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ROLLING OVER IN BED, Greyson’s hand searched for his phone. His fingertips grazed it, finding it a few inches from his pillow. He slid it toward him, tilting it up slightly as he checked the time. The suddenly-illuminated screen was the only light in the room. He squinted, eyes sensitive as they struggled to adjust. The clock read seven twenty. “Whoa,” he mumbled to no one as he returned his phone to its face-down position. “I slept like a baby.” Feeding did that. It helped him sleep. The next few days, days when he didn’t eat, would be spent searching for someone else the world would be better off without. Easy enough. The world seemed filled with people who met that criteria these days. Each year that passed it seemed the collective of proud psychopaths had grown exponentially. In the six short decades since he’d been changed, he’d witnessed a shift in society, one where the vilest of creatures had come out of hiding, shedding any and all shame. With the advent of the internet, a niche had come into existence for the lowest of the low: pedophiles. Predators of every kind had found a home. Some even formed groups where trade secrets were shared. Greyson started there. He saw that as a hunting ground of sorts. He would observe, learning and studying his next subject’s on-line habits. He’d track his subject on social media under any and all aliases, gathering information about depraved behavior. Not surprisingly, these predators weren’t as smart as they thought. They always made mistakes that revealed who they were. And Greyson was always there to catch it. To capitalize on it.
He’d begin researching his next meal later this evening. Not now, though. He had somewhere else he needed to be.
Stretching, Greyson let out a loud yawn then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He scratched his head as he made his way to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. Allowing the hot water to run while he brushed his teeth, he felt a spike of excitement dart through him. He’d see her today.
Eight o’clock each evening for the last week had become the only event that brought Greyson an emotion even close to happiness. Each evening he’d see a girl, a girl who practically looked right past him as she interacted with him. She treated him like he was...normal. Normal was what he missed. Normal was what he craved. But normal was what he could never have.
Still, for the forty-five minutes or hour he lingered in her presence, he felt just that. He’d tune everyone else out—the gawking, the not-so-subtle cries for attention, the sad attempts at flirtation—and focus on her. The other women, the ones who so desperately wanted him to notice them, hadn’t the slightest clue what they were after. Pheromones and a pretty exterior. That’s all he was. That’s all any of them were. Whether male or female, his kind was designed to lure the opposite sex—to lure everyone really—into their trap. Attractive in a way that human beings could never be, their appearances were flawless, like walking, talking works of art. Everything about them, right down to their voices, was part of the ploy.
Ploy.
That’s what his existence boiled down to.
He knew it even if no one else did. Even if the humans never knew he was a monster disguised as a dream come true and even if his kind saw themselves as the species superior to the masses, Greyson knew what he was. That’s why he strove to give it purpose. To hunt and eradicate the worst of the wrong-doers. And that’s why he squirmed under the scrutiny of humans.
Stepping into the shower, Greyson stood beneath the jets, allowing the hot water to cascade down his body. He closed his eyes and forced the misguided adoration of humans to the back of his mind. He placed it beside the illusion he projected. He left it with the monster that lived within him, the monster he’d become, and allowed himself to be Greyson Black. Just Greyson Black. Nothing more. Even if it was only for the next hour or so.
He wondered if she knew—if she’d ever know—what she’d done for him. What she continued to do. How she made an otherwise insufferable existence tolerable. Though it had just been roughly sixty minutes a day for the last seven days—four hundred and twenty minutes in the last sixty years—it had meant more to Greyson than anything else in longer than he could remember.
Picturing her in his head, Greyson hurried, rushing to wash his hair and body. Rushing to see her and feel the peace she brought him. After drying off and dressing, he combed product into his hair and headed out the door.
The evening air was bitter. Snow had fallen and continued to fall. The roadways had been plowed but a thick coat of dirty slush made driving tricky. But that didn’t deter him. Not in the least. And it certainly didn’t dampen his mood. This was his time. Besides, he lived just a few blocks away.
Driving along, the landscape became less commercial and more residential. Houses flanked the main road rather than strip malls and fast food restaurants. He continued until he reached the small, corner lot where he knew she’d be.
Inhaling deeply, Greyson turned off the engine of his car and climbed out. He jogged up three steps and opened the door. A bell dangled at the top of it, jingling and alerting the thirty-something hostess just inside.
