Chapter Eleven
ELEVEN
The two weeks before the official opening of the Annex were hectic. Ben spent most of his time at the Emporium overseeing final details while also managing the existing nursery business, with breaks to chat with Gigi about her campaign. Exhaustion hung heavy on him, but when sleep did come, it was limited and sporadic, dotted with nightmares of espresso machines exploding and plants trying to strangle him.
One silver lining to the stress was that Eleonore had proven herself surprisingly helpful since his meltdown on the couch. Granted, her support often took the form of sudden, startling appearances with blankets or mugs of hot chocolate that nearly made him soil his pants—accompanied by intense staring, since she didn’t seem familiar or entirely comfortable with the position of caregiver—but he appreciated the gestures.
Eleonore was also catching up on history and current events very quickly. She’d taught Ben all manner of morbid or odd facts over breakfast or dinner, like that platypuses had venomous spurs on their legs, that the shortest war in history lasted only thirty-eight minutes, and that hippopotamuses were responsible for more deaths annually than manticore stampedes. There was still tension between the two of them—how could there not be when he had a terrifying amount of power over her life?—but her wariness seemed to diminish every day.
His guilt over the situation didn’t. “When all this stress is over,” he’d promised her, “we’ll find a way to release you from the curse.” He still felt awful, though. It was unethical to keep her bound to the crystal, but he didn’t have the bandwidth or expertise to find a solution for that right now. So he worked carefully on his phrasing, trying to catch inadvertent commands before they left his mouth. When he did issue an accidental command, her widened eyes, flared nostrils, and violent looks quickly alerted him so he could rescind the order.
A week before the café opening and mayoral campaign announcement, Gigi called a postdinner meeting of her “team.” She’d assembled what she called the best minds in Glimmer Falls, but when Ben walked into Gigi’s living room to discover it full of their mutual friends, he resisted the urge to snark that she must not have looked very hard for help.
Truthfully, even though no one had experience running a political campaign, Gigi had them working to their strengths. Themmie was the Communications Officer, of course, busily drafting copy for a social media and email calendar. The demon Astaroth was the Branding Officer—Branding Master and Commander, he’d first tried to label himself, which Gigi had informed him made no sense on LinkedIn—responsible for crafting a consistent, appealing image and persona from both Gigi’s closet and her personality (and her eccentricities, Ben felt allowed to say as her older brother). Ben’s employee Rani, a naiad who had briefly dated Gigi during college and was still good friends with her, was her Hype Woman and Event Planner. (“How is Hype Woman LinkedIn-appropriate?” Astaroth groused to unsympathetic ears.) Ben had been bestowed the vague yet ominous title of Logistics Manager. Calladia was at the meeting, too, though as she’d said, “You don’t need a Bar Fight Officer, so I’m an all-purpose assistant.” Oz and Mariel would eventually step in to help as well, though not until they’d enjoyed newlywed bliss for a while.
“Here’s the proposed campaign logo,” Themmie said, passing around her phone. She’d engaged centaur Hylo as a graphic designer.
When the phone made it to him, Ben squinted at the pink image. It looked like a circle with some random jagged lines. “What is it?”
Themmie rolled her eyes. “Obviously a moon, since she’s a werewolf, and the mountains represent our city’s connection to the natural world.”
Below the mocked-up logo was a tagline: Gigi Rosewood: Howling for Change .
Ben guffawed.
“Hey,” Themmie said, snatching her phone back. “Constructive criticism only.”
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just… Howling for Change ?”
“I think it’s good,” Astaroth said, surprising Ben. “It’s succinct and snappy and positions her as both a werewolf and a progressive. Voters know they’ll get exactly what it says on the tin.”
While the rest of the group were merely sitting on Gigi’s couches and chairs, Astaroth was somehow lounging in a casually cool way Ben could never hope to aspire to. His gray suit was pristine, and he was toying with a cane topped with a crystal skull that ought to look ridiculous but didn’t.
Calladia sat next to her partner in a tank top and leggings, her ponytail askew from a day of work as a personal trainer. She elbowed Astaroth in the ribs, eliciting a whuff that diminished the demon’s coolness a bit . “I still like Gigi Rosewood: Taking a Bite Out of Government Corruption ,” she said.
