Once Bitten, No Longer Shy, Julie Steimle [i wanna iguana read aloud TXT] 📗

been moved up to ‘friends with benefits’ so early? Do you know anything about her at all?”

Huffing, Troy tromped the rest of the way to his room, surprised Hanz even knew that phrase. Grumbling, realizing he had gone down in the first place to get breakfast, he was still hungry. But of course he still needed to get dressed. He had just expected to shower first. But Art was in the shower.

Troy fumed.

Of all the presumptuous, didactic, controlling, backward people! What right did a cultist have to tell him about sexual morality? Weren’t they all polygamists? Like they had a right to tell him he was acting wrong!

Troy grabbed his clothes and stormed back downstairs. Art was barely out of the shower, the room still steaming out the doorway. Hanz was no longer in the room. Neither was his suitcase. As Troy went in to the bathroom and washed, he grumbled to himself. What right did that Mormon have to tell him what to do?

When he finished showering, Troy found Art reading from his thick scriptures alone in the kitchen. Just seeing those archaic, onionskin pages filled with fine print thickly bound and pored over by this idiot made him bristle, and he said, “Don’t read that here. I don’t want to see it.”

Art lifted his eyes at him, frowning. “What?”

“You heard me,” Troy said. “I don’t want to see your religion here. Stop putting it in my face.”

Closing his books, Art scooted off his seat and slowly said, “First of all, your face is here,” pointing to it. “And my scriptures are on the counter—not in your face.” Pointing to that. “Secondly, this is still America. And freedom of religion is still guaranteed in the first Amendment of the Constitution—and I am not forcing you to join my church.”

“Then don’t preach to me about your third world morals,” Troy snapped.

Art emitted an incredulous laugh. He shook his head, picking up and carrying his book to his room. “…Third world morals… Look who’s talking. A vampire preaching to me about morals…”

Troy would have colored if his blood were flowing. “What’s that?”

Halting, Art looked back and said, “I’d rather be working for a werewolf than you. You’ve taken on the vampire persona as a sexual predator pretty quickly. Mr. Deacon warned me it might happen.”

Those words shook through Troy. But he wasn’t the predator. She had come on to him. He just went along with it. And why not? She was attractive and interested in him. Consenting adults. Fact was, he did not like to come on to people who did not express open interest in him, which is why he felt no guilt for having sex with Nicole. It clearly had been her goal that evening—from dinner to inviting herself over. Sexual predator indeed…. If he were, he would have jumped Hanz the first night he stayed in their apartment. As much as he was fond of Randon, Hanz was Troy’s physical ideal for a man. Of course, Hanz’s fiancée probably would have killed him if he had ever attempted it, but that was not why Troy had never tried to even flirt with him. The dude was so prudely cis normative, it was upsetting.

But the words about the werewolf triggered something in him. Troy could not hold back saying when Art stepped into his bedroom, “You know, Rick Deacon’s no saint.”

Art had been about to shut the door, but instead he set his book down on a nearby surface and came out again, gazing at him quizzically.

“Do you know how many times he’s had sex with a certain she-wolf?” Troy asked, finally getting out what really bugged him about Rick. People always gave him a pass for being what he was. Werewolves were creatures of passion, they said. He could not help it, they said. It was animal instinct, they said. It had become an addiction, they said. He could not resist, they said.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Art replied, coloring a little. “And it is none of my business.”

“Oh, and my sex life is your business?” Troy demanded.

“We’re sharing the same space!” Art waved his arms around at the apartment. “What if Hanz or I walked in on you two while you were doing the nasty?”

“Is that what you call it in your church?” Troy asked mockingly, enjoying seeing the creep get flustered.

“No,” Art snapped back, “I picked that up from a TV show. Look, clearly we have a clash of cultures. But if we have to live together, there has to be some kind of ground rules.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t live together,” Troy countered sharply.

A hush swept over the room. They could hear the refrigerator hum.

Art stepped back. He seemed to go pale. His heart certainly had jumped and sort of stiffened before going oddly calm at a steady beat. “Fine. You want to go it alone? I’ll move out. Hanz needs help moving abroad anyway, and I don’t think this job babysitting you is worth the stress.”

Babysitting? Troy mouthed. Was that how Art saw his job? Babysitting?

“But a lot of friends of yours have bent over backwards for you, though I don’t think you deserve it,” Art added. “You are an entitled, whiny, self-absorbed jerk who is so envious of his friend Rick Deacon that—”

“HE’S NOT MY FRIEND!” Troy shouted. His words bounced off the walls.

Art’s face went blank. He then chuckled with pity. “So, you’ve been using him this whole time.”

“I DIDN’T WANT THIS!” Troy bellowed, face white with anger. He kicked the kitchen’s island counter. “I WAS FINE WITHOUT RICK DEACON’S INTERFERENCE UNTIL THOSE VAMPIRES SCREWED UP MY LIFE!”

More silence filled the room.

Art nodded to himself. “I see.”

