Chapter 1
First Look at Accounting On Him
Chase Von' Chasin' Johnson
Bro, pumping iron as a vampire is difficult.
Not impossible, but you've gotta adjust. Like, first off, I can’t go to the gym during the daylight hours anymore, unless I want to crisp up like a rotisserie chicken.
Second? Apparently, a deep underground conspiracy aims to eliminate vampire bodybuilders, and they lace most protein powders with garlic powder.
What the fuck, right?
Humans are so petty. I’ve been a Fanger for six months, and I have absolutely seen the other side of how things are for us Vamps. Living was not only a chore, and most places were closed at night unless vampires ran them, but we also needed to find blood to quench our thirst.
Companies have tried to market synthetic blood, but not a single vamp would drink it.
Unless they were Fegan—a Fanger Vegan. It became more of a derogatory term, and sorry to the Fegans, but I need to drink blood supplied from the source.
Direct from the neck is most desirable, but trying to find a human who will offer their blood is like trying to find a job as a vampire.
Vampires going public meant that other supernaturals and not-supernaturals expected us to continue living with humans. Witches, Bin-Spirits, Shifters and even Rock Band Demon Hunters could go about their lives as per normal as if the entire supernatural world didn’t just crack open.
I was in the middle of a DIY deadlift session in my apartment, using cinder blocks and a witch's broom I snagged from downstairs, squeezing my solid marble ass tight each bend, when the email I had been waiting for came in. My phone pinged on my blood-stained couch. Don’t stress; the blood was from weeks ago during a BF party.
They called it bare fang as if we had tooth condoms for protection and chose not to wear them for the thrill, but it meant that we were siphoning blood directly from someone’s neck. Of course, the people involved always give consent. I hated the taste of blood without consent.
Becoming a Fanger didn’t improve my eyesight, sadly.
It made me incredibly horny, almost frenzied, after a workout sesh, but the only other thing difficult to do as a vampire besides pumping iron is getting an erection naturally without the blood of our prospective sexual partner given willingly.
I sighed, dropped my weights, which bounced with a loud clang, and I wiped my hands on the shirt I hung over a chair, then squinted at my screen.
Dear Mr Chase Johnson,
Welcome to VAMP-LINK Supernatural Employment Services.
Your placement has been assessed, and you have been successful in securing a role within Graves I have always been a night owl, and this was the best of both worlds.
I barely made it through my first gym sesh, spotting a bulky muscle god of a man when I felt something on my neck.
The asshole bit me. Took my blood and put his venom in me, against my wishes.
I am just thankful I could keep my agency.
Most newborn vamps must bend themselves to the will of their changers, the vampires who infect their victims with vampirism, but the form I signed allowed me to keep my own wits.
Since then, I have had an insatiable lust for blood and bulking up. I’ve always been gay. Becoming a Vamp has only made me appreciate the male form even more.
I was attempting to keep my cool as I finished checking over the email.
My heart, well it would if it still beat without feasting on blood, fell through my ass as I saw the words I didn’t originally see in the email.
There in the email the words ‘BUSINESS CASUAL’ revealed themselves.
As if they were taped off like a crime scene, with flashing lights and two police officers on either side directing my eyes to ‘move along’.
I was dressed in grey sweatpants, which revealed everything, a black tank that read “Fanger Pride”, a backwards cap and, to top it all off, ‘New Balances’.
Yes. This vampire wears dad sneakers. I liked comfort. I liked good arch support. And they were squeaking against the tiled floor, practically announcing my anxiety to the receptionist. She looked up, and she gave me a disgruntled look, like I had just interrupted her performing a séance.
“Ah!” She smirked. She had long brown hair and a look that made me feel she could see ghosts hanging around me. “You’re the new Vamp-link hire. Mr Johnson”
“That’s me.”
She was looking me up and down. “Interesting attire. Guess business casual means something different for vampires.”
“I didn’t see it in the email until I walked in.”
“Try to wear a business shirt and chinos next time, here.” She handed me a card in a plastic sleeve. “This is your pass into the Accounting office; don’t mind the janitor; he will just tend to the floors and clean out the bins at his own leisure.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Okay then.”
“Head on through the lifts and go to level four. Mr Penrose awaits you.”
I did as she instructed, my new balances squeaking the entire time I headed to the lift foyer. This was one of those modern office buildings, and I didn’t need to press a single button for the elevator to work.
