Supernatural Love Page 4

  “That’s enough,” Felix says. “I’m going to sleep. We’re not talking about this right now. Watch whatever you want.”

  Felix rolls onto his side putting his back to me, so I sigh and take the remote. I flip through the movies a good three times, change sections of the guide and flip through those twice. Finally, I settle on The Blair Witch Project. I glance at Felix. He really must’ve been exhausted because it looks like he’s already fallen fast asleep.

  Because I so rarely get to treat Felix, I go all-out for breakfast. I call room service and order enough food to feed an army. There are fluffy pancakes and French toast, crispy bacon, sausages, flaky biscuits, eggs cooked three different ways, and a bottle of red wine. I wake Felix when the food arrives, and it takes him a good minute to realize it’s food.

  Then, his jaw drops. Oh, yeah. I did good.

  “Hungry?” I ask.

  He runs a hand through his hair. “Isn’t it a little early for red wine?” he inquires, trying to stifle a yawn and failing miserably.

  “I’ve actually read that mornings are the best time to drink red wine,” I say. “But if you don’t want any, I can certainly get something else for you to drink. Orange juice? Water? Sparkling water?”

  Felix climbs out of bed and snags a biscuit from one of the silver platters.

  “Is that all you’re going to eat?” I ask.

  Felix shrugs. “I usually don’t eat until about noon.”

  God, Felix is a doctor’s worst nightmare. He overworks himself and doesn’t go to the doctor. He skips meals. He lives off coffee.

  “Why don’t you eat until that late?” I ask.

  “Because I sleep in. I don’t get home until three in the morning. Why would I want to get up and eat breakfast?” Felix asks.

  That makes sense. It really does, but damn, that sounds unhealthy.

  “You should invest in on-the-go snacks,” I say. “Something with protein. Nuts, maybe.”

  Felix shrugs and plops back onto the bed, completely ambivalent to my concerns. “You know you’re not my dad, right?” Felix asks.

  “I know,” I admit.

  “Then, you need to realize that I’m a grown adult and capable of making my own decisions. Got it? You need to lay off on some of this.”

  Yes, he’s an adult, but he’s an adult with very limited resources. All he has to do is accept some help, but he won’t. It’s not that I don’t respect him. He’s my friend. I adore him, but I just can’t fucking understand him sometimes.

  “I know,” I say. “I’ll try.”

  “Good,” Felix replies. “So what are the plans for today? I know we’re going over to the house tonight. What are we doing this morning?”

  He’s trying to soften the blow. Even when he’s at his angriest, Felix can’t bring himself to tell someone to just take a hike.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But I did see a gemstone store on the way into town. One of those New Age pagan stores. It might be something you find interesting if you want to go have a look. We can do that and maybe wander around town a bit. There might be more things I can feel.”

  I’m not sure if Felix heard much after the words “gemstone store” because when I mentioned it, his face lit up. He’s so easy to please in some ways and yet so difficult in others.

  “That sounds good to me,” Felix says.

  “After breakfast,” I say, trying to imply with my tone of voice that he really needs to eat more.

  Felix rolls his eyes, crosses the room, and begins loading up a plate with one of everything. “I’m only doing this because I just happen to be really hungry this morning,” Felix says.

  Damn his pride. “Sure you are, Kitten,” I say.

  I take a large bite out of my stack of pancakes. At least, he’s eating something. Felix returns to his seat on the bed and sits there eating.

  “The food isn’t bad,” I say.

  “It isn’t,” Felix replies. “It’s really good. Just like Mom never made.”

  “Being a bad cook must be genetic,” I say.

  “Like you’d be a better cook.”

  “I don’t need to be. That’s why I pay a cook, so I can afford to be terrible at it and never suffer any of the consequences. Sucks to be you, Kitten.”

  But I silently wonder if I ought to start bringing over food when I come to visit. That would be one way to make sure he’s eating something besides fast food. Would he be offended, though? It’s difficult to tell with him sometimes. Damn. It might be worth the risk, though.

