Crimson Groves
Authors: Ashley Robertson
Crimson Groves
By Ashley Robertson
Copyright 2011 Ashley Robertson
Smashwords Edition,
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Thanks to my editor, Stephen Delaney. I couldn’t have completed this book without his attention to detail and expertise. And a special thank you to my husband, Baron, for his unending patience, love, and support.
Please visit my website for a sneak peak of my upcoming books:
www.AshleyRobertsonBooks.com
Table of Contents
My eyes shot open wide, instantly seeing what my new body craved. A disturbing thirst grew inside me as I watched tiny droplets of blood trickle down the middle-aged woman’s neck. I stared at the crimson rivulets, mouthwatering, my fangs struggling to stay confined inside. My tongue stroked across my new canines—sharp and hungry. My refusal to bite her and drink her blood had been much easier before I saw it, smelled it, felt it sticking to my taste buds like honey. Sweet, scrumptious honey made of blood.
The Call
FOR THE PAST SIX MONTHS I’ve been in a really bad mood. Today was no different. I walked with an empty purpose along the streets of downtown Clermont, staring at the scuffed black tops of my Dr. Martens boots. The empty part I blame on John and Mandy, the purpose…well, that was because I was on my way to work. The tall buildings around me were older, some red brick, some gray cobblestone, and a few of them were just bland shades of white, slightly worn down from the weather. They were linked like a cut-n-paste project at school. Chunky, uneven brick pavers decorated the front of each business and cracked, distressed pieces of sidewalk filled the gaps in between. I tripped over a huge dip in the walkway pushed up by a swollen tree root. I skipped twice, not so gracefully, but luckily regained my balance before completely falling. Thank God I wasn’t wearing heels or I would’ve just eaten the sidewalk. Some days you just can’t catch a break. Maybe I just caught one?
I let out a deep, “woe’s me” kind of sigh and looked up. The descending sun hung in the corner of the sky like a big round drop of spectral yellow paint, fighting to keep its place on a dusky blue canvas. A cool gust of air brushed past. My hair flew sideways, sticking to my face. I wrestled with it momentarily, eyes straining to see beyond the soft blond wisps. I turned a corner and the light wind shifted gears, sweeping my long hair behind me. At least I could see where I was going now—not that it helped my state of mind.
A slightly overweight woman jogged past me wearing typical runners attire: black leggings, skin tight neon green tank, and white Nike sneakers with a black swoosh. Her copper hair, pulled in a ponytail, poked out the top of a white sun visor. A chill brushed against my arms through the paper-thin poly-cotton material of my, black button-up shirt. I wrapped my arms around my chest, rubbing my hands up and down my arms, trying to create a little heat with the friction. It was unusually cool for Florida this autumn—maybe that meant we’d actually get a real winter this year. “Yeah right,” I mumbled under my breath.
The street was getting busier, cars and trucks hurrying to beat the impending rush hour traffic. Some of the restaurants around here offered great happy hours to attract those who didn’t want to brave the streets, or that just wanted to get cheap drinks and bar bites. Even though the restaurant I worked at was upscale, they’d decided to start offering the same types of specials. My boss blamed it on the bad economy.
A group of men in suits was walking in the same direction as me, but on the other side of the street. They fit the profile of the mid to upper class business professionals my restaurant catered to. I came up to the intersection and pressed a shiny chrome button on a pole. Instantly, a light in the shape of a plump stick person lit up bright white. Lucky me! Could my day possibly be looking up? Nah. I let out a heavy sigh and stepped off the edge of the sidewalk. Suddenly a horn bleated. Tires shrieked. It was loud. So loud, I knew it was close—too close. I swung my head up in a panic. A red Volvo was heading straight toward me.
It came to a stop just a few feet away. I swallowed my heart, and my pulse was hammering in my head. Smoke drifted up from the tires. A Latino woman was in the driver’s seat. She looked young, barely out of her teens. Her mouth was wide open, her eyes big as golf balls. I swallowed hard, tried to breathe but the air seemed thin. I couldn’t move. My adrenaline was jumping like it drank a can of rocket fuel.
“Ma’am, Ma’am! Are you okay?”
I stared through the windshield at the Latino woman. Her lips weren’t moving. She still looked like she saw a ghost. Maybe I was a ghost? Maybe she did hit me?
