What Did One Call A Vampire Group, Anyway?
STACY WOKE HAPPY. DELIRIOUSLY SO.
And she didn’t think it was because she was beginning her job this morning. It had everything to do with Beckett. Her door was shut now, and she could hear a faint whistling, so he wasn’t in the hallway any more.
When she stumbled into the bathroom, after stretching and yawning, she caught sight of the smile on her face. That smile seemed to stay there while she showered and dressed and tossed some makeup on.
Being around Beckett definitely was something she enjoyed.
She followed the sounds of whistling to the kitchen. Apparently being around her made Beckett happy, too.
He raised his eyes and the smile there was everything she could want. Sweet. Tender. Slightly naughty. He might not be touching, but he wanted to. And she liked the electric zing of attraction he caused in her.
“You’re just in time for breakfast.”
“More world-famous omelets?”
“Galaxy-famous Belgian waffles, with fresh-whipped cream and strawberries.”
“Wow. Why has no girl snatched you up already?”
“I have no idea.” He shrugged. “Actually I was engaged a couple of years ago.”
“Really? What happened?”
He pointed at himself. “Vampire.”
“What happens when you’re first turned into a vampire?”
“I don’t like to talk about it, but I will say that I was really glad when I could eat food again.”
“You couldn’t eat food?” Then realization struck her. Yes. Vampire. “Blood?”
“You’re pulling the face that expresses it all so eloquently. Yes. It kept me alive but I’m glad to now be able to fix delicious foods and share them and eat them myself.”
“Me, too. My mouth is watering. I think I’m going to make you my chef slave.”
He posed and said, in a low voice, “There are many services I can provide as your slave, mistress.”
She laughed, feeling her face heat in a blush. “Hurry it up with the waffles, slave. We’ll talk about other services another time.”
He grinned and turned back to the counter, spooning whipped cream on top of waffles, then ladling cut strawberries on top.
When he came close, she snatched her plate from his hands and let him sit, laughing, with the other plate. “So the way to a beautiful woman’s heart must be her stomach, too. Good to know.”
“If you add chocolate to something, I will be putty in your hands.” Oops. Probably shouldn’t have said that, especially when she saw the way he looked at her.
His slow smile torched her insides. “Chocolate it is, then.”
“I made you a lunch for work. Just in case you don’t have time to get something to eat.”
Stacy stared at Beckett, who looked adorable holding out a Wonder Woman insulated lunch bag. “Have lady callers worked from here often?”
“I ordered it online. It was delivered this morning.”
The silly, thoughtful gesture tugged at her heartstrings. “Thanks, Beckett.”
“I got me a Superman one.” He held up his other hand to show it off.
“Are you sure you need to go to work with me? It feels a little too much like having your mother go to work with you.”
He frowned. “I can assure you that I am nothing like your mother.”
She laughed and touched his cheek. “You should see your face right now.”
He put his hand over hers and attraction zinged between them, and they grew silent.
He leaned over and kissed her ever so lightly and pulled back. “How about now?”
“Now you look nothing like my mother.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He pulled back and grinned. “Now let’s go, Miss Assistant Composer. We need to get to the studio. I can hardly wait. I’ve always wanted to work at a studio. Be a big movie star. That kind of thing.”
She chuckled and lifted her lunch bag. “I’m ready.”
As they climbed in his fancy Tesla, he said, “Actually, I’ve always wanted to work on the other end of the camera, in the editing phase.”
“Stick with me, baby. Maybe I can get you into show business.”
“I plan on it.”
The words sounded like a promise, and she sat back, content and happy.
He drove his super sports car carefully, obeying all the traffic laws. “Do you ever speed in your Tesla?”
“I will have to invoke the fifth on that one.”
“I don’t blame you. I want to drive it again.”
“I don’t think we can afford the speeding tickets.”
“There is that.”
A few minutes later, he turned in under the sign that read Moonchuckle Bay Studios ~ Monster Movie Capital of the World.
There was already a crowd moving about the lot. Tourists, she supposed, because they had cameras and monster hats. Beckett parked, and slipped his backpack onto his back. He’d placed their two lunch bags inside, along with his laptop. He’d told her he would work alongside her. “Come on, beautiful.”
He held out a hand, and she took it, again rocked by the touch.
“Hey, there’s Amber.” She pointed to the center gazebo area of the front lot. “She said she’d be painting here today. Do we have time to talk to her first?”
He glanced at his watch. “You only have five minutes. Maybe at lunchtime.”
“If she’s still there.” She jogged ahead and called out, “Amber!”
The other woman looked away from her canvas and smiled.
Stacy waved and called out, “I’ll catch you later.”
Amber raised a paintbrush, and then went back to work. Two movie monsters — the swamp creature and a werewolf — stood with a family of tourists.
“Does she paint tourists with the monsters?”
“Yeah. That’s kind of her thing. Her paintings are hugely popular.”
“Are they real monsters?”
He studied the grouping and leaned closer to speak softly. “The werewolf is a guy in a costume, the swamp creature is real.”
“Is everyone in this building going to be supernatural?”
“I’ve heard about half the staff is paranormal. They have a human crew who knows nothing about the supernatural side of things.”
Stacy turned toward the building. Inside was a job that might lead to her dream job. She drew in a deep breath of happiness. “Here goes nothing.”
He smiled at her. “Here goes my everything.”
Cindy Perez, the receptionist, still sat at the lobby desk. “Ms. Robertson, it’s good to see you again. Camilla Schirone, our studio assistant, will be out in a moment to lead you back to where Diesel is working. And congratulations on your wedding. Ms. Ross said it was beautiful, especially on such short notice.”
