Stake & Shake – Chapter 3
Vivienne
The stench of frying oil hit Vix like a physical wall the moment she pushed through the diner’s glass door, her vampire senses amplifying what was merely unpleasant to humans into an assault that made her fangs ache with discomfort. Her enhanced senses transformed what humans probably found appetizing into a nasal assault of rancid grease, burnt potatoes, and, worst of all, garlic. So much garlic. The pungent aroma clung to the air, seeping into the vinyl booths and hanging from the ceiling like an invisible fog. It was like when a track’s frequencies all clashed—too much mid-range, no space for the melody to breathe. A sonic nightmare that made Vix want to reach for mixer controls that weren’t there.
“Welcome to The Greasy Spoon!” A waitress with a name tag reading “Ioana” bounced toward them, menus clutched to her chest. Her ponytail swung with each step, heartbeat strong and steady. “Table for two?”
Vix felt Elias’s hand press against her lower back, guiding her forward with unnecessary force. Three days of being trapped at the castle with him had been bad enough. Now she had to pretend to eat human food in public while he judged her every move. Field Compliance Assessment Phase Two, they called it in official Bureau documentation. Rehabilitation was the sanitized term for public consumption.
“Yes, thank you,” Elias answered, his voice carrying that infuriating professional politeness he maintained with everyone except her. “Something near the window, perhaps?”
Vix stiffened. Windows meant sunlight. Sunlight meant pain.
“Actually,” she interrupted, “could we get something… not by the windows? The glare gives me migraines.”
Elias’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Score one for the vampire.
“Of course, honey,” Ioana said with a sympathetic smile. “We’ve got a nice quiet booth in the back corner.”
As they followed the waitress through the crowded diner, Vix cataloged their audience. Truckers hunched over massive plates of eggs and sausage. An elderly couple sharing toast. A family with two screaming children fighting over crayons. And, bingo, a stern-faced woman in a charcoal pantsuit sitting alone, a small camera disguised as a brooch pinned to her lapel. Ms. Gruber, the Bureau’s watchdog, sent to document their “progress.”
Perfect. An audience for her humiliation.
The booth Ioana led them to had cracked red vinyl seats and a tabletop sticky with decades of spilled syrup. A neon jukebox glowed in the corner, pumping out ‘80s power ballads with terrible EQ balance—all midrange, no bass. Amateur mixing that any decent DJ would fix in seconds.
“Here you go,” Ioana said, placing menus in front of them. “Coffee?”
“Please,” Elias said.
“Got anything with a kick?” Vix asked, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile. “It’s been a rough morning.”
Elias kicked her under the table.
“Just water for her,” he said firmly.
Ioana looked between them, confused. “Alrighty then. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
The moment she walked away, Elias leaned across the table. “This is not a game, Miss Moreau.”
“Really? Because it feels like one of those reality shows where they force people to eat disgusting things for money.” Vix picked up the laminated menu, scanning its greasy surface. “Except I don’t even get paid.”
“You get to avoid intensive rehabilitation measures,” Elias reminded her, voice low. “And Count Vlad and Anabelle get to keep their business. Focus on the bigger picture.”
Vix’s stomach twisted with guilt at the mention of Vlad and Anabelle. They’d been nothing but kind to her, offering her a job when no one else would hire a newly turned vampire with pink hair and no references. And how had she repaid them? By nearly destroying their dream on reopening night.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll play nice.”
Her gaze drifted to the specials board, and a wicked idea formed. If she had to suffer through this charade, she might as well make Elias squirm too.
Ioana returned with their drinks. “Ready to order?”
“I’ll have the club sandwich, no tomato,” Elias said, closing his menu.
“And for you, hon?” Ioana turned to Vix with a smile.
Vix smiled back, making sure to keep her lips closed over her fangs. “I’ll have your Death-By-Garlic Fries, please. Double dusted.”
Elias’s coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth.
“Excellent choice!” Ioana scribbled on her notepad. “Those are our specialty. The garlic comes from local farms in the foothills. People drive for hours just to try them.”
“Sounds delicious,” Vix purred, watching Elias’s face. “I just love garlic. Can’t get enough of it.”
Ioana bounced away with their orders, ponytail swinging.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Elias hissed across the table.