“Also good,” Astaroth acknowledged. “But it’s long for a T-shirt and does sling some mud at Cynthia Cunnington. Mudslinging is deserved, of course, but I’ve been doing some market research, and while anger is effective at getting clicks, positive emotions elicit a better response rate when there’s a call to action.”
Ben was in over his head. “Call to action?” he asked. “Is that…voting?”
The look Astaroth gave him dripped with condescension. “We want people to sign up for Gigi’s newsletter and donate to her campaign first,” he said. “Voting is the end goal, but there are a lot of steps that need to happen first.”
“ Taking a bite out of corruption will be a good sound bite for social media,” Themmie said, thumb flying over her phone screen. “Let’s make it part of a speech.”
The brainstorming continued, covering a swath of topics. Astaroth had decided Gigi’s colorful pink Converse would be her trademark, especially in conjunction with Themmie’s proposed door-to-door campaign to engage with the citizens of Glimmer Falls. Rani was working on rally decorations and a word-of-mouth campaign in conjunction with Themmie’s social media efforts—they were teasing a Big Reveal at the Annex’s opening night.
Ben sat back and listened, feeling ill-equipped to help. If Gigi had been starting a business he would have more to contribute, but the world of marketing was foreign to him. Thankfully, he was only in charge of the event space and catering for the campaign launch, which basically meant telling the kitchen to make extra food (which Gigi was paying for, having refused to accept it as a gift).
“So this performance artist,” Gigi said. “What’s her background?”
Ben’s stomach dropped. Gigi wasn’t part of the group chat in which Mariel had posted the “Ben bought a vampire succubus on eBay when he was drunk” update—an update that had earned him a lot of well-deserved razzing. He’d sworn his friends to secrecy, and if he told his sister the details now, he’d have to admit he’d lied about the situation at Brittany’s. “Uh,” he said, tired brain struggling to come up with anything.
Thankfully, Themmie intervened. “Eleonore’s new,” the pixie said. “Just moved to the area, and this is actually going to be her world premiere performance. I think giving new talent a chance is a great way to emphasize your message about expanding access to the arts to communities who historically haven’t been given opportunities or resources.”
It was all—technically—true, and far better than anything Ben would have come up with. He sent a grateful glance Themmie’s way, and she winked when Gigi wasn’t looking.
“I hear she’s very avant-garde,” Astaroth drawled. “It’s going to be a bloody good time.”
The damn demon. Astaroth had been delighted by this development, which appealed to his chaotic nature. Once he’d learned straightlaced Ben had acquired a half-feral vampire succubus assassin he had no idea how to interact with, he’d declared it the funniest thing he’d heard all year. He was now making vampire puns at every opportunity.
“I hope the show isn’t terrible,” Gigi said with a frown. “Since it’s her first one.”
Ben shrugged. “It’s Glimmer Falls, not Broadway. I think people will enjoy it even if it isn’t the best show they’ve ever seen. And she’s excited about the opportunity.”
Opportunity was a strong word for the clusterfuck he’d thrust Eleonore into the middle of, but at least she really did seem excited about the performance now. He had no idea what she was planning, but he knew she was taking it seriously. She’d confessed that her original plan had been to embarrass him with something truly bizarre—which he had to admit was funny now that he knew it was no longer going to happen—but she’d assured him this would be a carefully thought-out performance in the best tradition of experimental theatre. He heard her muttering to herself in the guest room late at night, accompanied by thumping and the occasional soft shriek.
“Well, I look forward to seeing it.” Gigi smiled at Ben and reached out to ruffle his hair, eliciting an eye roll from him. “Thanks, bro. I appreciate you letting me co-opt your café opening.”
“It’ll bring in more customers,” he said. “So it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Gigi high-fived him. “Rosewood clan for the win! Speaking of which, Mom and Dad are so excited. Can we get them front-row seats?”
“Shit,” Ben said, shooting to his feet on a wave of adrenaline. “I forgot chairs!”
The group laughed as he sprinted out of Gigi’s house. He waved over his shoulder, muttering to himself about the sheer incompetence it took to construct an entire stage without thinking that maybe the audience would like somewhere to sit.