“Hi,” the hostess behind the counter said. Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. She smiled and brazenly opened a button on her blouse to reveal sun-spotted cleavage. Though she’d seen him and tried desperately to flirt with him every night for the last week, and he’d rebuffed her advances every night for the last week, she persisted. “Where would you like me to put you?” she asked, but the tone she used suggested she was talking about something other than where he wanted to sit. “I’ll let you go wherever you’d like.” She trailed the fingers on one hand down her neck to draw his eyes to her bosom.
Sickened, he replied, “Same booth.”
She pouted, an expression he presumed she thought was sexy, but he thought it was laughable. “Maybe you should try something else. Something new.” She arched her back, thrusting her chest forward, undaunted by his disinterest.
“No thanks,” Greyson said flatly.
The hostess continued to talk, prattling on about the weather and how she wanted a warm body to curl up next to, but he tuned her out. His attention had been drawn elsewhere. It’d been drawn to the reason he’d come here in the first place: the girl who quieted all the chaos screaming inside him. He could smell her. She was near. Her scent lingered. Sweet apple and soft florals gave way to orange blossom with sandalwood, olive wood and vanilla undertones. He didn’t know if it was a perfume she bought and wore as some human women did, the fragrance of her skin or whether it was the scent of her blood but he found it mesmerizing. Intoxicating.
Smiling involuntarily, Greyson’s eyes scanned the room. A few people sat at the counter. No one sat in the dining area. Still, he wanted his usual seat. So he followed the hostess to the booth in the far corner by the window.
“Enjoy,” the hostess winked and said. She placed a menu in front of him and sashayed away.
Greyson pretended to look at the menu, but what he was really doing was waiting for her.
Seconds later, the warm scent of sweet apple, orange blossom and vanilla surrounded him.
“Hey Greyson. What brings you out on a night like this?”
He looked up, pulse speeding up just a bit, and there she was. Wavy, dark-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, her hazel eyes and full lips were showcased. “I had to get my hamburger fix.” He shrugged and smiled.
She didn’t fawn over him. Not in the least, in fact. “You’re nuts,” she said casually. She offered an easy, half-smile, where just one half of her mouth rose, rounding one cheek and revealing a dimple. “If I didn’t have to be here, I’d be home, in my pjs.”
“Surfing social media?” he asked and lifted one brow.
“Uh, no.” Expressive eyes widened as her mouth formed a pretty “o” when she’d said the word “no”. “I’d be studying so that I could get to bed at a reasonable hour for once.”
“Studying? You’re in school? Which one? What’s your major?” he heard himself and realized he sounded oddly eager as the questions sprayed from him.
“Yes. Yes. Dutchess Community. And Nursing.” She answered his questions in the order he’d fired them, ticking off the replies on one hand until a horn blared as she spoke the word “nursing”. Her head snapped up and she peered out the window as several more car horns honked.
Greyson didn’t bother following her gaze or seeing what had caused the commotion. He didn’t care what was going on outside. He was only interested in continuing a conversation with her.
“Nursing, huh? That’s not for just anybody. You see a lot of gross stuff.”
“These people are insane,” she said softly as she gestured toward the glass and shook her head. Her attention returned to him. “Yeah,” she answered him. “It can be gross to some people I guess. But all that stuff doesn’t bother me. I don’t pass out at the sight of blood or gore.” She bobbed her shoulders offhandedly.
Her comment caught him off guard. It also intrigued him. “Huh,” he said. Unsure of the strange feeling that washed over him—odd little volts of a mix of panic and excitement—he looked down at his menu, though he watched her intently in his periphery. “Not many people can handle that kind of stuff. I’m impressed.” He shifted uncomfortably, silently chastising himself for saying something so foolish, so irresponsible.
“Thanks.” She seemed unfazed by him saying she impressed him. “I haven’t finished clinicals yet so we’ll see,” she said modestly.
Most human beings, especially female, would’ve been tripping over themselves and drooling if they’d received even the slightest hint of a compliment from him. But she hadn’t. It was as if she was impervious to the vulturine charm all vampires had been given. Greyson was as pleased by her resistance to him as he was perplexed by it. After all, the charm he exuded that made women swoon was just a clever trick. A clever trick he couldn’t control. The only aspect of it that he could control was choosing not to feed at will.
“Clinicals?” he asked her, realizing too much time had passed. He hoped he hadn’t made the situation awkward.
“Clinicals is going to a nursing unit and doing things for patients that I’ve learned in class, and some things I didn't learn but knew how to do like straightening a bed or getting a patient a drink or helping them to the bathroom. I also get info about my patient the day before, and I go home and work up a treatment plan.” She paused as if catching herself. “Aaaand I’m boring you.”