Vix leaned back, spreading her arms across the top of the booth. “Demonstrating my ability to function in normal social settings. Isn’t that the point of this little field trip?”
“You know vampires have adverse reactions to garlic.”
“Old wives’ tale.”
“It causes nausea and sensory discomfort in most turned vampires. It’s in your file.”
Vix shrugged. “Maybe I’m special.”
“You’re certainly something,” Elias muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.
The jukebox switched to “Hungry Like the Wolf,” and Vix almost laughed at the universe’s sense of humor. Her actual hunger gnawed at her insides, a constant companion since her turning, not painful exactly, more like an itch beneath her skin that intensified with each heartbeat she heard around her. The synthetic blood packs Elias had measured out for her breakfast had taken the edge off, but barely. Everything in this diner—the waitress, the truckers, even the bratty kids—smelled like food to her vampiric senses.
“So,” she said, desperate for distraction, “how many newborns have you rehabilitated, Officer Tight-Ass?”
“That’s not my title, and you know it.” Elias straightened his already perfect posture. “I’ve overseen seventeen successful rehabilitations.”
“And unsuccessful ones?”
Something flickered across his face. “Two.”
“What happened to them?”
“That’s classified.”
“Of course it is.” Vix drummed her black-painted nails against the tabletop. “Let me guess, they got sent to vampire jail for not completing their homework?”
Elias didn’t take the bait. “The Bureau has Compliance Centers for those who cannot or will not control their impulses. I’ve seen the reports: stark white rooms with silver restraints that leave scars even on vampire skin.”
The way he said it sent a chill down Vix’s spine. Not a threat exactly, but a reminder of what awaited her if she failed this ridiculous program.
“Order up!” Ioana appeared, balancing plates. She set a perfectly arranged club sandwich in front of Elias and then, with a flourish, placed a massive basket of fries before Vix. “Death-By-Garlic Fries, double dusted! Careful, they’re hot!”
Hot didn’t begin to describe it. The fries steamed in their basket, literally coated in minced garlic and herbs. The smell hit Vix like a punch to the gut, her sensitive nose burning with the intensity. Her stomach lurched in warning, her vampire physiology rejecting what her human memories still registered as comfort food. These conflicting impulses—human memories versus vampire reality—were the worst part of being newly turned.
“Enjoy!” Ioana chirped, oblivious to Vix’s growing discomfort.
Elias took a neat bite of his sandwich, watching Vix. His eyes held a challenge: Go ahead. You ordered them.
Vix reached for a fry, determined not to show weakness. She could feel Ms. Gruber watching from her booth, the tiny camera capturing every moment of this farce.
The fry burned her fingers, but that was nothing compared to what happened when she put it in her mouth. Garlic exploded across her tongue, searing her enhanced taste buds. Her senses went haywire, hearing dulled while vision sharpened painfully, a defensive response she’d experienced three times since being turned. Her body’s way of saying: danger, predator, run. Her throat constricted, stomach heaving in protest as her body recognized the substance as toxic.
“Delicious,” she choked out, forcing a smile.
“You don’t have to do this,” Elias said quietly, his expression shifting from challenge to something almost like concern.
“I’m fine,” Vix insisted, grabbing another fry. The second was worse than the first, the garlic oil coating her mouth with burning intensity. Her vision swam slightly, her body fighting the intrusion of the vampire-repelling substance.
“Your face is turning green,” Elias observed.
“Your face is always green,” Vix shot back, the childish retort slipping out before she could stop it.
Elias sighed. “Miss Moreau, there’s no shame in—“
“I said I’m fine!” Vix snapped, loud enough that several nearby diners turned to look. “God, can’t you just let me eat what I want for once? You’re not my dad!”
More heads turned. Ms. Gruber leaned forward in her booth, camera angled directly at them.
“Keep your voice down,” Elias warned, glancing around at their audience.
“Or what? You’ll send me to my room without dessert?” Vix grabbed another fry, waving it for emphasis. “I’m twenty-one, not twelve. I can make my own food choices!”
The elderly couple was openly staring now. One of the truckers snickered.