I was thoroughly impressed and even let out an amused hum as the elevator arrived on the ground floor.
I entered the mirrored little box. I wouldn't have known I was awake, because vampires don’t have reflections in mirrors.
That was common knowledge, right? It was news to me at first, and I freaked-the-fuck-out.
Olden day vampires had never seen what they became, but modern vamps are spoiled. In our gyms and with special Vampiric socials and apps, we can see ourselves. From enchanted mirrors to modern witch-tech apps, the life of a modern vampire is pretty comfortable.
Between Vampstagram, FangFace and the one app that has sat on my phone way too long, Fang2Bang—a gay vampire dating app. It is sordid—I feel little different from I did as a human. The users on the dating apps are filthy; all want to be bitten and used as blood slaves. They needed an exorcist.
I looked back where I assumed my reflection would normally be, and I pulled faces. I stuck out my tongue and even tempted to pull down my pants just enough to show my ass in the jockstrap I had on. But I resisted as I noticed the camera.
I let the elevator take me to level four, and it wasn’t long until the elevator made a ding and the doors opened.
The level was entirely different from the ground floor foyer. Graves otherwise, they were identical to a fault.
I stepped out, bracing for cubicle hell, and walked straight into him.
And I mean straight into him. Shoulders, chest, hot coffee splashed over both of us. A very startled yelp, not mine as I don’t feel pain from hot liquids. As I apologised, I received a death glare that could’ve fried the flesh off my body met my own.
If I had breath left in my body, he would’ve knocked the wind right out of me.
Tall. Stern. Unsmiling. Hair the colour of bitter espresso—which only made me miss my morning lattes even more.
His eyes were darker. Cheekbones that could end wars.
Forearms that I would lick and trace his veins.
He was the kind of guy you only ever saw yelling at interns in a legal drama or starring in some cheap, piece of crap, gay indie film about an accountant falling for a vampire colleague; they were my secret pleasure.
I was getting carried away and practically walking down the aisle with this man, and I haven’t even introduced myself.
I froze.
My fangs nearly extended as my body detected an attack. My brain short circuiting at how much this man made my bloodless heart pump.
“I assume you are the new hire?” He asked as he brushed off his shirt, flicked his hand and then wiped it on the back of his pants.
His eyes took me in and scanned the coffee damage between us.
“I—uh—yes,” I stammered. I wanted to be suave and attempted to lean, but I almost stumbled and went flying into the cubicle wall near me. “Chase Johnson. VampLink sent me.”
He blinked once. Then again. Slow. Calculated. Judging. Counting his moments.
“Why are you wearing sweatpants? Did you not read Business Casual?”
“I didn’t read the email closely enough…”
“Your shirt says Fanger Pride.”
“Pride is never casual.” I replied solemnly.
He stared at me in pure, undiluted silence.
And then, with a weary sigh of a man who’d already had three coffees, none of which appeared to be strong enough, he said, “I’m Miles Penrose. You will report to me. Follow me and try not to bump into anything else.” He pointed between the coffee stains and everything around him.
I immediately let my fingers glide across the fabric of the divider walls as I followed him.
He glared backwards. “I said nothing, Mr Johnson.”
“Oh, sorry.” I sheepishly replied and scratched the back of my head. Some human habits die hard.
He turned sharply at a fork in the dividers, and I followed behind like a lost puppy being lured with a meal.
We passed the rows of desks, my sneakers squeaking with each turn like a rubber chicken at a funeral. Miles didn’t say a word. Just walked.
Stiff. Seething. Like he regretted every life choice that brought him here tonight.
“Do I get a welcome pack?” I asked brightly trying to defuse the tension. “Some bat-shaped paperclips? A spreadsheet I can sink my fangs into?”
He stopped, walked. Turned. Faced me with the same stern look.
“You’re here to observe and file. And only assist with budgets when I feel you are ready. Breathe too loud and you’ll be assigned to Crypt Audit. Is that clear?”
I saluted. “Loud and clear. Vampires don’t breathe, boss man.”
“Don’t call me that.”
‘Roger, Chief Number guy!”
His eye twitched. “Come, our desks are over here.” He turned back around, and I paused as he walked ahead.
I might be undead, but this man had me feeling things that were absolutely not safe for the workplace.
Good thing I had to be invited in, or I would have taken this man on a desk in a heartbeat.
Good thing I don’t have a heartbeat. Well, not without some fresh blood, but I think Miles only had budgets on the mind.