  I’ve known Felix most of my life. How come I can’t understand this one fundamental thing about him? I should know Felix inside and out, but I don’t. Why doesn’t he just accept my help and take my money? That question has been driving me crazy for years. So many of his problems could just disappear if he had more money, but maybe—maybe—that’s part of why I like him. He’s not like anyone else. Everyone either wants my money or works for me. Sometimes both. But not Felix. He’s an unsolvable puzzle, a good friend because he works hard and doesn’t just see my money; he sees me as a person. But at the same time, damn, wouldn’t his life be so much easier if he’d just let me help him a little bit?

  4

  Felix

  The gemstone store is small and colorful. The displays look like trees with tiers of shelves running around their trunks. From the branches hang several colorful pendants. Lined up along the walls the store has hunks of gemstone, tiny trees flecked with chips of amethyst and dyed agate, and there’s incense everywhere. This looks like the sort of store Isabella, our haunted mansion’s owner, would shop at.

  I look around all the shelves, mentally trying to identify as many gemstones as I can without reading the tags beneath them. There’s opalite that would look so stunning set in silver and combined with aquamarine. Goldstone that would look amazing paired with bronze and citrine! There’s amethyst, agate, and rose quartz. Some are just tumbled pebbles, but others are carved into shapes—hearts, owls, cats, crosses, and butterflies. I look at the price tags. They aren’t horrible; they’re pretty run-of-the-mill. Still, I have to count on having less money in my paycheck two weeks from now. I really can’t afford to spend frivolously.

  “Take my AmEx,” Nate says, waving the sleek, black card between two fingers. “It’ll be one of the perks—for you coming with me.”

  This is the third time we’ll have had this money argument in a month, and I need to head it off before it starts. “I don’t really need anything from here though,” I say. “Sure, there’s some pretty stuff, but I like to design and then buy. Not the other way around.”

  That’s true. I tend to look around quite a bit, then design quite a bit, before I actually make a polished piece. That, and I try to buy in bulk; that’s more cost-efficient, and in a small start-up business, every cent counts. These prices wouldn’t be bad if I just wanted something for myself, but they’re far too expensive to allow me to make a profit, especially because I have to keep shipping costs in mind when I’m selling anything.

  “Really?” Nate asks.

  I nod. “Promise,” I say. “If I wanted something here, I’d tell you. I just don’t want anything.”

  “You wouldn’t tell me,” Nate mutters.

  I shake my head. “You’re so generous,” I say sincerely. “You really, really are, but I just don’t need anything from this store.”

  “Well, I do try to be,” Nate says.

  My phone rings. I’m inwardly grateful for the interruption, but I don’t know who this can possibly be. It obviously isn’t Nate because he’s standing with me, but he’s the only one who ever calls me. I pull my phone from my back pocket and sigh when I see the caller ID. It’s Target. Why are they calling me now? A pit forms in my stomach, but I answer the phone anyway. I’ve heard horror stories from my coworkers about all the passive-aggressive attention I’ll receive if I don’t answer, and I’m definitely not going to set myself up for that.

  “Hello?” I ask.

  “H
ello, Felix. This is Haley from Target.”

  As if I wouldn’t know the sound of my own manager’s voice. Oh, no, am I being fired, though? Is something wrong? I know I was given today off. It doesn’t make sense for them to call me during my time off; I don’t know what to do with that or what this means.

  “Hello,” I say.

  Across from me, Nate crosses his arms and arches his brow.

  “Target,” I mouth.

  Nate’s gaze darkens. I hope he isn’t going to be in a foul mood all day because of this. He’d have preferred it if I didn’t answer the phone at all, but I can’t just ignore my workplace.

  “So I had a question for you,” Haley said. “I know you’ve taken the week off, but would you like to come in for hours?”

  Come in? “I can’t,” I say. “I’m in Jackson, Alabama, with a friend.”

  There’s a pause.

  “Well, we could wait,” she replies. “If you could just get here as quickly as possible.”

