Shifter Babies of America Box Set 1

by Becca Fanning

  Amelia’s eyes glazed over as Bill listed all the reasons why he couldn’t do his job. This was only his third week at the paper, and already he’d had her cover three of his other stories. In theory, this was good for Amelia—the more by-lines she had, the better. But today, she was slammed with work. She had three articles to edit and she was supposed to give their intern a tour of the building at three, along with delegating stories to the junior writers because Bill couldn’t be bothered to. How was she supposed to juggle all that with an interview?

  “I can cover it for you. Just send me the specs and location and I’ll be there.” There was no use fighting him. She’d figure out logistics later.

  Bill simpered at her. “Good. Thanks for being a team player. I expect the interview on my desk tomorrow morning by ten.”

  Ten!? How the hell was Amelia supposed to make that deadline? It’d take her at least an hour to decipher the chicken scratch notes she always took during interviews, and a piece like this needed to be at least 1,000 words. Writing it well would take time ‒ time she didn’t have… unless she skipped dinner with her sister tonight and worked until the wee hours of the morning. Fuck you, Bill.

  But Amelia couldn’t actually say that to her boss. So instead she said, “Yes, sir,” and walked back to her desk. She fished her phone out of the back pocket of her red polka-dotted culottes and shot off a quick text to her sister, letting her know she wouldn’t be able to make dinner at Monica’s. She was going to cook Amelia a “cleansing meal” to help her get through to the raw vegan diet Monica had her on that week to help “balance her chakras.” Monica would understand.

  A ping sounded from Amelia’s laptop, signaling a new email. It was from Bill, and read: Interview with Eli Kingston, Vegas Theatre, 1:00pm. Dress rehearsal for Macbeth. Hayley checked her watch. It was 12:30. She’d have to hail a cab to the theatre to get there in time. Grabbing her phone, digital recorder, notebook and pen, and throwing it all in the large brown leather satchel she always took to work, she dashed off hoping she’d be back by 3:00 to give that tour. Macbeth had five acts, and in Amelia’s experience, each act took about half an hour. She’d be a little late to the office, but she’d definitely make it.

  ---

  The Las Vegas Theater was one of the oldest in the city, which wasn’t saying much since Las Vegas had only really become the buzzing metropolis that millions flocked to every year in the mid-20th century. But as Amelia walked inside, she was met with artfully placed chandeliers, gilded bannisters, and old-school red carpeting leading to the theatre doors. The man who greeted her was wearing a tuxedo with long tales and a bow tie. The whole place screamed retro chic, and Amelia loved it.

  “Can I help you, madam?” the tuxedoed man asked Amelia as she wandered the entrance.

  “Yes! I’m looking for Eli Kingston.”

  He nodded and swept his arm out to the right. “Right this way.”

  Amelia followed him through the theatre doors and down the aisle. On the stage, the actors were rehearsing their lines in full Shakespearean costume. Alan, whose name Amelia had spied on the nametag of his suit, led her past the chaos and behind the curtain to the backstage area.

  “Third door on the right, madam,” Alan said, pointing Amelia down a long, dark hall lit only with a few faded light bulbs buzzing eerily in the ceiling.

  Amelia made her way down the hall slowly before stopping in front of the third door. Taking a deep breath and adjusting the belt on her shirtdress, she knocked. Silence. There was a gilded nameplate attached to the door that read: Director Eli Kingston, so Amelia knew this was definitely the right door. She knocked again. No response. After waiting a few more moments and knocking a third time with no response, Amelia decided to crack open the door. She was on a schedule, after all, and she hated when interviewees were late. It was so disrespectful to the journalist.

  But when Amelia opened the door, what she saw made her wish she’d never entered the theater in the first place. Hunched in front of the vanity mirror was a large, hairy thing. Not quite a person, not quite an animal, this thing was breathing heavily, almost growling as it turned and looked at Amelia. It had deep golden eyes that squinted with confusion at the sight of her. It was crouched on its hind legs, but returned to all fours as it began to crawl slowly toward her. As the beast neared her, Amelia felt her breath shorten and her heartbeat grow so quick she could barely feel the pause between beats. The next thing she knew she was on the floor, her vision slowly darkening as the monster pressed its face to hers.

