Asher
I snag a new bottle of blood from the fridge when I finally get home, Milton twining between my legs and leaving behind a smattering of fine black fur on my ankles and shins. I’m ready to relax for the weekend before flying out for San Diego on Sunday. Of course, my thoughts immediately turn to Raya and our time together, as has become my new nighty routine.
I’m still kicking myself for my lack of control and professionalism around Raya. After running away from, and avoiding, the confounding woman on her first day, I figured the best strategy for the second day would be to interact with her as little as possible. Following this logic, I arrived to work at the last minute, which already set me on edge. Even worse, I completely lost my wits as soon as I walked in.
The first thing I saw was her long, wavy hair, and I had an instant urge to bury my nose in it. The high-necked shirt with a silky bow around her neck didn’t help my instincts, it was like a present wrapped up just for me. Then she turned those doe eyes on me and I practically swallowed my own tongue trying to get my suddenly dry mouth to form words properly. She turns me inside out and her mere presence makes me act like a complete idiot.
I know that isn’t an excuse for how I’ve been treating her, but even when I see it happening, I can’t stop it. It’s as though I’m outside my own body, not in control. My brain isn’t working properly, and what signals it does manage to send don’t seem to be received by the rest of my body. I did my best throughout that meeting to be respectful of her position and role, which pretty much meant listeningintently and avoiding looking at her. I didn’t trust my own eyes not to devour her and make a fool of myself in front of everyone.
When I sensed her heart rate randomly spike though, I couldn’t help meeting her wide-eyed gaze. I’ve replayed that moment over and over, but I still can’t figure out what it was I saw there. Fear? Embarrassment? She hadn’t even started speaking yet, so I wasn’t sure what the deal was, though I have a suspicion it may have been another shift. I’ve come to realize she isn’t able to control them, which I’m also pretty sure isn’t normal for a shifter.
Despite my ongoing curiosity and desire to help, I haven’t wanted to ask and inadvertently make things worse. Knowing me, it would come out all wrong, and I’d end up insulting or hurting her. That hasn’t stopped my brain from circling around it. My inner vampire senses weakness, but all I see in her is strength. I can’t fathom how she deals with her situation in a professional setting day in and day out, all while blinding the world around her with her smile. I suspect most people would crumble under that stress.
I managed to make it to the end of the week without making too much of an ass of myself in front of her, although she might think differently. She’s picking up everything at work more quickly than I expected, especially considering she’s basically onboarding herself, and I’ve been impressed by how much she’s absorbing. I wince when I remember the confused look that had flashed across her face when I tried to hold in an impressed smile during one of our one-on-one meetings; I fear it came out as a cringe instead and probably gave her the wrong impression.
I swipe a hand down my face when my mind replays what happened shortly after that. She’d startled me with a sudden shift, unexpectedly sprouting a wolf nose in the middle of her face. My stupid, stupid brain, and even more stupid mouth,blurted out the question that’s been circling in my head all week—isn’t there anything she can do about it?
Her reaction was piercing. It felt like I had stabbed myself in the chest when I saw the shock and hurt etched into the lines of her face, because of course not. Obviously, if there was something she could do, she would be doing it, right?
I didn’t expect her to storm out, although admittedly, I didn’t think the comment through before I said it. And it was quite offensive, so I don’t blame her for leaving. My face heats with embarrassment alongside the anger at myself for creating such a situation in the first place. When she didn’t return after an hour, I checked in with Noemi, who informed me Raya was working from home the rest of the day. I guess she told Noemi she needed a quiet space so she could focus and get caught up on what she’s been given so far.
Shaking my head at my abysmal behavior, I resolve to do better, and take a swig straight from the bottle. This upcoming trip will be a good opportunity to show her who I truly am, not the idiotic asshole I’ve been coming across as. Pulling up my personal laptop, I speculate that an online search to learn more about the basics of shifters is a good place to start. Mainly so I can avoid stepping in my own shit in the future.
