Blood, Cupcakes and Wicked Business (Grimstone Island)

by Rochelle Pearson

  Keeland’s four times removed great-grandmother, Oakla Elwood, is also a founder, but resides in the boreal forest of Canada with the rest of their family, other than his younger sister, Piper. Oakla did what was important for supernaturals when creating the island—sacrificing magic with the other founders to make Grimstone complete. Later, after generations of Elwoods were born, she, along with most Elwoods, migrated back.

  Keeland wouldn’t be here without Grimstone. Hell, maybe that’s why he’s so damn gung-ho on being on top with Resurrect. Maybe he owes it to this place, grateful it exists so supernaturals wouldn’t have to hide. Granted, he was privileged to not have been around during dark, treacherous times. Now a thriving businessman with a life of his own. Endless money. He has it all.

  I do...

  Knowledgeable of the way he looks, the attention of women is plentiful. However, their company in the privacy of personal time is absent and has been for a few years. Yeah, hooray for me. He just doesn't need that distraction. The decision of letting go of carnal activity happened while in the early stages of launching Resurrect. Women eventually lumped with men in his eyes, making up the staff, the foundation he was weaving together. No differentiation. They were just employees who contributed to get the job done, ending in success across the board.

  Sad, but when was the last time he’d actually seen a woman’s smooth legs? Like really looked. Or run his nose along fragrant skin, caressing lush curves—

  Fuck, legs are legs and I’m getting off topic.

  Free time shot to hell, he put blood into this company—his ass on several lines when shit came close to hitting the fan. Back then, fooling around was the enemy and would say he learned to turn off certain things in the brain.

  Turned off being normal. And everything that comes with it, like relishing the blossoms of lust blooming in the gut that send the heart racing.

  Don’t deny it, it’s happening now. You didn’t turn anything off.

  Professional face back on and final shove off the wave of curses on how long he’d been in the bathroom like a little bitch, Keeland returned to the office, inhaling his scent—a permanent fixture, since he practically lived here—then locked onto his assistant. Her delectable scent swirled the air, too. Berries and roses.

  My, she looks awfully bored. A little tense. Does she think I’ve finally lost it? He nearly bit my tongue to keep from laughing. She does this to him, chipping at the ruthless image that’s etched in the skulls of others. The hard-ass attitude he normally displays doesn’t cripple this woman at all. Admittedly, he may have purposely pushed on some occasions. Just because.

  That’s a lie. He did it to try to convince himself she’s just a lump. A worker to better Resurrect. That’s all.

  Not the person who’s actually causing the hurricane.

  Not the object of his growing obsession.

  Keeland began gathering documents pertaining to their latest project. “Before the calls, I want updates on the Matthews project. Every speck anyone has regarding it.”

  “Oh,” she blinked. “Okay... Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.” he sighed, avoiding her eyes, smoothing a hand through long hair. “I want the conference room in B wing filled in the next twenty minutes. No, make that in the next five.” he gestured to the door, taking great care in watching her stand and strut ahead. Like an addict, he sucked in her perfume—or was that her natural smell?—watching the way her hips swayed. The tips of her ebony hair touched the top of her voluptuous ass.

  He notices everything about her. Including the seductive gleam, she aimed at him. So the fuck what that I bug her? I also arouse her. That much is clear. Though, does he dare act on the sizzling tension—the burning attraction?

  If so, would sooner be better?

  Chapter Two

  Shitty things always occur in threes. For Veronica, it was back to back three tense, walking on eggshell floor ridden days at the office. All succumbed to undivided attention towards a growing fragile project and staying on top of Keeland’s bloated schedule–she’d be grateful of a damn reprieve.

  And it came that night, poured over ice in a crystal glass.

  Veronica sipped tiger blood, next to her sat Mona who intimately indulged a martini. The demoness and vampire occupied leather stools at a wide mahogany bar counter. Tidy, its blue hued phantom keeper managed it, gliding to awaiting customers. Shelved rows behind him held various expensive and rare supernatural crafted drinks. Friendly, easily identified specialities to the mysterious cautious worthy to the bloodiest and toxic laced for the ultimate daring.

  Mona’s dark purple martini had an eye-watering potency with actual eyeballs poked through a toothpick.