Thankfully, chairs were easy to source. He’d get some proper ones custom-made down the line from a woodworker he knew in neighboring Fable Farms, but simple folding wooden chairs—the same ones Mariel and Oz had rented from a local restaurant for their wedding—would suffice for the launch. A phone call later, he had arranged for them to be delivered first thing in the morning in exchange for a fire lily the cyclops restaurateur had his eye on.
His phone chimed after he hung up—a notification from MoonCycle, a versatile period/moonshift-tracking app used by both werewolves and menstruating people. Tomorrow night would be the full moon.
Ben swore at the reminder. With the chaos of the last few weeks, he had lost track of the waxing moon. He didn’t have time to transform into a wolf and run around terrorizing rabbits.
Shifting wasn’t optional, though, at least not with current technology. The moment scientists came up with a shift suppressant, Ben would be signing up. For now he sighed and mentally reviewed his schedule. He’d be out of commission for roughly seven hours, which meant the holiday knitting he’d planned to catch up on would need to be postponed yet again. He could grab a few hours of sleep after shifting back before heading to the Emporium to open shop.
Not ideal, but manageable, so long as he remembered to program the coffeepot.
Back home, Ben found Eleonore watching TV. He recognized the program as that trendy show with dragons he could never remember the name of. He’d tried to get interested in the previous dragon series, but there were a few too many beheadings for his taste.
“How was the meeting?” Eleonore asked, pausing the show. She’d grown adept with modern technology in a shockingly short amount of time. It was like she was a sponge; after being starved of knowledge for so long, she was absorbing everything she could.
“Fine,” he said distractedly as he hung his coat up and put his wallet and keys in the bowl next to the door. “I realized I have to shift tomorrow night, so I’ll come home very early in the morning. I’ll try not to wake you up.”
“Cool,” she said.
He made a face. “Not really.” Then, realizing her tone had been lackluster, he took a closer look at her. Her complexion looked wan, and there were shadows under her eyes. “Hey, are you all right? You look…” He cut off that sentence immediately, having learned that one should never tell a woman she looked tired or sick. Oh my God , Gigi had exclaimed once. A girl skips makeup for one day and suddenly she’s Baba Yaga. A tad overstated, but he had taken note of the misstep and vowed not to do it again.
Eleonore blinked slowly, as if it was taking her a few moments to process the words. “Oh. Yes. I’m fine.”
“Can I get you something? Blood, water, tea, whiskey? Something to help you sleep?”
Her full lips tipped up in a small smile. “Stop fretting, wolf. I’m all right, truly.”
If she said she was, he would believe her. He nodded. “I’m going to get a shower, then. I hope you enjoy the show.”
She didn’t reply, instead sinking back into the couch and grabbing the remote.
Once he was under the hot spray of water, Ben sighed and leaned his head against the tile, tension slipping out of his muscles. The tub was large, custom-built for his height the same way he’d needed to order a custom bed. Being tall got expensive, but in moments like this he was glad he’d invested in comfort rather than forcing himself to squeeze into smaller spaces the way he did in the outside world.
The hot water was divine, pinkening his skin and slicking his hair to his scalp as it worked magic on the stress held in his body. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he’d have considered a bubble bath, but he didn’t want to drown, and he had a feeling the moment he got horizontal it would be lights out—assuming he could get his brain to stop running through logistics, worrying about the vampire succubus in his living room, or reliving embarrassing memories from a decade ago, that was.
Ben had long ago perfected a nighttime routine for when he needed sleep and working himself into exhaustion hadn’t calmed the brain gremlins. First, a hot shower and a quick masturbation session to relax him. Then a cup of tea, a melatonin pill, and a CD of soothing whale sounds to lull him to sleep. Except on days his anxiety flared out of control, that would put him out like a light.
His dick was flaccid, but that could be rectified. Ben handled himself with the efficiency and expertise of nearly thirty years of practice, closing his eyes and rifling through fantasies until he settled on a scene from a paranormal romance novel he’d discovered in the library at a formative age.
This time, though, he couldn’t envision the particulars—or rather, they kept changing. The brunette’s hair turned fiery red, her curves grew more voluptuous, and at the moment when she was supposed to drop to her knees, she instead bared her fangs and hissed .