“No!” Greyson answered quickly and too loudly. “It's cool. Really cool, actually.”
She smiled. A full smile that showed both dimples and made his pulse quicken. “I think so, too.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t enjoy it.”
“It’s a lot of work, right?” He could see it in her eyes. Within the mix of her complex, magnificent irises that included amber, emerald and aquamarine, he saw it. He saw exhaustion. But he also saw determination.
“It is. Working there and here...it’s tiring. Especially when my car decides to die every other day.” She laughed and shook her head. “But it’s worth it. It’s absolutely worth it.” She smiled again. The expression lit her entire face. Greyson found himself smiling in response, a reaction rarer than anyone could fathom. Even him.
“That’s great. Not that you’re tired,” he fumbled. “Or that your car keeps dying.” Why do I sound like such a moron! he screamed in his head. I’m a vampire for crying out loud. A seducer by nature. A charming killer. Yet I’m slobbering all over this conversation like a German Shepherd over a steak.
“Eventually I’ll have to lay it to rest. Or take it out back and shoot it. Like Old Yeller. Or whatever people do with their piece-of-crap cars that won’t start.”
Greyson laughed out loud. Laughter like that—spontaneous, joyful laughter—sounded alien to him. “Take it out back and shoot it? Wow. Remind me not to get on your bad side.” Chuckles continued to bubble from him.
“Oh yeah. Look out.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “I’m a badass, taking out junky cars one at a time.”
“Nice.” He nodded,
“So, now that I’ve talked your ear off and held you up, should I tell the cook to make you your usual?” she asked referring to the hamburger deluxe he ordered each day for the last week. The same burger he knew he’d vomit immediately after he got home because he couldn’t digest human food. But he didn’t come for the food. That much was clear in his mind. And puking until his eyes felt like they’d roll out of his skull was a small price to pay to feel normal—to feel human again—for one hour.
“You’re not holding me up at all. I’m holding you up actually.” He cleared his throat. “Because you’re busy working and everything.”
She looked at him quizzically then turned, splaying her hand ever-so-slightly. “Yes, as you can see we have a packed house tonight. I’m very busy.”
Greyson chuckled nervously. “Fair enough.”
She laughed with him. “I’ll go put your order in.” She collected his menu and turned to leave. She stopped suddenly and touched a hand to her head. Looking over her shoulder at him she asked, “Orange soda, same as always?”
“Absolutely,” he replied.
“I’ll be right back with it.” She smiled and faced away from him again.
The motion of her head made her ponytail swish and on the air her scent hung heavily. Focusing on it for a fraction of a second too long, he felt the sharp prick of his canines against his tongue. No, no. Please. No, he thought, willing the monster in him to calm. He didn’t feed on the general human population. Only the worst among them that hardly qualified as human. She was nothing like them. She was a hard worker, who pursued a career in helping people. No she was nothing like the people he’d hunted. She was nothing like Byron Wall. She was smart and kind and had an easy smile and an equally easy way about her.
The sad reminder of what he was made it hard for him to meet her gaze when she returned with his orange soda. The flavor was about as offensive to him as any could be—the carbonation only added to the overall awful experience—but he’d chosen it day after day for its scent. It had a vague resemblance to hers.
“Your burger should be out soon,” she said. She looked up, away from him and out the window, to where the snow had picked up. “It’s getting worse out there. You should get home. With all these nutjobs on the road I don’t want to see anything happen to you.” She’d spoken the words so comfortably, so fluidly. He paid attention to everything she said. Obsessed over it in the last weeks if he were being honest with himself. But what she’d just implied caused him to freeze in place.
Did she just express concern for him? Did she actually care about his well-being? He, a monster, had not been cared about in the last six decades. Since he’d been changed. Surely, his mind was twisting this.
But maybe it wasn’t.
Greyson stared at the full glass before him and didn’t respond for several beats. She started to walk away but a sensation tugged at him. He didn’t know whether it was worry that he’d hurt her feelings or whether it was that he had an opportunity he’d never had before tonight: he could monopolize her time. No one else was eating. No one else was expecting her to take care of them. The diner was empty. She was all his. Or maybe it was the remote possibility that this girl—this human girl—gave a crap about him. Not because she’d fallen victim to his predatory allure as all others did. Not because she was entranced by looks designed to ensnare and entrance her to surrender her life to him. But because she saw something redeeming within him.