Ms. Robertson? She supposed she was. She smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Perez.”
“And this is your husband. Welcome, Mr. Robertson. I understand you’ll be shadowing your wife’s activities today to ensure her safety.”
“Yes.”
“I want to assure you that our safety measures are of top quality.”
“I understand,” Beckett said, placing a hand on Stacy’s lower back, sending tingles through her. “Until Yolanda Yates is found, I plan to be by my wife’s side.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Yolanda Yates? I thought she was in prison.”
“Yes. She is now out and evading arrest.”
“I don’t blame you at all, then, sir, for wanting to keep watch.”
That sounded ominous. Why was everyone so afraid of Yolanda Yates, even the supernatural ones?
All Stacy knew was she never wanted to come across the woman.
One of the large double doors opened and Camilla Schirone, who Stacy had met on her previous visit, came through. “Mr. and Mrs. Robertson, come this way. Diesel is working in his music studio.”
Stacy’s heart fluttered. It was time to go to work.
The morning had passed quickly. She had so much to learn. And she had definitely started on the bottom rung. The first thing Diesel had done was send her for coffee, but Beckett had jumped up and said, “I’ll go get it, Mr. Diesel.”
Diesel frowned. “Just Diesel.”
Beckett grinned and she could almost see his desire to respond to “Just Diesel,” but he nodded. “Point me in the right direction, Diesel.”
Since then, she’d filed and typed and answered calls and done many tasks, none of them remotely composing related. But she had to start somewhere, right?
While she’d done her thing — or should she say Diesel’s thing? — Beckett had found a desk to set up his laptop and worked, glancing at her frequently to check on her.
She should have found it irritating, but instead she found it endearing.
At noon, Diesel took off his headphones and stretched. “I’m going to get lunch now. You’re free for the next hour.”
“Thank you, Diesel,” she said.
Beckett closed his laptop and popped it back in his backpack. “Want to see what’s for sale in the cafeteria? Or just eat the lunches I fixed?”
She smiled at him. “Let’s go to the cafeteria, check out what they have, and then eat the lunches you fixed.”
He stood and held out his hand. She reached for it instinctively.
When they got out in the hall, she couldn’t see Diesel. She laughed. “I have no idea where the cafeteria is.”
A man passing by said, “I’m headed there. Follow me.”
So they did.
The cafeteria was a large room with many tables.
She said, “Do you know that old-time studios used to have commissaries where the big movie stars would eat along with everyone else?”
He nodded. “That would be cool.” He leaned close and said, “Now you can eat with the vampires.”
“Very funny, Mr. Robertson.”
“I’m glad I can make you laugh, Mrs. Robertson.”
They went through the line. The food actually looked pretty good, and she picked out a large donut to eat with the lunch Beckett had fixed. He chose an apple fritter.
Bianca Rossi Gladwell motioned them to her table.
Beckett whispered to her, “We get to sit at the main vampire table.”
A handsome man sat beside Bianca, who said, “This is my husband, Blake Gladwell. Blake, this is the talented young lady I told you about.”
They shook hands and sat down. Beckett got their lunch bags, and pulled out what looked like gourmet sandwiches. She lifted a slice of bread to see turkey, avocado, sprouts, and tomato. Yum. She looked at him. “I think you should fix our lunch every single day.”
Bianca said, “I forgot to get spoons.”
Her husband touched her arm. “I’ll get them.”
After he stood, Bianca smiled at them. “See why I keep him around. Handsome and useful. Your Beckett reminds me of him. A keeper.”
Stacy looked at her Beckett. “He’s certainly handsome.”
He grinned at her.
A soft siren-type sound went over the loudspeakers.
“What is that?” Stacy asked.
“A spell just went off,” Bianca said, and pulled out her cell phone. “Which spell is it?”
She frowned and hung up.
“Keep on the lookout, people. The spell for Yolanda Yates just went off. It apparently kept her off the property, but she’s actively trying to get in.”
The crowd of supernaturals hushed. One woman gasped.
Stacy’s heart rate increased. “Why is she so interested in hurting me? I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain at home,” Beckett said, taking her arm. “Where I’m going to keep you forever.”
Stacy pulled back until he stopped and looked at her. “I can’t live like that, Beckett. I can’t be a bird in a cage, not living at all.”
“The point being you might not be living at all if she has her way.”
“Isn’t there any way to stay safe while I actually go about my daily life?”
Bianca touched her arm. “You would be safer if you were one of us.”
Stacy’s eyes widened. “A vampire?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Is Blake human? Or did he let you turn him?”
“He’s still considering it.”
“Isn’t it horribly traumatic?”
“Only when done by a monster like Yolanda,” Bianca said. “With a loved one, it is much easier.”
“I can’t decide something like that right this instant.”
“I understand,” Bianca said. “But consider it. Yolanda is no one to mess with and she has a fixation on Beckett, which means she is also fixated on his Lifemate.”
Stacy’s head began to spin with the idea and she sunk into a chair. “A vampire.”
Beckett knelt beside her and caressed a lock of hair back off her cheek. “If and when you are ready to make that change, I will be honored to turn you. I will be gentle. Or we can have a senior vampire do it, one with the most experience.”
“If I ever did, I would want you to do it.” She leaned her head against his. “I know you would be gentle. I just ... well ... a vampire. I ... I’m struggling with the concept.”
“I know, darling. It’s okay. You don’t need to decide that today. We’ll keep your human self safe.”
And she knew he would. He would give his life — his unlife — to protect her. And she suspected the other vampires in the room would, as well.
How had she come to be part of a vampire group? What did one call a vampire group, anyway? Clan? Tribe? Fangful?
One thing was certain. She would never tell her mother about this.