  “Just hang up!” Nate hisses. “It’s your day off! For God’s sake, tell them to just take a fucking hike!”

  “I can’t,” I say, hoping the answer will placate both Haley and Nate. “I’m two hours away—”

  “So you could be here in two hours,” Haley cuts in. “Look; we could really use you this week. I know your days off were approved, but Selene also took this week off.”

  She’d said she wouldn’t, but she must’ve changed her mind. If that’s the case, we must’ve left them very understaffed. We only have four people in our department right now. But I’m in Jackson, Alabama, with Nate, and he drove. I can’t possibly ask him to drive me all the way back Pensacola, and he certainly wouldn’t be inclined to do it if he knew I was choosing work over him.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I’m here with a friend, and he has business to deal with here. I can’t just make him leave and drive me back home.”

  “I see.” Haley sighs. “Well, we’ll make do. I guess. I don’t suppose you’ll be able to come in any of the other days you took off?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Okay. Well, enjoy your week off.”

  Haley hangs up abruptly. I wonder if there will be retaliation for this later. Sure, retaliation isn’t technically legal, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.

  “Let me guess,” Nate says. “They screwed themselves over with their inability to actually staff the fucking store?”

  “They gave both Selene and me the same week off,” I say. “I didn’t think Selene was going to request time off, but I guess she changed her mind. Now, there’s no one working because we’re both out—”

  “And that’s not your problem, so don’t you dare feel guilty about it,” Nate says. “Whoever did the schedule should’ve realized this was going to be a problem and taken measures to fix it. It’s not your responsibility to cover their asses.”

  He’s right. Absolutely right. I bite the inside of my cheek. “You’re right,” I say, as if by saying it aloud, I can make myself believe it. “Yeah, they messed up.”

  “They don’t pay you enough to stress out over this,” Nate adds. “Come on. Let’s go look at some of the shops. We’ll make you forget all about that hellhole.”

  Nate throws an arm across my shoulders as if the emphasize his point. I feel the warmth of his body against mine and it helps to quell some of the anxiety curling in my gut. I’m going to enjoy this trip if only to spite my management team. After all, it’s been far too long since I took time just to enjoy myself.

  At sunset, we return to the house. Nate brings three cameras, a stack of notebooks, and his laptop. I help him cart it all in and place it in the bedroom with Sigmund Freud. The old psychologist’s eyes look especially stern today. Now I’ve gotten over the weirdness of someone having a massive portrait of Sigmund Freud over a bed, I have the feeling instead that I’m being judged by someone’s crotchety grandfather.

  Isabella clings to the doorframe and peeks inside. “Is there anything you need from me?” she asks.

  “No, we’re good,” Nate says. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve brought everything we might possibly need.”

  “Okay, that’s good. As I mentioned, I’ll be leaving town this evening. Just lock up when you leave,” she says. “But of course, if anything happens, you have my cell. Don’t hesitate to call. I keep odd hours anyway, so any time is fine.”

  “Will do,” Nate replies.

  Once Isabella is gone, Nate pulls out his digital camera and begins snapping photos, mumbling to himself all the while. I sit on the edge of the bed and toy with my cellphone, trying not to think too much about the boss I just blew off. Nate is right, though, this isn’t my problem. I’m not the crappy management team and I didn’t cock up the schedules. This is in no way my fault, so I don’t need to agonize over it. But that’s difficult. I have such a need to please people. To always do the right thing.

  I’m not entirely sure what to do now that Nate has left me to my own devices. I don’t care for this house and don’t know what to do without his guidance. Still, this beats Target by a long shot. I wander upstairs, my feet clanking on the wrought iron steps. Although it’s gotten dark and only moonlight lights my way, I’ve yet to see a ghostly woman appear. To be fair, I would probably cry and run away screaming if said woman did appear. Nate would doubtlessly love that but me? Not so much.