I’m not used to being around shifters to begin with, and especially not one as unique as Raya. She’s determined, hard working, and surprisingly good at her job despite being thrown into the deep end and told to swim. She’s kind to everyone she meets and always has a smile at the ready, although that seems to no longer be the case when it comes to me. I’m sure my contradictory attitude helped create this icy wall between us, and I wish I could dissolve it.
Maybe spending a few days together outside of the office will give us the change of perspective needed to bridge this gap. I feel almost desperate for her warmth and radiance, andat this point all I can do is hope she will give me a second—or hundredth—chance to show her who I am.
My eyes devour every article I can find on shifter transformation. Anything that seems like it might remotely be a valid source. I take it all in and commit as much as I can to memory. I don’t know what help I can be with this information, as I’m sure she knows more about her own community than I can hope to read online, but I’m desperate and don’t know what else to do. I suppose it makes me feel useful, closer to her in a way that feels otherwise impossible.
When this thought crosses my mind, I figure that’s my cue to stop. I’m losing sight of things andcloserto her is not what either of us needs.
Clicking out of the shifter searches, I turn to trip planning and look up blood banks in San Diego. It doesn’t feel good to not know where your next meal is coming from, so I like to be prepared and have a couple options already saved to my phone before I travel somewhere new. Finding one within walking distance of the hotel, and another a few blocks down from the convention center, I feel more prepared and close my laptop right as my phone chimes from the kitchen with an incoming text.
Having finished the current bottle of blood, which was nowhere near as good as the first one I had from this place, I take it into the kitchen. I quickly rinse it in the sink before rescuing my phone from Milton’s paws which are batting it toward the edge of the counter.
I roll my eyes and mentally brace myself when I see it’s a text from my cousin, Chadwick.
When the message opens to a photo, no text included, just a professional shot of said cousin side by side with my parents at a black tie event, a frown pulls at my lips and I delete it. I have no desire to see his name, face, or those of my parents on my phone.
Although I ignore the message and don’t reply, it still sits with me. A heavy, murky feeling in my chest. My cousin wants to take my place in the family business; he wants to be the heir my parents wish I would be, and honestly, I’m okay with that. Chadwick would be much better suited to the role anyway, but that doesn’t eliminate the desire for acceptance, or the despair that my family is past redeeming.
I’m not cut out for the ruthlessness of the Walton family, and unless they change their heinous ways, give up their “traditions”, I have no desire to be associated with them. There’s a reason I haven’t been photographed at any events with them in recent years, just as there’s a reason I haven’t accepted any calls, or responded to any of the many emails from my parents, either. I want nothing to do with them, their black market blood, or their dirty money.
Chadwick can have at it.
8
WHO EVEN LISTENS TO PODCASTS ANYMORE?
RAYA
Early September arrives beforeI know it. With it comes the work trip, and the rising full moon. I had a long chat with Zuri the other night about the Walton family. We might have taken it a step too far when we went online and did a deep dive into Asher’s family and history, but what’s some minor stalking if my life could be at risk? Weirdly, there wasn’t much about him from the last few years, but we guessed maybe he’s simply not the type to want public attention, which is at least one point in his favor, if true. One thing keeps sticking in my head, though. I can’t figure out why he’s working such a normal-person job at the consulting firm.
From what we read, it’s assumed he has a massive trust fund, which means there’s no reason for him to work. Especially not at a corporate, open workspace, shared microwave in the kitchen area job like this. Unless… consulting is his passion?
I scrunch my nose at the thought, huffing a breath with the reminder of how much is on my plate with this trip. This is why they needed someone to start so quickly; the clientexpects us to deliver, and I’ve had to push myself the last two weeks to be ready in time.
As the Training Lead, I need to fully understand the updates being made, problems that could arise, and all the ins and outs of the new software so I can teach the clients’ employees how to effectively use it. An anxious part of my brain torments me with thoughts that if this doesn’t go well, my future at the company will be in jeopardy.
