Page 122 of King of Hollywood
And after that…what was one more?
We already had four.
Anyway—cat tangent over.
Felix’s friend…Nancy—was…alright, I supposed. Her hair was massive and full of secrets. She liked pop culture, way too much, but Felix enjoyed their movie nights, so I didn’t say a word. She crocheted with him. Which was something I had tried to do—and failed miserably. And at night, she jogged with him around the city—getting him out of the house, and gossiping with him about trends, and apps, and blah blah blah.
Nancy won major points with me when she didn’t comment on the nights (which was most of them) that I trailed behind the two of them in my car to make sure they stayed safe. Realistically, I knew that they were both vampires and probably did not need my protection. One handed, they could probably even bench press my Mercedes if they found it necessary.
Nancy was like Felix.
When she’d been turned, she’d discovered it came with its own set of challenges. According to the both of them—because I’d asked—all people were different. Being turned didn’t necessarily mean you’d get the perks that Felix had, super strength, speed, and his rather handy “thrall.” Some people turned and nothing much changed at all.
Aside from insatiable bloodlust, and never-ending life.
Apparently with the “perks” came equally frustrating “downsides.” Like the fact that Felix could not go out in the sun at all—whereas some vampires who had not received as many “gifts” as he had, could.
Which was why—when he was off jogging with Nancy one day—six months after our move—I enlisted help from all three of my sisters to surprise him with the plan I’d cooked up back when we’d still lived in the suburbs. Felix had told me his birthday was in June. June twenty-eighth, to be exact. And though it’d been many years since he’d seen sunlight, and he should’ve been used to its lack by now, he still sat by the heavily curtained window some days when he woke up early and soaked up its warmth.
“There’s no way we’re going to finish before he’s back,” Winnie complained, because she was a complain-y complainer who complained. I was not taking any of her shit today. I was a man on an important mission. I had a Felix to impress. Winnie and the “No Glove, No Love” bumper sticker I’d gotten her for Christmas, could kiss my ass.
Not literally.
Oh god.
Fuck.
Ew.
“Shut up and paint, Winston.”
“Okay, Marsha.”
Melissa laughed—and Winnie…well.
She shut up and painted.
When Felix came home—after I’d quite literally herded my sisters out the door with a broom, all it took was one sniff of our home for him to know what I’d been up to. He scanned the industrial style apartment, looking for the paint, I no doubt bet he smelled.
“Marshall Warden,” he laughed, eyes crinkling with affection as he cocked his head to the side. “What have you been up to?”
Grinning broadly, I gestured for him to lead the way—and together, we entered the guest bedroom I’d just redone in record time. The paint was still drying, the scent thick and uncomfortable in the air. I was half-tempted to plug my nose, but I didn’t. I was far too excited for that. Clenching my hands into fists so I wouldn’t reach out and grab Felix—because I wanted him to focus on his gift, dammit—I waited with bated breath.
“You…” Felix stared at the room in wonder. I didn’t need to see his face to know what expression he was making. It was the same one he’d made when I asked him to marry me—legitimately—the day we’d shared our first kill in the city. The same face he’d made when I told him I wanted to turn with him. The same face he’d made when I explained to him how vast the fortune I’d accumulated was. Not that we needed it, as Felix apparently, had a rather cushiony bank account of his own.
“You did this for me?” He asked, his voice wobbly. He twisted to look at me, and the second I saw the look on his face, I reached for him. I curled around him, soaking up his sunshine. He clutched at the back of my sweater vest with a wet little sob.
Proud of myself, I nuzzled into his shoulder, trying to see the room through his eyes. To understand what he was feeling.
The bright yellow paint was still tacky on the walls. Little white paw prints spanned the room in random loops along the walls. I’d hand-picked every last detail of the space. From the giant sun accenting the back wall—and the brilliantly bright lights that flooded the space with gold—to the cat trees, litter boxes, and toys that lay neatly in their places throughout the room. There was a cabinet beside the sun mural that housed the other necessary supplies, of which I’d done extensive research. Clorox, Lysol, Rescue wipes and Rescue spray, diluted bleach.
“Forever is a long time,” I said softly as Felix clutched me close. “I wanted to give you a little sunshine—and perhaps…”
“Perhaps?” Felix’s voice wobbled where it was buried against my chest.
“Something to work toward.”
I filed the paperwork for our cat rescue the next week, bright and early, Monday morning.
