4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Beau Drewitt
I usually spend these days behind the counter or in my office, budgeting for the month’s expenses before the next rush hits.
But right now, I can’t leave Kai alone. It’s far too busy.
He’s worked here longer than anyone else I’ve hired.
I tire of people very quickly. I mean, he’s good at what he does, most of the time.
When his anxiety spikes, though, the whole place feels it.
He grounds himself by talking about Pokemón.
His therapist suggested it, and I backed her up after our big talk about panic attacks.
It works for him, but most people browsing for their next favorite read don’t want to hear a grown man ramble about attack types.
Still, I let him. I claim a nearby table, set down my makeshift laptop, which is simply a tablet with a Bluetooth keyboard.
I consider this a triumph of modern invention.
It really has helped me be more efficient with the store.
I start drafting the next newsletter. New releases, events, deadlines.
“She was absolutely bangin’. I mean, I don’t think she even realized my eyes didn’t leave her body the whole time,” a voice says behind me.
I pause mid-sentence. Who the hell is he talking about like that? The man’s tone is all bravado and cheap charm. I can tell he’s not interested in anything but the thrill of conquest. His words drip with the kind of arrogance that makes my fangs ache.
“Are you talking about your therapist again?” his friend asks.
Oh, brother. I glance over my shoulder. Two men, both out of their depth in a bookstore, pretending they belong. They’ve been here an hour, barely touched the shelves, and keep scanning the room for women instead of books.
“She is, in fact, my therapist,” the first one says. “I saw her ad online and absolutely had to create a reason to be in front of her.”
Disgust curls low in my stomach. I’ve seen predation in many forms over the centuries, but the modern breed always finds new ways to make it worse.
He’s using mental health as an excuse to flirt.
Pathetic. I can see why the fake “male loneliness epidemic” was created.
Kai said that’s a new thing. I really need to look that up.
“Dude,” the first friend starts again, lowering his voice.
“She had a crazy body, but even more than that… her eyes are wild. One of them…” He trails off when a group of women enter, the bell over the door chiming.
Laughter fills the space, bright and alive, momentarily drowning out his voice.
It didn't take him long to move on to the next.
“What’s her name?” the quieter man asks.
“Elowen Briar.” I freeze. The name slips through me like silk. Elegant, ethereal. I repeat it silently, feeling desire stir deep inside me. Yum.
Jesus. I need to get laid. If a name alone can make me feel like this, I’m as bad as those idiots. It’s been a while since I pursued a woman, to be frank. I push in my chair and stand, trying to shake the thought loose. I can’t focus with their voices polluting the air.
“Beau, come here for a second, bestie!” Kai calls from behind the counter. I groan. If he calls me that in front of customers one more time, I’ll disembowel him just to prove a point.
“Please stop calling me that,” I growl, stalking over. I haven’t fed today. Didn’t last night, either. I fell asleep drunk. My rationing schedule keeps me sane, but skipping two feedings makes the hunger sit sharp in my throat. It constantly pangs at me.
Kai fidgets, avoiding the work he should be doing.
“I just don’t get it. None of the regulars ever flirt with me.
” He means the lounge regulars, the speakeasy beneath the shop that only opens after dark.
He helps me run the show down there. A quest we set out on when he finally connected the dots about me being a vampire.
Hey. I had to tell him eventually; I was approximately two days away from him calling the cops over his odd suspicions.
Not that mortal law matters much to me. I sigh, allowing him to continue his rant.
“Is there anything I can do to make them like me?” he asks. “My insane good looks can only get me so far.”
Kai really is a handsome enough kid: olive skin, dark curls, big doe eyes, but his nervous energy cancels out his charm.
He has a good head on his shoulders for being twenty-four.
Still, I don’t mind him. I was close to ending it all before he came along.
He doesn’t know it was his friendship that stopped me.
Suicidal ideation became my only thought and it plagued me for years.
Nowadays, I don’t consider death as often.
Call the reason Kai or the bookstore or the speakeasy below, but overall I’m just glad I have a want for more. It’s enough to keep me going.
He brightened the business, too. He’s eager, reads what I give him, builds displays, keeps the atmosphere alive. The fact that he’s not terrified of me anymore is a bonus.