“Rick practically locked me in here!” Troy lowered his voice some. “Organizing you as my jailer. I knew it right away. They set you to keep me from going all vampire. Well, I’m not interested in drinking blood, ok? And I never will be. I don’t need you. So you’re free to go and report on me like a good little spy and toddle along back to wherever it is you came from.”

Nodding more, Art stepped away from him. He went back into his room. He shut the door.

Troy went to the counter where his broken plate had been. It was no longer there. Someone had cleaned it up. The pan of eggs as still out though. He scooped up some and sat down to eat, but he no longer felt that hungry. He could hardly get two bites before his appetite gave out entirely. Troy searched around for his shirt from yesterday, which had also been taken off in the kitchen, and found it draped over the back of the couch. Grabbing it, he took it back up to his room. By then his appetite had returned—but not for those eggs or that other mushy breakfast. He dug into the fridge for some coffee. He had bottles of iced coffee in the refrigerator, full cream, which Art and Hanz clearly never touched. Then he grabbed some cheese and more eggs, and made himself an omelet.

The next time Troy saw Art, he was walking out of his bedroom dragging his packed suitcase. He had on a backpack and a different outfit. Art extended his hand to Troy and said, “Good luck with your life.”

Hesitating, Troy took Art’s hand. It was warm, pulsing with blood which had a garlicky odor. Art gave him a regular, firm, business-like handshake then let go, heading to the door.

“You’re really leaving?” Troy murmured, not quite believing it. All of this had to be an act to guilt him into their ‘acceptable behavior’.

Art halted with a nod, looking back. “Yes. Clearly this is not working out. You’re right. You don’t need a babysitter. You’ve got all this thing handled to your…uh…satisfaction. They did want me to keep an eye on you to make sure you did not go full vampire, but I warned them you would not take to it. You were no longer suicidal, and you don’t actually need an assistant. You’ve got it all covered with Mr. Lenox, and you don’t need a hanger-on like me.”

Troy stared, appalled Art had admitted it. It took him a bit to finally ask, “Where are you going to go?”

“Back to Idaho, probably,” Art said. “Rick had also mentioned a branch on the west coast I could work at in case this situation did not work out.”

Troy felt his face go hot though he was not coloring in the slightest. Rick had predicted this?

Of course he did. He was a werewolf. He probably hated being watched as well—something he had to endure for a while after meeting his she-wolf. Rick had once been on house arrest and they had been watching him for quite a while to keep him from going back to her and her pack. How many years had Rick been under surveillance? Five? Six?

But before Art went out the door, he paused and said, “Do Rick a favor, though—either stop using him or stop resenting him. Doing both is super hypocritical. Get your own damn apartment, if you won’t accept his help.”

And he walked out.

Flustered, Troy resisted the urge to chase after Art and bite him.

 

The rest of the morning was ruined by that. While researching the tiger balm and formulating an improved treatment method, Art’s words niggled in the back of Troy’ brain, telling him his prudish roommate was right. Yet the counter voice nagged back that he could not afford his own apartment, especially not in New York. The city was abominably expensive. No sane human could live there with an average paying job and have a decent place. He could end up in a dump like Matthew’s apartment. Besides, he had huge student loan debt still. He had no job. And he still had to finish his doctorate. He was beholden to Rick. Trapped by his own circumstance.

Troy did not see Hanz at all for the rest of the day. Art did not return, even to say ‘I forgot something.’ That evening when Troy went out to meet Mr. Lenox for their first small vampire gathering, it felt strange to not have someone warning him to keep a heads up for other vampires. And when he sat in the meeting, he had a difficult time keeping focused for the first half. That is, until Cameron said, “Am I the only one here who feels an increased libido after becoming a vampire?”

Troy’s head perked up.

“No.” Steve, the full vampire replied with a wink to Mr. Lenox, who looked like he would blush, but was unable to. “It is the natural course of the change in you. Passion is what vampires are all about.”

Passion? Troy wondered about that. Was that why all his inhibitions left last night when Nicole came on to him? Admittedly, he was usually more reserved when it came to relationships. Was that why nothing had slowed him down or wore him out, no matter how much sex they had? Was it a new appetite he would have, just like his blood cravings? And did he hate it?

He also wondered why Steve had looked to Mr. Lenox when he had replied. Hadn’t Mr. Lenox mentioned already that he was separated from his wife? Too scared to go home in case he might hurt her… or she might reject him? Or was he, Troy, mixing old conversations into this new one? His mind was that distracted. But he could have sworn he had heard Mr. Lenox bemoan that detail earlier in the meeting.

“Is there a danger we might hurt someone if we got into a physical relationship with a… non-vampire?” Cameron asked.

“Ah… romance…” Steve heaved a moody breath and sighed.

“It’s possible,” Mr. Lenox replied, thinking hard on it. “You could lose control and bite them.”

Cameron cringed, nodding.

“You could control that, restrain it,” Steve said confidently. He then looked to Troy. “Nothing to say?”

“I’m just listening,” Troy murmured. “And thinking.”

“A penny for your thoughts?” Steve asked with a chuckle.

Cameron