seat.

  For cleaning day, I wore jeans and a loose tank top with flats. It was causal but not inappropriate, and it made it easier for me to clean when I could get around on the floor and climb the step ladder in comfortable clothing.

  There really was little to do so I understood why Mr. Palmer didn't pay for an additional cleaning person. Plus, it was becoming more and more apparent he didn't want company in the house. I'd heard him more than once telling Olivia on the phone not to come visit, that he was fine and very busy. His tone was terse and he always made excuses to get off the phone quickly.