  “Mmm,” she swallowed one, “I needed this.”

  Veronica assumed her friend referred to the r and r time, not the slimy optical organ, and cheers to that. As she sipped, their surroundings grabbed her attention–as it always had, continuously, ever since she and Mona started having regular meetups there.

  Chambers.

  An upscale club, catering to those–usually the snobby–who preferred a lavish setting to socialize, rub elbows, and listen to soft instrumentals while reclining on one of the many red velvet couches. Think bold decorations, accents, prominent prints, thick rugs, and throaty chuckles by jeweled head to toe clientele.

  Veronica, not a stranger to wealth and the sometime irksome attitude that it’d bring, actually liked the place. Well, just its top floor. Chambers had tunnels running deep underground. From hearsay, okay, just Mona’s gossip–as the halls going down draw dark so did the occupants, becoming darker along with their activities. At the time of foretelling, Veronica had questioned the little demon’s activities. “Any first-hand accounts on what goes on?” she’d ask but Mona only became silent carrying a sneaky grin.

  Presently, Veronica’s placement was pleasant enough to make Chambers a habit, donning in the day’s work suit. It provided front row to Grimstone’s counterpart interesting townies. Murmurs mingled with harp strings. Sighs emitting. Residing in the luxurious setting, mainly spellcasters of the older generation. Exuding experienced, differentiating magic. And several fallen angels. Their scorched wings made ruffling sounds against the cushions. The only vamp was an older gentleman, in passing through the exit–and who is waaaay past Veronica’s centuries. He carried a first peculiar, then recognizably identical essence that permitted throughout Grimstone’s air. That observation explained when whispers revealed him to be Lucien VanWrath–an island founding member, belonging to The Hallow Six. Six different bred supernaturals who created Grimstone some millennia ago.

  I have him to thank for this blessed island.

  Mona sighed. “So, Lenny asked me out again. A.k.a: another hump and bump marathon in his mother’s basement.”

  Veronica had no control over the unladylike snort that went rogue, earning several sneers from neighbours, which she ignored.

  “And what answer did you give to the big fishy fella?”

  “Don’t tease,” Mona whines. “He was great–”

  “Banshee loud, I do recall you describing. An unbearable, ear searing experience–also your words.”

  “Ron, he couldn’t help it. It’s his nature.” Straight face breaking, Mona double over laughing. Lenny Olson is a whale-shifter, specifically sperm whale and the giant–a superior paper-copier extraordinaire–was cute, boyishly so. And recently dubbed as the notorious Mona’s new bed venture. The demon’s appetite fluctuated and usually liked to suck the life outta her lucky slash brave escapades. Except, deaf to Veronica’s prior presumptions, Lenny’s whale beast clicked, squeaked, and ooomm’d during the deed.

  Mona had naively taken a submarine excursion to the great depths of awkward.

  “I’m just going to say yes for the hell of it,” she decided. “He’s sweet.”

  “Oh, yes. No doubt.” Veronica pressed her lips together.

  “His mother wasn’t home at the time. She probably won’t be again.
”

  “Definitely a plus.”

  “We shared her leftover butterscotch gelato.”

  Veronica scrunched her nose. “Not chocolate?”

  “No.” Mona pouted. “But he did say something about seal meat lasagna the next time.”

  “Sounds... um... you know, nothing comes to mind.” Veronica snickered.

  “Promising. The hopeful word that’ll spark a new judgment is–promising.” Yet Mona wrinkled her button nose.

  Veronica patted her knee. “Seal meat, hon.”

  “GAH!” Sudden freak out on halt, Mona gasped, eyes going wide and directed behind Veronica. Her flirty mode came into effect. “Speaking of promising, we’ve got incoming.” She sniffs. “Warlocks. Two of them. Tall, sexy and headed this way.”

  Veronica sensed the marks too. Their ever nearing steps and heated fast coursing blood, already registered. Even their wills to steady–audible to her–racing hearts. It seems attractive females had entered their territory, and yet peaked perspiration mingled with cologne.

  Flirt mode Mona in place, Veronica summoned her I’d Rather Not face and focused on her drink.