Ben’s hips jerked. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, even as his hand moved faster. Masturbating to Eleonore was wrong on…God, probably a million levels…but he couldn’t stop. This wasn’t a perfunctory wank anymore, designed to release tension with all the efficiency and passion of a sneeze. He was into it in a way he hadn’t been in a long time.
Ben groaned as he stroked himself, unable to stop the flood of images. Eleonore baring her fangs at him. Sucking his finger while grinding against him. Calling him wolf in that French accent. He imagined her bare breasts, how the weight of them would feel in his palms. She’d have a fiery thatch of hair for him to nose through on his way down, and when he licked between her legs, she would groan and order him to keep going or else she’d rip out his spine.
He finished startlingly quickly, muffling a shout with his free hand. When he was spent, he leaned back against the wall, legs shaking.
What was that ?
Ben hadn’t dated in so long, it had seemed like the sensual part of him had atrophied and died. Yet here he was, head spinning from the best orgasm he’d had in years, thoughts tangled around Eleonore. Eleonore, who he’d brought here unwillingly. Eleonore, whom he held a terrifying amount of power over. Eleonore, who would probably rather eat his liver than suck his dick.
“Fuck,” he whispered, running a hand over his face.
He finished the shower quickly, then brushed his teeth and shrugged on a black bathrobe. Eleonore didn’t need to know what was going on in his head; he would treat her the same way he had before, with a mix of politeness, consideration, and wary respect. They would work to release her from the spell, and then she’d be free to go her own way and never think of Ben again.
It took about one second and two steps into the living room to realize Eleonore had undergone a drastic change. While before she’d been tired and sickly looking, now she was alert and rosy-cheeked. Her skin seemed to glow, and even her lips looked redder as she smiled at him. “Good shower?” she asked.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
Vampire succubus, emphasis on the succubus . She seemed so wholly vampiric most of the time he’d almost forgotten what she’d told him that first day in the kitchen after sucking blood from his finger.
I could sense your arousal.
She totally knew he’d been jacking off.
Mortification washed over him in hot, dizzying waves. Wishing it was possible to disintegrate and become one with the floorboards, Ben nodded.
“Good,” Eleonore said, beaming at him. “Thank you.”
Thank him? For…
Realization hit.
I feed on that, too.
Ben had fed her regularly that week and provided more blood from NecroNomNomNoms, but he’d forgotten about the other part of her hunger. She needed to dine on sexual energy as frequently as she drank blood.
Ben’s cheeks were burning. “Can you…ah…tell what…” He trailed off, incapable of saying the words out loud. If he did, he thought he might actually die from humiliation.
“What you were fantasizing about?” Eleonore asked with her usual bluntness. She was still grinning. “No, I’m not psychic. It felt like a good one, though.”
If his cheeks could spontaneously combust, he would be a human torch right now. This was embarrassing on a level he’d never before experienced. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she looked so damn pleased he couldn’t get the words out.
She’d been hungry, he told himself. It was just like needing food or blood. Still, he needed to check. “If I…” He cleared his throat. “If I do that, I don’t want to sexually harass you. Since you can sense it.”
It wasn’t a question, but she understood. “I do not feel harassed,” she told him. She’d coiled the length of her hair and was toying with it, and he tried to block out memories of how her hair—and the grip he could take it in—had featured in his shower fantasies. “What you do is your business, Ben. And if it makes you uncomfortable and you want me to leave the house when you do that, I will.”
“How would you feed, then?” he dared to ask.
She shrugged one shoulder, looking effortlessly French in a way he’d only seen in movies. “I’ll find a way.”
Someone as savvy as Eleonore—and as beautiful—could find many ways to feed in Glimmer Falls. A tight, unpleasant feeling squeezed Ben’s throat. “I’m not uncomfortable,” he lied. “And I’m your host. Feeding you is my responsibility.”
Her auburn lashes brushed the delicate skin above her cheekbones. “As you—and I—wish, then.”
Her wicked smile was doing things to him and Ben only had so much bandwidth for processing simultaneously sexy, confusing, and mortifying things, so he nodded. “Cool,” he said, inwardly cringing. “Cool cool cool.”
Then he hurried to his bedroom, wondering once again what the hell he had gotten himself into.