  Eli

  Eli leaned over the unknown woman, looking for signs of life. She’d hit her head when she fell and he was worried she might be concussed. Before he could tend to her, however, he had to shift back. Or at least try to.

  For as long as he could remember, Eli had been a werewolf. His shifting had been few and far between until he reached adolescence, and then it had felt like it happened practically every day. Werewolves shifted for so many different reasons; it wasn’t all tied to the moon, and more often than not it was dictated by human emotions. For Eli, he shifted when he felt nervous or stressed, and his first month as the director of the Las Vegas Shakespeare Company had been a trying time. He’d escaped his previous home in Boston after yet another attack by a rival wolf pack and was trying to reinvent himself here. He felt safe in the knowledge that his new name and identity would protect him, should the need arise. But Eli wasn’t used to feeling safe. He’d spent so much of his life terrified of what, or who, was around the corner, and that had led to living with constant low-level anxiety. Add to that a new city, a new job, and the pressure of putting on the first production of Macbeth the Las Vegas Theater had seen in over fifty years, and Eli was bound to go wolf.

  He just hadn’t been expecting to be interrupted mid-shift by a stranger. And a beautiful one at that. The woman lying before him had long, curly, honey blonde hair that was plaited in a messy braid and tied with a piece of blue ribbon. She was wearing a light blue linen shirtdress, which had ridden up to reveal toned, graceful tanned legs. Eli could tell she was tall, and that was without the canvas espadrille wedges wrapped around her feet. But those were just details—what truly enthralled him about her was her face. Soft golden skin highlighted the dark brown sable color of her eyelashes resting against her cheeks. Her lips were naturally a pale pink, and a small mole next to her upper lip on the right side accentuated her perfect cupid’s bow. She was gorgeous, perfect, and Eli wanted to get to know this mysterious vixen better. First, however, he had to get her to wake up.

  Eli gently gathered her torso in his arms and sat her up against the door. He could feel himself slowly turning back into his human form, and for that he was extremely grateful. He’d ripped his clothes when he shifted, so before tending to the woman he had to get dressed. Having her wake up to the sight of his naked body probably wouldn’t do anything to ease the fear she was feeling. He didn’t want to scare this woman into another fainting fit if he could help it.

  Walking to his desk, he opened the lower left drawer attached to it and grabbed a pair of boxers. Then, from the wardrobe to the right of his desk, he found a pressed shirt and khakis. Dressing quickly, Eli then grabbed the water jug he always kept filled and at the ready on his desk. He turned back toward the beautiful woman, hunched down, and, using his fingers, placed a few droplets of water on the woman’s lips. The cool sensation of the liquid on her mouth woke her up, and she opened her eyes slowly and softly, giving Eli the most delicious smile before suddenly widening her eyes in horror and trying to scooch away from him.

  With the door behind her, however, there wasn’t anywhere for her to go, and the woman began trying to stand up. Dizziness overtook her, however, and she fell back onto the door, Eli catching her in his arms just before she collapsed back down to the floor.

  “Easy there. You need to take things slowly,” he told her. The woman gave him a suspicious look, but followed him as he helped her over to the sofa on the far side of his offic
e. He poured her a glass of water and held it out for her.

  The woman took it gratefully and gulped it down before saying, “What… what was that thing? Was that you?”

  Great. So she remembered. Eli was fairly skilled at talking his way out of situations like this—it wasn’t the first time he’d shifted in front of a stranger, and he doubted it would be the last—but he’d never done it with someone so arresting. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’m so sorry. It was a costume for another production. One of the costume designers was having me try it on for an understudy, and I was in the midst of taking it off when you came in.”

