by Angel Lawson
“Yes! You have,” she said. “And you’re doing great.”
“All it takes is one slip. One. One cut. One drop of blood. One moment of not paying close enough attention to the fragility of your life. Sex is something I’ve only experienced as a vampire.” I ran a hand through my hair and added, “With another vampire and to be explicit, it’s rough and violent and all consuming—in a way that has nothing to do with love or affection. I’m not sure how to balance that with you and if I don’t find that balance I may tumble down a hole I can’t climb out of. ”
“I’ll pull you out of that hole, Grant.”
I leveled a hard eye at her. “Not if you’re dead.”
“Is that really what you’re afraid of?” she asked.
“You have no idea.”
She studied me, her eyes combing my face, eventually settling on my mouth. I spotted a glimmer of determination and hope.
“We’ll do it your way. On your terms,” she said. “One step at a time.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“But don’t think I won’t push you—and challenge you outside of your little comfort zone.”
I smiled and kissed her softly. “I expect you to. Don’t you realize that’s why I knew you were the one? No one else challenges me like you do.”
She pressed against my body, pleased with the compromise. Her heartbeat with excitement—not just desire—something else. I didn’t understand what it meant, what the energy was about, but I was tired of overthinking everything. For once I just wanted to be. To feel. To love.
Chapter 16
Amelia
“At least the weather worked out,” I said, glancing out the window. The forecast called for rain, which made a funeral even that much more depressing. So far the rain had held off and a thick layer of gray clouds touched the top of the Smokey Mountains. Perfect for light-sensitive vampires.
“Makes it a bit easier,” Grant agreed.
We’d left Asheville just before noon to head to Lost Cove for the services. I’d been surprised when Grant had suggested we go to Laurel’s funeral.
“Thank you for coming with me,” I said, tightening our linked hands. “I hope it’s not too awkward for you to be there.”
He glanced at me. “It’s important for someone in my coven to reach out.”
There was no way Grant was telling me everything, but now was not the time to push. I’d learned from working with him on the Caleb case that not everything was my business. When you had decades of life experience, business dealings, and education—some things are complicated. Part of trusting one another was believing he would include me in the details when necessary.
Plus, I considered, looking down at the small bouquet of flowers in my hands, today wasn’t about either of us. It was about Laurel.
When Grant pulled off the main road and onto a gravel drive, I understood why we took the SUV and not the Tesla. The rocks slipped under our tires and the recent rains left watery puddles.
“Hold on,” he said, shifting the car into gear. Rocks flew behind us and the car raced forward with incomprehensible speed. I gripped the door handle with one hand and the seat with the other and closed my eyes. “Okay, I think we’ll have to walk from here.”
I blinked and we were parked at the top of the hill, near the entrance of what was clearly a small town. A large wooden sign proclaimed, “Lost Cove, North Carolina” in peeling brown and white paint.
Grant opened the door for me and I stepped out into the soft dirt. My heel immediately sunk into the mud an inch deep. I frowned and struggled to get my shoe out of the muck. “This was as close as we could get?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. There are some protocols we need to follow.”
“You couldn’t have just called ahead? Sent a text?” I asked, wiping the mud off with a leaf.
He gave me a strange look and said, “Laurel told you how superstitious these people are, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well, calling was not an option.”
He took my hand and we walked past the sign and into the town. Within moments I started to get a better understanding of what Grant and even Laurel meant about the mindset of the community. The buildings looked ancient, small and made of weathered wood. Ceilings were tin and rusty. The whole place was quiet and had an abandoned feel and I would have suggested that except there were small signs of life all around; dirty work boots by the door and laundry hanging from the line. We passed one house with a porch attached to the front with toys scattered across the blue painted floor boards.
“Where is everyone?” I asked quietly.
“I’m assuming in the church.”
He led us right to it, past the school made of large, round stones and tiny grocery store. The church sat in the middle of town, painted white with a tall steeple. It wasn’t the traditional box shaped building but round. A low chorus of voices reverberated through the quiet town—the people inside were singing or chanting. I couldn’t be exactly sure.
As we approached the steps a figure stepped out of the doorway.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, assessing us both with eyes identical to Laurel’s. He finished appraising me quickly but kept his gaze on Grant.
Grant started to speak but I cut him off. “I’m, well I was, a friend of Laurel’s. I came to pay my respects.”
Before he could reply five more men came out of the shadows, each with the same shade of dark brown skin with contrasting blue eyes. They were different ages, some old with graying hair, others younger than me but all decidedly fit.
None of them seemed to even care that I had spoken. All of their focus was on Grant, who stood ramrod straight next to me.
“Grant Palmer?” a voice said from the doorway of the church. A stocky, thick man with long, gray streaked hair exited and walked forward.
“Judson.”
His eyes flicked briefly in my direction, then returned to Grant. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I apologize for the lack of notice as well as discretion. Amelia wanted to attend the service. I thought maybe, due to the severity of the situation, that we could talk afterwards.”
Again the man looked at me at the mention of my name, this time a small wrinkle appeared on his forehead. I took the opportunity and said, “Laurel was my friend.”