Elias’s expression shifted, his eyes darting to Ms. Gruber and back to Vix. Then, to her complete shock, he slid around the booth until he was sitting beside her instead of across from her. His arm draped casually around her shoulders.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, his voice suddenly warm and playful, loud enough for others to hear. “You know Dr. Ramirez said garlic triggers your acid reflux. I’m just looking out for you. Remember what happened in Prague?”
Vix froze, his unexpected proximity sending her senses into overdrive. He smelled like coffee and clean laundry and something uniquely male that made her fangs ache in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Saving our assessment,” he murmured back, his lips close to her ear. “Couples have arguments in diners all the time. Vampire rehabilitation officers and their charges don’t.”
Understanding dawned. He was creating a cover story, turning their conflict into ordinary relationship drama.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But I’m still eating the fries.”
“No, you’re not,” he said, still smiling for their audience. “They’re making you sick, and we both know it.”
“I ordered them,” she insisted, reaching for another.
Elias intercepted her hand, his fingers warm against her perpetually cool skin. “Then we’ll share them. Couples food challenge.”
Before she could react, he picked up a fry and held it to her lips. The intimate gesture caught her completely off guard.
“Smile and take a small bite,” he instructed under his breath. “Then say it’s too spicy. We’ll laugh, and you’ll be off the hook.”
The absurdity of the situation—Elias Ashcroft, vampire hunter extraordinaire, feeding her garlic fries to maintain their cover—almost made Vix laugh for real. She took the tiniest nibble possible, the garlic barely touching her tongue this time.
“Whew! Too spicy for me,” she announced, fanning her mouth dramatically.
Elias laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine. “I told you so. More for me, then.”
He popped the rest of the fry into his mouth without hesitation, and Vix found herself staring at his lips. For someone so rigid, he had a surprisingly nice mouth. The observation triggered a flood of unwanted heat through her cold vampire veins, a different kind of hunger that the synthetic blood packs never addressed in their clinical feeding guidelines.
The thought sent a jolt through her system, triggering a wave of dizziness that had nothing to do with the garlic. The room tilted slightly, her senses overwhelmed by Elias’s proximity, the garlic in her system, and the constant background hum of hunger.
“Whoa,” she breathed, gripping the edge of the table.
Elias’s arm tightened around her shoulders, steadying her. “Are you alright?”
“Just peachy,” she managed, but the concern in his eyes seemed real.
“Your body is reacting to the garlic,” he said quietly. “It’s a defense mechanism. We should leave.”
For once, Vix didn’t argue. The dizziness was getting worse, and the last thing she needed was to vomit in the middle of a crowded diner while Ms. Gruber watched.
Elias signaled Ioana, who hurried over with their check. “Everything okay with your meal?”
“Delicious, but we’re running late for an appointment,” Elias explained smoothly, handing her cash. “Could we get a receipt, please? For our records.”
“Of course!” Ioana disappeared and returned moments later with a receipt stamped “APPROVED” in red ink. A requirement of their rehabilitation program, Vix realized. Proof they’d completed the assessment.
Elias helped her from the booth, his hand at her elbow providing subtle support as they made their way to the exit. Vix could feel Ms. Gruber’s eyes following them, the tiny camera capturing their retreat.
The moment they stepped outside, cool mountain air washed over Vix’s face, clearing some of the garlic-induced fog from her brain. She took several deep breaths, letting her supernatural system purge the toxins.
“Better?” Elias asked, still holding her elbow.
“Getting there.” Vix straightened, pulling away from his touch. “You can stop with the concerned boyfriend act now. The audience is gone.”
Something that might have been hurt flickered across his face, but he quickly recovered. “We completed the assessment successfully. That’s what matters.”
“Phase one assessment complete,” Elias added, checking his tablet. “Bureau Protocol 43-C requires documentation within two hours.”
“Do they have a protocol for everything?” Vix muttered.
“Yes,” Elias replied without looking up. “That’s Protocol 1-A.”
Vix stared at him, then snorted when she caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Had Elias Ashcroft just made a joke?
She was about to reply with something snarky when a new scent caught her attention. Metallic and sweet, with notes of cinnamon and clove. Blood wine. Crimson Reserve, the high-end stuff, typically aged in oak with notes of cinnamon and clove. Black market value of about five thousand per bottle. The kind that’s supposed to be locked in temperature-controlled vaults, not loaded into unmarked vans behind diners.