  Theoretically, Eli could have told this woman about his wolfish tendencies. After all, civilians generally knew about his kinds’ existence, though few fraternized with them. Still, public opinion of werewolves wasn’t exactly positive, and Eli thought that the last thing this woman needed was another shock to her system. Telling her he was a werewolf would definitely be a shock. Also, despite the innate goodness radiating off this woman, she was, after all, a journalist, and the last thing Eli needed was his true nature making it into the papers. The theater was struggling enough as it was, without patrons knowing that its main theater company was being run by a beast.

  The woman nodded, sitting up a little straighter as the color slowly came back to her cheeks, turning them a dusky pink. “Oh. That makes sense. Well, would you mind if I take a few moments to myself before we start the interview?”

  “Interview?” Eli asked. He did have an interview on the schedule today, but it was with Bill Wright from N!, an old bastard who’d been in the business way too long. Not a beautiful young blonde woman.

  Amelia sighed. “He didn’t tell you, did he? Damn him.” Shaking it off, Amelia stuck her hand out for Eli to shake. “I’m Amelia Grey, a journalist at N!. Bill sent me here to do the interview. He got caught up in some things and wasn’t able to make it, so I’m here to interview you instead.”

  It was all falling into place now, and Eli couldn’t help but feel overjoyed that fate had deposited this woman into his lap. Maybe he could ask her out for an early dinner after the interview, get to know her a bit better and find out what was behind those beautiful eyes ‒ find out how those mesmerizing lips tasted.

  Eli shook Amelia’s hand. “Eli Kingston. I’m sorry about the mishap. I was hoping you could watch the dress rehearsal before doing the interview, to give you some context about my work at the theatre. The play starts in fifteen minutes. Does that give you enough time to recover? We could do an early dinner after the play, and you could do the interview then if that works for you? My treat for scaring the living daylights out of you.”

  Amelia nodded her head before fully understanding his words. She started to look worried, and slowly stood up to retrieve her bag from where Eli had placed it by the door after her fall. “That’s fine. I just need to make a quick phone call. Be right back.”

  Eli cleaned up his office while she was gone, righting the lamp that had been knocked over when Amelia fell, and tidying his desk. By the time Amelia returned, he was cool, calm and collected, leaning against his desk with an air of nonchalance he desperately hoped seemed genuine.

  “Sorry about that. Had to phone the office and clear up a few things,” she said. Eli nodded, then stood up and led her out of the office and back down the hall. They crossed through the backstage area and down the steps to the main theatre. Eli showed Amelia to a seat in the second row. “The first row always gives me a crick in my neck,” he whispered as they sat down. The lights dimmed, the music began, and as the first actor took the stage, Eli’s eyes weren’t fixed on his players. They were fixed on Amelia.

  Eli

  As the curtains closed, Eli saw Amelia draw in a deep breath and wipe an errant tear from her eye. She turned to him, and, in the still, quiet dark of post-performance, whispered, “That was the best version of Macbeth I’ve ever seen.”

  Eli was glad of the cover of darkness because it meant Amelia couldn’t see the blush slowly spread on his cheeks. He was a natural redhead so he was prone to blushing, and even more so around beautiful women. Amelia was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—that much was clear when she’d fainted in his office. Seeing her take in the performance, however, he’d also realized how observant and sensitive she was. He could almost feel the fear radiating off of her when the Three Weird Sisters took the stage, and felt the disgust that had overwhelmed her when Macbeth’s transformation into a megalomaniac began. Eli knew the play was good—he’d made sure of it, spending countless hours with his producers and players going over every last detail—but there was nothing quite as special as watching it through her eyes.

  “Thank you. It’s been hard work trying to get this together while I’m still acclimating to Vegas, so it’s nice to hear that, especially from an expert.”

  Eli saw the hint of a smile break out on Amelia’s face as they vacated their seats and walked out of the main room and through the entrance. Eli was planning to take her to his favorite Italian restaurant down the street for their dinner interview.

  The walk there was spent discussing the main actor who played Macbeth. “He’s so talented,” Amelia gushed. “It’s like he really became Macbeth, you know? Is he a method actor?”