  The upstairs isn’t much to look at. I’m not entirely sure what I’d envisioned for this sort of house, but it hadn’t been this. Isabella’s grandmother was certainly into some odd things, though. There are portraits of famous people on the walls. At least, I assume they’re famous people. One is a woman with long, dark hair streaming down her back and wearing a massive gown; she looks like someone royal, but I don’t recognize her. There’s one of a young man in a powdered wig. I recognize another one as George Washington. What an odd decision to line the upstairs walls, which are also rose pink, with these random portraits.

  I peek into a room and switch on the light. It’s decorated in gaudy pink, green, and gold. The only positive thing about it is that there isn’t a giant portrait of Sigmund Freud on the wall. There’s a window and I take the opportunity to peer out and look down on Nate’s car. The view from here is nice; I can see the edge of the forest and the bright, full moon. The stars are more visible and plentiful than in Pensacola, but there are no city lights to dim them here. They glitter proudly like gemstones set in blackness.

  I look at the patterns and imagine how I’d make them into jewelry, how I’d twist the wire and beads to make the small square-like cluster of stars to the right and the ‘M’ shaped cluster to the left. If I found small, star-shaped beads, I could connect them with wire to make the shapes more apparent and paint them with a glittery sealer. Constellation jewelry, especially the zodiac signs, is done to death, but that doesn’t mean the market can’t handle extra. It just makes it more of a challenge to create original, distinct designs.

  I draw in a deep breath. It’s very warm, and I feel the heat spread through me like the first, humid mist of a new morning. So hot and stifling. I wonder fleetingly if I’m running a fever or if it’s just really warm and stuffy up here.

  I peek through the other rooms; everything just seems so cluttered. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, no distinct style. This place is just a veritable hodgepodge of things. How does Isabella expect this to be a successful bed and breakfast with it looking like that? Maybe she doesn’t, and it’s just a tax write-off.

  I head back downstairs and walk into the parlor. Nate sits on the piano bench but he isn’t playing. Instead, he leans up and tries to catch an image in his camera. “What do you really think about this place?” I ask.

  “I was hoping for more Southern fairy tale and less antique shop,” Nate says, “But I do think the place has potential. Part of making good horror films is in how you frame the shots. You take the benign and familiar and make it seem dangerous and unknown.”

  Heat curls in my stomach. My
mouth is wet as I watch the muscles of his back while he twists around and tries to get a better shot. I step towards him, and my gaze trails from his jaw, down to his neck, and broad shoulders. Nate smells nice, like some posh, earthy cologne. I suck in a deep breath, and suddenly, I know what’s happened.

  I’m going into heat. This day just really isn’t going my way. I fidget and hope Nate hasn’t already noticed. He’s my best friend and has seen me go into heat before, of course, but it’s still embarrassing. Inevitably, he will notice. Alphas can always smell when an omega has gone into heat, and even if he somehow missed that, he’d surely notice my behavior. This is going to turn into a very long week, but there’s no use worrying over my hormones. I just need to work toward solutions.

  Normally, I’d just meet someone to take care of the burning craving for sex, but I wouldn’t even know how to do that here. There’s a bar I go to back in Pensacola, but we aren’t in Pensacola. The second option is just to tough this out in our hotel room. Heat usually only lasts a week, but right now that feels like such a long time.

  “What are you taking a picture of?” I ask.

  “I’m going across the wall,” Nate says, “And looking at how the shadows fall. I know someone who plays piano. It might be fun to have her play and set it up as a sort of jump-scare. Because of the position of the window and the way the shadows fall across the wall, I’m imagining we could have someone stand there, and the light would highlight them nicely. Of course, we can always alter the lighting, but it’s fun sometimes to see what we already have to work with.”

  Nate turns around and sits on the piano bench facing me. A lump forms in my throat. It’s so hot in here, so hot, and a dull ache blossoms in my cock. This is my best friend. I take a shuddering breath. Nate is an alpha and an attractive one at that. He has gorgeous eyes, sleek hair, and incredible muscles. Even without heat, there’s a lot to be attracted to—humor, intelligence, assertiveness, looks. It’s bizarre that he hasn’t already found and married a nice omega.