  “Good evening.” Spoken by the shortest of the pair. Yeah, blonde, handsome, fit, meh, too wide of a smile, the usual coming from a male who portrayed the boring, clichéd ladies man with the deep pockets and nothing to lose attitude.

  Yes, she had him pegged after two words spoken. But she’d been around the block several billion times over again among all character types.

  He even wore his shirt unbuttoned, revealing frizzy chest hair, and a gold chain that matched a pinky ring.

  Not. In. The. Mood.

  She’d rather go back to whale sex.

  Nevertheless, Mona was far too enthralled–an underestimated hunter–for Veronica’s liking. For some reason, cocky self-proclaimed men forget the menacing horns on her head.

  “It certainly is,” Mona purrs to him and his nearly identical compadre. The magic they wielded pulsed. Flashy. Veronica barely concealed an eye roll.

  “My name is Chadwick and my friend, Harry,” Pinky Ring said. Harry’s cue in play, he saluted. Good Gods. Veronica’s massive wormhole of a lifetime could swallow both these males’ infant years whole.

  “I’m Mona.” She let Chadwick kiss her hand. “And this lovely lady here is Veronica.”

  She sent the demoness a tight fang exposed smile.

  Great. Once the names get revealed, it’s like feeding a stray feral unicorn.

  They keep coming back for more flesh.

  “Beautiful names for such beautiful women.” Harry’s compliment made Mona giggle a thank you and Veronica mumble hers.

  The next twenty minutes consisted of the typical talks: what brings you by? Who does what? The guys were impressed they stood before prestigious Tower worker bees. Veronica determined if they weren’t, perhaps measly cashiers at the taco place, The Rabid Sombrero, Chadwick would’ve snapped his fingers, signalling ogre security.

  As for what the warlocks did for a living? Ask Veronica, she’d explain how wonderfully rich her drink tasted and how nice the rugs were–-must be an overseas import–-because that’s all she’s got for you.

  Yeah, yeah, she was quite aware and reminded of her current single status and how it displayed droll themes, and its overabundance of cupcakes–though, not a bad thing–and sure, wouldn't mind a set-up like Mona’s aquatic booty call, but don’t think bedazzled Chad or just anybody is gonna make the cut.

  “Veronica,” Chad leaned in, “Temptress of the night.” Oh my, that’s a new one. “I’ve been a member here for quite some time.”

  “Really?” She sipped, fixing a visual point beyond his shoulder since he insisted on creating shooting stars inside his pupils. She wondered if the ploy worked before. Probably. It was cool. Although, not for her.

  “Yes, I’ve established my own private room downstairs, in the fifth tunnel.”

  Cue I’d Rather Not face.

  Movement drew her behind Chad in an area that’d been vacant since she’d arrived. Two men settled upon the half circle booths, a server bowing to them before leaving.

  One was Adrian Galzra; his dragon presence thickened the atmosphere.

  The other man–

  Mona whispered, “Hey, Keeland’s here.”

  “I can see that.”

  Just as he reclined, gazing about, he finally connected with Veronica. Now he sees me. First brief surprise registering, then he took in Chadwick who stood way too close–going zero to one hundred in seconds–the elf’s face darkened into a deathly gloom.

  My, my, my...

  “You know that guy?” Chad jutted his chin in Keeland’s direction.

  “He’s our boss,” Mona explains.

  Veronica noted Chad’s chest puff out more. “He doesn’t look too happy.” He smirked. “I wonder why.” His eyes canvassed Veronica.

  She signalled a refill.

  ***

  The needling stares were ridiculous, quite obvious to a naturally cognizant vampire. Unnecessarily hostile, and hunger driven. Both men. Yes, Keeland administered this too–no mistake on that, to her apparent confusion. Veronica felt like she’d landed smack dab in a territorial testosterone pissing contest. And she wasn’t too thrilled on that type of attention. Other women, it was their bread and blood butter, but exclude Veronica from that shit.

  Chadwick had something to prove. She’s a new female to him, his magic begged to be attracted as if he were a damn peacock, showing off.

  Keeland was different.