  Eli shook his head. “If you can believe it, this is actually his first performance. We just hired him right after his graduation at Julliard. One of the patrons saw him at a show in New York and contacted me. We flew him here and hired him on the spot.”

  “Well, I definitely have to set up an interview with him. I can tell he’s going to be big here.”

  They approached the restaurant and Eli held the door open for Amelia as they walked in. The hostess seated them at a table in a secluded corner of the dining room. The décor was vintage 1950’s with heavy oak furniture, gaudy light fixtures, and wall murals of Italian sea-maidens. Amelia smiled as she settled into her chair and looked around the place.

  “This looks like the restaurant from Moonstruck,” she said. “I can’t believe I’ve never noticed this place before. I must’ve passed by it a hundred times and never really seen it.”

  “The old theater director took me here during my interview and I fell in love with the place. I come here an embarrassing amount of times each week,” Eli said, pouring water from the jug on the table into Amelia’s glass. She took a sip, and when she put the glass back down, there was a small bead of water on her lower lip. Eli longed to lean over and lick it, then press his lips against hers, tasting her sweetness, but he held himself off. This was neither the time nor the place.

  The waiter came and took their orders—Amelia asked for pasta primavera, Eli ordered the chicken piccata, and they decided to split a salad—and then they began talking. Amelia set her digital recorder in the center of the table and pressed the ‘on’ button. She kept her notebook by the side of her bread plate, occasionally scribbling something indecipherable in it as Eli spoke.

  At first, their conversation centered solely around the theatre and Vegas, and Eli’s experience of it thus far. Eli told Amelia that in the month he’d been in Vegas he’d gotten to be more involved with the productions than he was ever able to at his previous job in Boston.

  “Boston?” Amelia asked. “I’ve actually never been to the East Coast. What’s it like?”

  For Eli, Boston was filled with bad memories of a life gone wrong. It was the third city he’d moved to in attempt to escape the rival of the pack he’d grown up with in Ontario. He’d been mugged twice, beaten four times, and by the end of his five years there he was ready to leave. The move to Vegas was his chance to start again, and hopefully begin the life he’d always dreamed of: theatre director by day, husband and father by night. Of course, he couldn’t say that last part to Amelia. Though, she might be exactly what he was looking for in a woman. Telling her that during an interview, after she’d accidentally walked in on him mid-shift, probably wasn’t the best idea.

  So instead, Eli told Ame
lia the watered-down version of his time there. “The city itself is amazing. There’s so much to do and so much history, but by the end I felt burned out. The theatre company I was working for was going bust, mostly thanks to some bad business decisions by the board, and I felt pretty hopeless. Moving to Vegas was kind of my chance to start over.”

  Amelia nodded. “It’s the same for me, actually. I grew up in L.A., but after five years going from paper to paper with no progression from junior writer, I decided to come to Vegas. It’s not nearly as inundated with arts newspapers—N! is actually the only one—so I’m actually able to shine here.”

  Unknowingly, Eli had been reading Amelia’s columns since he’d moved. Hers were so differently written than some of the swill Bill published—her love for the arts was clear in her writing, and she gave respect to even the worst performances that she reviewed ‒ honoring the time and effort that had gone into them, the sacrifices the artists had made for their work.

  “I’ve actually read your stuff. You’re a brilliant writer, Amelia. Truly. Your piece on the modern art exhibition over at Richard’s Gallery was outstanding.”

  Amelia blushed, stuck for words, but was saved by the waiter coming by to bring their salad to the table. They both dug in, starving, though for different reasons. Amelia had been on that stupid raw vegan cleanse for over a week, which Monica was convinced would help “cleanse the auras and open the mind” because Amelia had been experiencing writer’s block on the novel she was working on at night. It was a historical romance about a gold miner and a showgirl, and she was stuck on Chapter 15. All the cleanse had done, however, was make Amelia cranky and hungry. Now she was happy to break it with a salad dressed in oil and dotted with perfect cloudy, squidgy balls of homemade mozzarella.