“Ma’am!” The voice was closer. It didn’t sound like a woman’s. It was deep and baritone.
I slowly looked around. One of the men in suits was walking toward me. The wind was blowing his dark hair sideways, and his suit jacket flung open. “Are you okay?” he called out. He looked really worried.
“Y—” I choked up. I felt shaky all over. This was ridiculous! Get it together! “Yes, I’m okay.” The words were forced, but at least I said them.
Suit man smiled. Relief spread all over his face. I looked back at Latino lady. She was giving me one of those “move out of my way” looks. And she was texting on her cell phone. No wonder she’d just about run a red light and hit me! Suit man turned around and headed back to his group on the sidewalk. I fought the urge to flick off Latino lady and followed behind suit man.
If you’ve ever had a near-death experience, then you know how your life flashes right before your eyes. I would’ve died sad, desperate, and alone. My tombstone would’ve read,
Abigail Vaughn Tate – Beloved bartender.
Isn’t that just a great way to go? And I thought I was having a bad day before this. No, I won’t ask what else can go wrong. I really do not want to know.
The Beacon was just a little farther up ahead. Please God, let it be a busy night. Busy enough to keep my mind off John. And Mandy. And my near-death rendezvous. I said a silent prayer reiterating my hopes for the night and then walked through the big wooden door.
“Hey, Abby,” a soft voice called out from behind the hostess stand. Jamie was just out of high school, not quite eighteen yet, but her parents were regulars here and pretty much secured the hostess job for her.
“Hey,” I said, waving at her as I passed by. She looked really nice in a deep red dress and knee-high black boots. Her mousy brown hair was neatly tied up in a bun. As hostess, she was the only employee that didn’t have to wear all black. At least I made more money.
The bar area was in the front of the restaurant to the left of the hostess stand. A wooden countertop stretched across the entire back wall. Several barstools crowded around it, two of them holding up older men. The wall behind the bar held every type of booze you could imagine, along with two flat-screen TVs. I headed straight behind the bar and stashed my purse in a cabinet by the floor. I stood back up, still a little shaken, and smiled at Justin, my coworker, and then at my two customers.
“Abby, it was a slow lunch shift so I’m getting cut. Tonight’s all you,” Justin smarted. He didn’t look away from the wine glass he was rinsing in a small, square-shaped sink beside the icemaker. His tall, thin frame towered over me, at least a foot taller than my five-foot, four-inch height. His short hair was a color somewhere between blond and brown. He was one of the few people I still bothered to call a friend.
“Sorry, life could always be worse.” I slowly walked past him. “Like getting hit by a car and killed on your way to work?” Take that, crybaby. I looked back to see his reaction.
He swung a curious look at me, one eyebrow arched higher than the other. “You what?”
“Yep! I can’t believe it’s still legal to text and drive. How many more people have to die before they outlaw that?”
“Well maybe you should’ve taken one for the team.” His head rocked side to side. His thin lips arched slightly upward, releasing a sly-looking smile.
“Well, it’s the perfect time for me to be a human sacrifice,” I mumbled under my breath, half hoping he didn’t hear that.
“
Let me guess…you’re still pissed about John and Mandy?” His voice sounded very “nanny nanny boo boo”.
“Shut up, Justin,” I hissed. “I don’t want to talk about them!” I looked toward the end of the bar where the old men sat. Thank God their eyes were homed in on the football game.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off.” He ran his fingers through his hair leaving no proof that he’d ever touched a single strand of it. “I mean, you still haven’t talked to them, right?”
I absolutely hate how Justin tries to pry into my business. He’s not much of a gossiper, thank God, but sadly (for me), he doesn’t know when to leave things alone. “No, I haven’t.”
And just as if their ears were burning, here they came, walking straight toward me. John was 5’11”—slender, brunette, hazel eyes, charming—and the sight of him still caused my heart to do somersaults. He was wearing the jeans I’d bought him for his birthday last year and an off-white polo. He grinned at me: dazzling, breathtaking. Then I glanced over at Mandy. That brought me back to reality. She was just a smidgen shorter than John. Her drably ash blond hair dangled slightly below her shoulders. Some kind of clip held a large hunk of it to the side. A pair of faded skinny jeans and a tight red top with spaghetti straps completed her look.