“Beau,” he says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Welcome back. I was talking to you.”
“I was thinking about the unfinished newsletter,” I say, lowering my voice, “and how I have bigger problems than your social life. Do you really want to become someone’s dinner that badly?”
“The blood-thirsty regulars from the speakeasy? They wouldn’t dare,” he gasps. “I’m your only help. Your only friend, for that matter, good sir.”
I pull him behind the counter. “Vampire 101. We don’t make friends. It’s practically impossible. I explained mates to you, didn’t I?”
He frowns. “Yeah, but I figured you weren’t saving yourself for me. I’m into girls. Nice girls. Not whatever you are.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I could drain you right here, imbecile. Would you rather annoy people who might actually try to kill you?”
I step out from behind the counter, inhaling the familiar scent of customers and open pages.
Vampires usually take a single mate, mortal or immortal.
A true, not chosen, bond connection is rare, and dangerous.
They call those a sino. Plus, it’s easier to keep humans at arm’s length.
Their blood tastes especially sweeter when there’s distance.
We can even taste what they’ve eaten, the flavors preserved in their bloodstream.
A strange sort of intimacy. I find joy in the blood bags that carry flavors, now that I strictly feed from them.
It makes life a little more normal since I can’t taste anything else.
If a vampire finds their mate in either a human or vampire and the other party refuses, the selective bond still holds.
The law is ancient and cruel. It’s a sick game of tag you’re it.
I’ve avoided it all my life, which I consider an achievement.
No true mate. No relationships. Not that I ever give anyone the chance.
The second a woman returns or tries to make us a thing, I quickly shut that down.
Thankfully, there’s never been any issue with that, and life carries on as normal.
Plus, there’s no dividing my time amongst my work life and personal life. It’s all one.
One-night stands are simpler. Not to seem narcissistic, but I prefer to dominate in the bedroom only. It’s not that I feel superior or that I feel it’s necessary, but letting the women who want to fully hand over control is empowering for the both of us.
No mate. No significant other. Just Crimson & Quill, my loft upstairs, and Kai. I debated getting an animal, but none seem fond of me. Curse of being undead, I presume.
Hours drag by as I tidy up end-caps and watch as Kai slides his headphones on to organize the new stock.
Eventually, I head down to the cellar to prepare the speakeasy.
Cleaning keeps the hunger at bay. I polish the bar, check the microphones, hum along to the silence.
The solitude feels good and safe. Then, the cellar doors creak behind me as I’m hidden in the shadows.
Another perk to being undead. The shadows provide me a safe haven to escape to, when necessary.
The man from earlier, the one bragging about his therapist, takes one step at a time leading into the speakeasy.
I quickly delve into his mind to see what I’m dealing with.
He slipped right past Kai through the back door of the store and still somehow was curious enough to check out what was down here through a completely separate door.
Are you kidding me? Is consent even in his vocabulary?
Benny is his name. That’s good to know.
“Hello?” he calls out. “The bunker doors were unlocked, so I just wanted to see what this place is.” Unlocked isn’t an invitation, but okay.
What’s your plan here, kid? Curiosity and arrogance blur his brain in an unsettling mix.
He heads straight for the bar and grabs a bottle of Van Winkle from the top shelf.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he mutters. “Probably never going to be taken down anyway.”
I appear behind him before he can blink. “Having fun, friend?”
He spins, eyes wide, fear blooming in his scent. Delicious. “Oh my god, who the hell are you?”
I let my power reach into his mind again.
Memories flicker to life, and then I see her.
Short chestnut brown hair in a tousled pixie cut.
Fair skin scattered with freckles. One eye is vivid blue, the other bright yellow-green.
Mismatched earrings, gold rings on nearly every finger, a turtleneck tucked into high-waisted jeans that frame her perfectly.
Her posture is confident, her movements easy, like the world bends a little when she walks through it.
Although, she remains completely unaware of the work of art she is.
She’s meant for the Louvre. No doubt.
“Who are you thinking about?” I demand, in a growl, before I can stop myself.
Benny stammers. “What, man—I’m not—well, I am, but—”
I grab him by the throat. “Who. Is. She. Motherfucker?”