  Across the way, sparking dangerous vibes, her boss oozed natural alluring magic with sensual ease–the man was incomparable. A mountain never conquered. It explained a lot about Veronica, actually, and why she was remotely absorbed by the creature–damn it to hell, she swallowed deep–and not the warlock busting out his big guns. In this case, conjuring a slight wind to gracefully blow his hair.

  No contest.

  “I also own a bungalow near Vortex Cave,” he divulged. “Sweet little spot, nice view, completely secluded.” Surprising her for a millisecond, he placed a hand on her forearm. Thumb lightly rubbing circles. “It has a balcony off the master bedroom. I like to walk out without any clo–”

  “Excuse me.” She stopped the mental image he was drawing and put on pause the calculated attack she’d let loose on his rogue hand and beelined for the restroom, passing right through Keeland’s invisible I’m so Fuckable bubble–she inwardly snorted.

  Until it became a real occurrence.

  The bubble; spicy, sweet, rich, sticky and thick like the finest wild cat blood she’d ever tasted. It caressed her cheeks, flicked against skin, curious, like tentacles. All his doing. She didn’t falter even though a rampant hormonal battle waged within, and made it inside the ladies facilities’ polished marble confines.

  Her purse suffered a harsh toss to the counter and became the object of her growls, hisses and curses. Luckily, the stalls lacked heartbeats. Though, she may not have cared about an audience. For moments, she gnawed the lip gloss that hadn’t passed to her glass, her feet eating the tile floor, entrance to the furthest wall, she paced in quick blurs.

  Then stopped.

  Wait, what was she doing there?

  Why had the evening suddenly become so complicated? Oh yeah, maybe because her boss’s not so subtle stares fuelled heated feelings–the good and bad kind–reminding her of the low burn she had of him but also making everything else in her system go haywire. If that makes sense?

  No, it didn’t because Keeland Elwood’s spicy energy eluded everyone else in the room. It only called to her, its fibers encoded for the only female vampire in the area. Intoxicating.

  Sharp nails poked her palms, as she fought to let her vampy nose be carried back out to him.

  To drink him.

  She was used to–no, always known–the Aloof Keeland. The Blunt Tongue Keeland. The Complicated Hard Ass Keeland.

  Tonight brought a new side. And it unleashed exciting
goosebumps and a few head-scratching huhs?

  Veronica did a couple of those and an internal shake down before sending Mona a text. Straight to the fucking point, Veronica wanted to at least regain control of one aspect of the screwy evening.

 
  >AW, OKAY.

  Ten minutes later, after an appearance touch up, Mona replied again.

  >THEY’RE GONE. I WAS GETTING BORED ANYWAY. I TOLD HIM YOU ACTUALLY PREFER GUYS SUPER TALL, GRUMPY, AND WITH SCARY FACIAL EXPRESSIONS AIMED AT THE INNOCENT.

  Veronica balked. Her left eye twitched. Funny, how that perfectly described a certain someone...

  >AND WITH GREEN, BOILED SKIN–SO, BASICALLY THE OGRE SECURITY MAN. BTW, IF ANYONE ASKS, IT’S WHO YOU HAD A GRISLY YET SEXY ENCOUNTER WITH IN THE BACK ALLEY.

  Not sure who exactly would ask–possibly Chad had fallen for the excuse–however, Veronica was relieved he was out of the way and she was ready to take back her night.

  Except, the Gods had other plans. Their interference at play as she left the bathroom, stopping short before colliding into a dark form.

  Another buzz came from Mona.

  > K IS HEADED YOUR WAY.

  Veronica clicked the screen off and faced the man in question.

  Correction, angry man.

  Chapter Three

  Past evenings spent: a drink and cigar in each hand among solidarity at his most predictable haunt, accompanied by a just as powerful companion, a Galzra, should’ve been adequate, blasé, a typical mind-numbing occasion for Keeland.

  Unbestowest to him, said usual down time ran parallel to Veronica’s identical plans.

  All leg, busty featured and wickedly sexy, Veronica–mine–sat yards away. Puckering nibble worthy lips on to a scarlet liquid filled glass. Mine. Mona was there too. And so were two males–to his flaring anger–in particular, a short blond warlock. Keeland grimaced as the warlock, blatantly in a such a pathetic, desperate manner–yes, that’s needed–tried to court the she-vamp.