“Outsiders aren’t welcome during our ceremonies.” He said this as though there was no room for negotiation and turned to Grant. “And you know showing up like this, unannounced, is a direct violation of our agreement, not to mention disrespectful. Not that I’m surprised you have no decency.”
A terrifying look crossed Judson’s face. Something between pain and fury. I stepped backwards and bumped into Grant. He was close.
Judson drew a deep breath. “It’s only because we are in the middle of grieving that I haven’t had my men deal with you properly.”
The men surrounding us suddenly appeared to grow in size, seeming much taller and broader. Their shoulders seemed massive—their arms bulging. I caught a flash of metal against their waistbands and it was clear they were armed.
“Judson, I speak for the entire coven when I say we are sorry for your loss. Me more than anyone. Laurel’s death is a personal failure, one I accept whole-heartedly.” Judson scowled but Grant continued, “But we are working diligently to stop the killer.”
Judson shook his head. “You’ve had the chance to eliminate this monster and failed. I suggest you use our time of mourning to convince your kind to pack up and leave Black Mountain for good. The covenant has been broken. You’re a trespasser on our property. Get out of here now before I rip you to shreds.”
He turned but his words left me shaking. The pain and anger in his voice was devastating and cut me to the bone. “Wait,” I said, stepping closer to the building. Grant’s hand landed firmly on my shoulder, holding me back. I shrugged him off. “Please, at least take these.”
Judson turned and glanced at the flowers in my shaking hand. He nodded to one of his men
who came forward and took the flowers. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and said, “Thank you.”
“I’m happy to know my daughter had a friend and wasn’t alone during her time in your forsaken city,” Judson said. “Because you were obviously important to her I will give you some advice. Do not associate with the demon behind you. Do not trust him or those he calls his family. He is a monster. An abomination from God—sent here by Lucifer himself.”
I shook my head. “No, Grant is trying to stop this man—he’s helping people.”
“Everything they touch turns to ash.” Judson moved closer and tentatively placed a hand on my cheek. With a deep unsettling breath he said, “I can see he’s tainted you already. Your only option is to run and never look back.”
“I can’t,” I said, avoiding the intensity of his blue eyes.
“My people failed once by allowing the agreement to take place. This time will be different.” He looked over my shoulder at Grant. “You have forty-eight hours to settle your affairs and leave this territory once and for all.”
He spun and entered the building without another word, slamming the ancient wooden door behind him. Grant’s hand latched around my arm and he pulled me away from the church and the men still guarding the building. He walked quickly and I stumbled more than once on the rocky drive. Panic rolled in my stomach and my mind raced with what would happen in the future. Would the Palmers leave? Would the shifters try to kill them if they didn’t? When we were near the car I stopped him and asked in a shaky voice, “What are you going to do?”
He didn’t answer but looked past me to the tree line. To my surprise I saw the other Palmers; Elijah, the twins, Olivia, and Genevieve waiting.
“What are they doing here? Did you know this would happen?” As soon as I asked the question I knew the answer. Of course he knew. This had all been a set up. He knew what Judson’s reaction would be.
“I did hope he would talk to me,” he said softly. “I had to come and apologize.”
“What if he killed you on the spot?”
He shook his head but gestured to his family. Genevieve had started moving in our direction. “That’s why they’re here.”
“This is crazy.”
Genevieve walked up and flashed me a tense smile before asking, “How did it go?”
“As well as expected,” Grant replied, rubbing his hand over his jaw.
“So you expected that? Being threatened?” I asked.
“Okay a little worse than expected,” Grant admitted.
“Judson threatened you?” Genevieve asked. “Did he do anything else?”
“No, but only because they’re in mourning.”
Genevieve accepted the information like it was all normal. Nothing about this was normal. My fear turned to anger. “Are you kidding me? This makes sense to you? This is okay? Being threatened? Told you have forty-eight hours to move? You guys are unfreaking-believeable.”
This brought a genuine smile to Genevieve’s face and she moved to fling an arm over my shoulder. “I knew I liked you.”
Grant grimaced but nodded.
“I swear you all are insane.”
Genevieve laughed, loud and it echoed off the trees. She pulled my body against hers in a bone crushing squeeze and declared, “Welcome to the family.”
Chapter 17
Grant
I sat next to the window on the upper floor with a notebook propped in my lap. Pastels and charcoal sat on the small table next to me. I sketched Amelia’s features, the curve of her nose and lines near her eyes. Rubbing the coal, I formed a shadow along her cheek. It didn’t look right—I couldn’t seem to capture Amelia on paper.
Exasperated with myself, I shut the cover, and wiped my hands on a cloth. I left the room and went down the stairs to my rooms. It was late. Amelia was asleep in her room and as every other night before, I was aimless. After the funeral, Olivia drove Amelia back home while the rest of us searched the hills for Caleb. It seemed best to give her a little space after the events with the Melungeon. Plus, if Judson’s men were going to follow me, I’d rather she be miles away.
Ultimately, we’d found three more abandoned nests throughout the hillsides but nothing concrete to lead us to Caleb. All I’d managed to accomplish was riling up a hornet’s nest with Judson and another dead-end on my case.