It was a longshot. He knew it. But allowing himself to believe that, as well as having her attention focused on him solely, was an indulgence. He’d never allowed himself to indulge in anything. Certainly not where interaction with other living beings was concerned.
“Thank you,” he said and looked after her. He’d never said those words with as much conviction as he did just now.
She stopped and turned. The light fixture overhead made her features glow with ethereal radiance. “You’re welcome,” she said and looked right at him. And in the instant her eyes linked with his something changed. Something locked deep within the dark recesses of his dark existence had changed.
Breath stolen from his chest, he smiled, watching her as she walked between a row of tables toward the kitchen.
Agonizing moments passed before she came back. Holding a tray with a bowl of coleslaw and a plate with pickle slices she said, “I made sure Lou gave you extra because I know how much you love his coleslaw.” She set both the bowl and the plate down before him.
He looked at the heap of shredded cabbage and carrots. Mayonnaise and another liquid he couldn’t identify saturated the vegetables to form a pile of mush that made him want to gag. “Thank you so much. That was really nice of you.” He looked up at her and smiled. “Wow. This looks great,” he lied.
She rested her hand on the back of his seat while the other held the tray she’d carried tucked under her arm. “No problem.”
Her proximity made it hard for him to concentrate. Her wrist, pale and thin, was so close. Her radial pulse drumming a steady rhythm. If he turned his head and leaned, his lips would be on it. “I can’t wait to try it,” he said and hoped like hell he didn’t sound like the hostess had when he’d first arrived.
“Enjoy.” She moved her arm. “I’ll be right back with the rest of your food.”
She disappeared, leaving her magnificent scent trailing in her wake. While she was gone, he forced himself to eat every last bite of his coleslaw. It was the least he could do to show he appreciated that she’d gotten him extra. It had been a fight to get it down. And keep it there. Especially since he knew more food was coming. The thought of chewing a charbroiled beef patty on a bun and French fires and washing it down with a fizzy overly-sweet drink made the coleslaw threaten to creep up his throat.
Worried he looked as bad as he felt, he went to the men’s room to vomit. He didn’t want her to think there was anything wrong with the food. Or her. When he returned, he was disappointed to see his food had arrived. He’d been quick. Vomiting and washing up had only taken him maybe five minutes. He wanted to be sure to see her again. But he’d missed her.
Devoid of enthusiasm, Greyson shuffled to his corner booth. He looked at the piping hot hamburger and braced himself for the first bite.
“Hey, you’re back. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind and left, what with the weather as bad as it is.”
She was beside him. His mood improved suddenly.
“No, I didn’t change my mind about anything,” he said.
“Good.” She smiled. She reached over to the table next to him and grabbed a bottle of ketchup. “Here you go. I’ll grab some extra napkins and you’re all set.”
“Don’t worry about the napkins. I’ll use my sleeve if I get desperate.” He bobbed one shoulder, hearing how feeble his joke sounded.
Most women would have howled with laughter regardless. But she didn’t. Instead she rolled her eyes and smirked. “No need for that.” She dug in the front pouch of her apron. “Here, I had a few extras on me.” She placed a small stack of extra napkins beside her.
Greyson searched his mind for a topic to bring up to keep her there but his mind went blank. Plus, humans liked their food hot. It would appear odd if he allowed it to get cold. So he watched her go again and set about clearing his plate.
As he ate, he kept watch of her in his periphery. She chatted with the hostess, who was loud and abrasive even when talking about the weather. She filled napkin dispensers at the counter. And she wiped off ketchup bottles.
When his plate was empty, he leaned back, trying to look as though he’d just ate the best meal ever when in reality his stomach roiled angrily.
Seeing he was finished, she came to his table and asked, “How was everything?”
“Delicious, as usual,” he pretended.
“Great. I’m glad you’re not sick of it.” She smiled.
She got the sick part right. But he’d be sick every day for as long as he stayed around if it meant he could feel as he felt around her. “Not even a little.”
“Good.” She nodded. She placed his bill near the edge of the table. “Pay Nicole whenever you’re ready.”
Greyson leaned forward and reached into his back pocket. “Can I just pay you instead? She kind of scares me.”
“Haha, no problem. She scares me a little too.”
He pulled a twenty from the billfold and gave it to her.
“Be right back with your change,” she said and began walking away from him.