She turned toward the source, an unmarked white van parked behind the diner, near the service entrance. A man in a dark jacket and mirrored sunglasses was loading small crates into the back. The scent grew stronger as he opened another box, checking its contents before securing it in the vehicle.
“Do you smell that?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
Elias frowned. “Smell what?”
“Blood wine. Crimson Reserve.”
Elias’s posture changed instantly, his hand moving subtly toward where she knew he kept a stake concealed in his jacket. “Are you certain?”
“Vampire nose, remember? It’s definitely blood wine, and definitely not the legal kind. Too concentrated, and there’s something else mixed in that I can’t identify.”
The man at the van suddenly looked up, as if sensing their attention. His mirrored sunglasses reflected the sunlight as he stared in their direction. Then, with surprising speed, he slammed the van’s rear doors, hurried to the driver’s seat, and started the engine.
“Should we stop him?” Vix asked, but Elias held her back.
“No. We don’t have jurisdiction, and we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
The van peeled out of the parking lot, gravel spraying from its tires as it accelerated onto the mountain road.
“You’re just letting him go?” Vix couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.
“I’m noting the license plate and vehicle description,” Elias replied, typing into his phone. “The Bureau has protocols for investigating suspicious activity.”
“Of course it does,” Vix muttered. “Heaven forbid we do something spontaneous and useful.”
Elias pocketed his phone. “Thank you for not vomiting garlic all over the diner. That would have been difficult to explain to Ms. Gruber.”
The almost-compliment caught Vix off guard. “You’re welcome, I guess. Thanks for the save with the whole couples-spat cover story.”
“Standard protocol for public rehabilitation assessments.”
“Right. Protocol.” Vix kicked at a lone garlic fry that had somehow made it outside, sending it skittering across the gravel. A pair of crows immediately descended, fighting over the unexpected treat. “So what thrilling activity do we have scheduled next? Vampire bingo? Supernatural sensitivity training?”
“We return to the castle to document today’s assessment,” Elias said, walking toward their car. “Tomorrow we visit another establishment on the approved list.”
Vix followed, glancing back at where the van had been. Something about the whole setup felt wrong. Why would someone be transporting high-end blood wine through a tiny mountain diner? And why did Elias seem more interested in following protocol than investigating?
As she slid into the passenger seat, her thoughts drifted back to the moment in the diner, Elias’s arm around her shoulders, his unexpected laughter, the brief flash of genuine concern in his eyes. For a split second, he’d seemed almost human.
“What’s so funny?” Elias asked, starting the engine.
Vix hadn’t realized she was smiling. “Nothing. Just wondering what kind of garlic-free culinary delights await us tomorrow.”
“Something more suitable for your digestive system, I hope.”
“Aw, you do care.”
“I care about completing this rehabilitation successfully,” Elias corrected, pulling onto the road. “Nothing more.”
But as they drove back toward the castle, Vix caught him glancing at his tablet, studying a map with multiple pins dropped across the region. One of those pins, she noticed, was less than a mile from where they’d just seen the suspicious van.
Coincidence? Or was there more to Elias Ashcroft than Bureau protocols and perfect posture?
For the first time since this forced rehabilitation began, Vix found herself genuinely curious to find out. And if there was one thing more dangerous than a hungry vampire, it was a curious one with nothing to lose.
You have been reading Stake & Shake...
One viral video destroyed Vix Moreau’s life. Seventeen million views of a vampire DJ losing control and biting a famous influencer at the supernatural world’s most exclusive event.
Her punishment? Thirty days with the Bureau’s most uptight hunter. Elias Ashcroft was all pressed uniforms and rigid protocols, devastatingly handsome in a way that made her fangs ache.
He was also her anonymous food blogger crush.
The man whose reviews had been her escape was now professionally obligated to keep his distance. Every shared meal became a test she couldn’t afford to fail.
When blood wine smugglers hijacked his blog for illegal drops, professional distance became impossible. His missing sister’s life hung in the balance, and Vix’s hacking skills might be their only advantage.
She’d already lost everything once.
Was she brave enough to risk her heart for the hunter who’d become her whole world, knowing that saving him might destroy any chance they had together?†
†This story was produced using author‑directed AI tools.