Genevieve went home to report to Miles about the events at Lost Cove. As suspected he wasn’t a fan of me approaching Judson on my own, but Genevieve had smoothed it over. I had little doubt she’d handle the new fallout as well. Fixing messes was sort of her specialty.
It’s one of the reasons she’d been sent to work with me.
I passed the piles of research waiting for me on my desk, but none of it interested me. Work, studying, learning. None of it mattered at the moment. Only one thing held my interest; Amelia.
If I thought my obsessive tendencies would wane once she moved into my home and entered into a relationship with me, I was wrong. I craved her, more than ever. To combat the want, I wandered the house, cataloguing books, arranging utensils, until I found myself with my nose buried in the green sweater she’d left on the back of her chair.
I ignored the steady heartbeat from her room, evenly paced, calm, resting. Night proved to be the hardest for me. Having her so very close yet letting her have her private time. I wanted to be with her all the time, to have her near me. And even though I’d promised not to, I took to my old habits for comfort.
Every night I tried and failed to stay away, but the pull, the compulsion never waned. Tonight, I had held out longer than most, buoyed on kisses and her touch from earlier encounters. My memories fueled my imagination but even those paled knowing the real girl laid just a single floor above.
I moved up the stairs and down the hallway until I came upon her room. I waited and listened, absorbing her sleeping movements, always outside the door, never intruding in her actual space. I had made a promise. I was trying to become better.
Closing my eyes I brought up her image, golden hair, smooth pink skin. I thought of how her hand felt in mine—the way it pressed against my chest the other afternoon on the patio. Lost in my thoughts I was surprised when I heard the click and turn of the knob and came face to face with my fixation, Amelia.
"Grant," she said, causing my stomach to twist at the sound of her voice. Her eyes drooped—half open. Her face had a line down the side from the crease in her pillow. Hair stuck out everywhere, tufting out of the clip at the top. She was deliciously vulnerable and exquisite.
"Yes," I answered, humiliated at being caught, but too desperate for contact to run.
She rubbed her eye lazily with the back of her hand and yawned. "Stop standing in the hallway, come to bed."
Without another word, she turned and tumbled back into bed, pulling the cover over herself and rolling on her side.
I stood in the doorway unsure, afraid she was still asleep and I was close to over stepping my bounds. Just when I was about to turn away, erring on the side of caution, she looked up at me and reached her hand out, sleepily patting the empty side of the bed.
Stepping into the dark room, I carefully slipped off my shoes, one at a time. I eased into the firm mattress and gingerly lay on my back, my head resting on the soft pillow. Amelia snuggled her body close to mine and her hand settled on my chest, her fingers splayed wide. Shifting toward her, I placed my hand on her hip.
As vampires we have no need for sleep, although many of us take time to rest. I have a bed—just little use for it. It reminded me of the things I had lost. Amelia broke down the walls built up by the demon, forcing the humanity to spill out. She wasn't allowing me to live outside her life, content to just watch. She wanted me to experience life with her. For once, I grasped the concept of living for someone and with someone, and not lurking in the shadows, reading their minds and anticipating their actions.
Leaning over, I kissed her forehead and whispered, "Thank you," and prepared myself for the night as a part
icipant and not an observer.
Chapter 18
Amelia
Stretching my arms out across the cool sheets, I felt emptiness where Grant had been the night before. Scrambling, I reached for my watch and saw it was late—I was late. After all, I still had a job to do.
I tossed on my clothes and raked a brush through my hair, trying to get the rat’s nest into something semi-professional. It was important to me not to look like a slacker now that I was staying at Grant’s home. Would he care? Probably not. I had a feeling I could hang around in footie pajamas and he wouldn’t mind as long as I was present and safe. Did I care? Definitely.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure why I was even fussing over work clothes and hair. Grant was going into the Foundation offices today and had asked me to go with him. It seemed stupid—with the current threat from the Melungeon. Office work and budgets needed to wait while he and his family worked this out. The whole thing left a queasy feeling in my stomach.
But I dressed anyway and walked down the hall, stopping at the top of the stairs. Sniffing the air, I frowned. I smelled something…something burning.
“Crap,” I muttered, racing down the stairs. Had I left something on the night before? I’d been pretty upset after going to Lost Cove. Maybe the coffee maker turned on and burned while I over slept?
Smoke billowed from the kitchen and I ran into the room, but skidded to a stop when I took in the scene. Grant stood in the middle of the smoky room, waving his hands in the air. Flames rose from the stove and I dashed over and grabbed the pan.
“Amelia!” Grant snatched the pan back from me, hands on the rounded edges. Within seconds he had the fire out and was inspecting my palm. “You could have been hurt.”
“What are you doing?” I coughed, marveling at the fact he didn’t need an oven mitt or towel.
He glanced at the smoldering pan in his hand and shrugged. “Cooking.”
“Why are you cooking?”
“Because you need to eat.”
Sighing, I wrestled the destroyed pan out of his hands. Passing a bowl of egg shells and the ingredients for an omelet, I opened the cabinet under the sink that held the trashcan and dumped the entire thing inside. I rested my hands on the counter and shook my head, fighting back a mixture of coughing and laughter. The laughter won.