“No!” he said too loudly and too pointedly.
She turned and eyed him.
“Sorry, I meant keep the change.” His bill was close to ten dollars. He was giving her a very generous tip. He hoped she didn’t think he was showing off or being a jerk.
Cheeks flushing, she said, “Really?” and scrunched her features cutely.
“Yeah. Consider it payment for the extra coleslaw.” He slid her a knowing smile and shrugged, hoping he’d been believable.
“That’s really generous payment for Lou’s coleslaw.” She looked down at her feet, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “It’s not that good.” Her gaze lifted and she arched one eyebrow mischievously. “But never tell Lou I said that.”
Raising his hands to chest height in mock surrender, he replied, “After the Old Yeller comment before, trust me I won’t.”
She nodded. “Good.”
“Good,” he repeated.
They looked at each other for a long moment.
“You’d better go. It’s getting really bad out there.” She clipped her chin toward the white world beyond the pane of glass, brows knit in concern. This time, there was no mistaking the note of worry in her voice.
An inexplicable sensation of warmth spread through his chest. He slipped his arms into his jacket then stood. “Yeah, you’re right.” He took an obligatory glance out the window. “I’d better get going.”
The ache that had begun a week ago when he’d left this very restaurant that had started out as a simple twinge he couldn’t understand now made perfect sense to him. He didn’t want to leave. He enjoyed being in her presence. Talking to her. Seeing her smile. Seeing her laugh. He liked looking at her. He liked her. And what had started out as a twinge had grown considerably. He realized he liked being around her so much that he actually missed her when he wasn’t. That was the cause of his pain.
Standing in front of her, she only reached his shoulders. She was forced to look up him. He smiled at her and headed toward the door. He’d made it to the cash register stand when the ache in his chest became profoundly worse than it had been.
Stopping, he turned and took a final look at her for the evening. She had her elbow resting casually on the menu slot beside the register. Her eyes linked with his. “Have a good night, Alex. And be safe getting home, okay?” He said the words and actually meant them.
“I’ll do my best.” She nodded
“Good. See you tomorrow?” he asked. If she said “no” or “it’s my day off” he’d be disappointed and wouldn’t come the next evening.
As he awaited her response, threads of anxiety weaved their way into his core, permeating the hard shell in which he’d insulated himself for so long.
“I’ll be here,” she said.
Realizing he’d been holding his breath waiting for her answer, he sighed silently. “Great, see you then.” The words popped out unexpectedly. He was glad he was partially turned away from her when he’d said them. At least she couldn’t see the stunned expression he wore that he’d said it as though seeing her where she worked was like a date or something.
“Idiot,” he muttered at himself under his breath as soon as he stepped outside.
The snow had picked up once again. Fine, light flurries that had fallen when he’d arrived had increased to large flakes. They were falling fast and accumulating fast. He started his car and cleared the windshield with the wipers. Once the shroud of white was gone, he gazed at Stavro’s Diner. Or more specifically, he gazed through the wide glass wall of Stavro’s Diner at Alex Lockhart. She cleared the table where he’d just sat and ate a meal he’d regurgitate as soon as he got home and guilt wrapped itself around him, tracing the back of his neck at first. Then assailing him with the force of an armed intruder.
What was he doing? Why was he allowing himself this...this...thing he couldn’t explain with her? This experience that made him feel actual happiness wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He could never be with her. Whether or not he was starting to have feelings for her—and he wasn’t saying he had feelings for her—didn’t matter. The irrepressible urge to feed was innate. He couldn’t change it any more than he could command the sun to rise in the west and set in the east. It was impossible. What he was feeling was impossible. It went against the laws of nature. It contradicted fate. His fate. He was condemned to a life of solitude, a life of darkness by every definition of the word. He needed to stop going to Stavro’s Diner. He needed to stop seeing her.
Cursing the day he was changed, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He shifted his car into reverse and began backing out. When he did, he saw Alex gazing out the window. The long, slender column of her throat was highlighted by the lamps, revealing the palest, most perfect porcelain skin he’d ever seen. As much as he knew the sickening urge to sink his teeth into that pale, porcelain skin would burgeon, he also knew she made him feel as no other had in what felt like forever. She made him feel normal. She made him feel happy. She made him feel peace.
Greyson had told himself seconds earlier he wouldn’t return to Stavro’s. He’d said he’d keep away from her. But seeing her, he realized he couldn’t stay away. He’d see her again tomorrow night at eight.