Vampire Boyfriend: Elias (special preview)

You were the day manager of Aware Ceramics, a store that was part gallery and part shop for handmade ceramics and pottery. Your boss was, in simple terms, a night person, so you had been hired to run the day shift of the store, as well as organize shows. At night, the owner would hold pottery classes, host gallery shows, and take care of his side of the business. You often had meetings with him, and even took some of the pottery classes just so you knew more about the items you sold.

Elias Treadaway was the owner and main artist of the studio. He was an interesting man to say the least. Like stated before, he was a night person, only coming out once the sun had set. He lived in the residence above the shop, and once you had closed the gallery portion of the place, he would come down from his keep. He was tall, leggy, and while he had a sort of bony willowyness there was a level of elegance and sexiness to him. He was so pale you sometimes felt he was translucent, maybe even a ghost.

There was another secret to Elias that you kept too, one you had sworn to protect or else you would lose more than just your job. Elias paid you extra for this as well, as oftentimes, due to his necessary night owl proclivities, you had to run certain extra errands for him. Elias was a vampire. For the gallery and art collectors, this knowledge was a boon, but for the art classes which often went to housewives and the ilk, he kept this under his hat.

Each day, after you closed shop, you helped set up the gallery for shows, or the art studio for classes. On Thursdays you went over business and discussed the week as well as future plans for the place. Elias was usually cool with anything, he had come to trust you and your intuition with things, he pretty much let you run things the way you wanted.

“Do we need to hire someone else for the morning shift?” He asks during one such meeting.

“Henry is doing fine on that shift. He opens well and customers like him.” You explain. “Or do you think we need more than one person until I get here?”

Elias looks over his tablet then turns it off. “There’s something about him that just bothers me,” he says quietly. “You said he sometimes is hard to manage.”

“Well, yes,” you say with a shrug. “But since customers-”

“You’re the manager.” Elias stands up from his chair. “He doesn’t listen to you, even treats you like a hindrance.”

You fold your hands into your lap under the table. “How do you know that.”

He taps his ear. “I am not a fool, I hear things.”

You look at the table top while you twist a piece of paper under the table. “He knows what he’s talking about. He went to art school and-”

Elias snaps his fingers. “That’s why he bothers me. He’s a know-it-all.”

You grimace. “I’m not getting rid of Henry because of he’s a know-it-all.”

“No, you’ll get rid of him if he undermines you again.” He leans over onto the table beside you. He balances his sharp jawline in his willoy palm and he looks directly at you. His red eyes are piercing, almost frightening. “If he talks down to you again, I’ll eat him.”

You look at him and frown. “Please don’t.”

Elias smirks wickedly at you. “Yes, you’re right. I shouldn’t. He’s vegan, that can’t taste good.”

You smile at him. “You’re teasing me again.”

“Only a little, since I was so vicious during the last meeting.” He pulls your chair out to see the piece of paper twisted and contorted between your hands. “Stop being nervous. Easier said than done, I know. But you’ve been here for over a year, surely by now you’d be use to these things.”

You lay your hands back on the tabletop. “I’ve been doing this since high school.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Elias goes back to his seat and turns his tablet back on. “Will you be attending any of the classes coming up?”

You nod, gently tucking a lock of hair back behind your ear. “I’d like to try. I still haven’t been able to attend the class about the kiln.”

“I’m actually thinking about canceling that class,” he sighs. “I feel like people just take it as a big oven, they don’t take it seriously so they don’t understand what’s going on.”

“It would be a good class for children.”

“I said no!” He makes a face, sticking his tongue out and shaking his head. “I despise children.”

You glance back up to him. “It would be fun. You’ve never seen a children’s art class have you?”

“Messy, sticky, uncultured,” he scoffs.

“But it’s joyful, it’s fun. It’s a chance to teach them culture,” you try to argue.