Tilting rose, p.1
Vampires and Violas, page 1
part #2 of A Vampire's Guide to Gardening Series
Also by Shari L. Tapscott
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Hunters and Hydrangeas
Message from Shari
Bonus Collection
Also by Shari L. Tapscott
About the Author
Vampires and Violas
A Vampire’s Guide to Gardening, Book Two
Copyright © 2025 by Shari L. Tapscott
All rights reserved
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editing by Z.A. Sunday
Cover Design by Moorbooks Design
Special thanks to Christine Freeman
For all my readers who followed me to my cozy, quirky vampire series. Love you.
Prologue
Ethan Brennan, CEO of Brennan Properties, wore an orange jumpsuit that didn’t complement his cool complexion. He drummed his fingers on the laminate countertop in the semi-private cubicle, looking through the plexiglass window as guards led a man to the seat across from him.
His trial and sentence had been swift, and now he was adjusting to prison life. He’d officially served seven days. That meant he only had ninety-nine years and fifty-one weeks before he was free to leave, unless he was able to get out early for good behavior.
For an ordinary man, that would be a life sentence. But even for a vampire, it was daunting—especially a young vampire, like Ethan, who’d only been infected with the virus a few years prior.
Ethan’s visitor pulled out his chair and sat down, shifting like he wasn’t entirely comfortable on prison property—suffering from a guilty conscience, no doubt. He was around six feet tall, muscular like he went to the gym most days of the week, and had two full sleeves of tattoos. His hair was brown and short, his goatee was as well, and he wore a T-shirt he bought when he went to see a Broadway musical with his grandmother the year before.
His eyes betrayed his nerves.
The man lifted the phone on his side of the cubicle, and Ethan did the same.
“How are you holding up?” the theatergoer asked Ethan, his sympathetic tone a feat for a man who killed people for a living. Perhaps he was grateful Ethan didn’t throw him under the bus when he was convicted.
But Ethan was loyal, and he knew Sam was more useful to him outside the prison.
“I’m fine,” Ethan responded.
“Hunter said you wanted to see me.”
“I wanted to thank you for being a loyal employee of Brennan Properties,” Ethan began. “Especially now, in light of the scandal, you have stayed by my brother and me, and I appreciate it.”
Sam nodded, his eyes cutting toward the guard behind Ethan.
“I’ve asked Hunter to give you a raise,” Ethan continued. “I’d like you to complete the project I assigned you before I was arrested.”
Sam knew what that assignment was, and it had nothing to do with real estate. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Brennan. I’ll do that.”
“Good.”
And with that, Ethan hung up the phone, rose from the sparsely padded metal chair, and turned around to tell the waiting guard he was ready to return to his cell.
1
“And then he locked me in a closet,” Colin McGary tells the group, clutching his hands at his waist, looking like he’s going to cry again.
The man is forty-three and well-rounded, with short brown hair that’s receding just slightly. He appears shorter than he is, looking about five-six but actually standing closer to five-nine.
Pre-vamps murmur their sympathy, some more enthusiastically than others. The newcomers are genuinely horrified by the story, but the rest of us? Not so much. We’ve already heard it many times. This is the fourth week Colin has regaled us with the tragic tale of the vampire assassin posing as him—Big, Bad Wolf style—and shoving him into a closet.
“How did you escape?” Brooke asks, leaning forward in her folding chair. She’s in her early twenties, with shoulder-length brunette hair and a small rhinestone nose ring. She’s new this week—was bitten at a nightclub in Vegas last month. Occasionally, she glances at my conservator, hearts in her eyes.
And she’s not the only one. Ashlyn, Colin’s conservator, a ridiculously pretty woman in her mid-twenties with a peaches and cream complexion, luminous green eyes, and red hair that she wears in an intricate braid, has been flashing him looks as well.
And who can blame them? Cassian is very handsome. Annoying, but handsome.
I turn my eyes on the royal vampire as Colin speaks of Noah’s heroic rescue, giving him a look. I don’t want to be here. He knows I don’t want to be here.
He leans against the wall in our group leader’s living room, sipping iced broth from a glass—a prince amongst peasants. Smiling when our eyes meet, he raises his dark eyebrows, silently telling me to pay attention.
With a sigh, I turn to Shanda, a woman in her mid-thirties with a self-proclaimed vampire addiction. Now that Colin is finished, it’s her turn to talk.
“It’s all right if you continue to date him,” Marilyn, our group leader, reminds her. “But you can’t let him bite you again. You’re in the second stage already.”
Shanda twists her hands in her lap. “I didn’t realize it would be so hard.” She drops her voice to a stage whisper. “I didn’t realize I’d want it so much.”
Several other members of the group murmur in agreement, making me want to roll my eyes.
“It’s an effect of the virus,” Marilyn says. “But you need to fight the cravings.”
“Why, though?” Dylan asks. “We already take blood. What difference does it make if we’re first, second, or final-stage vampires?”
He’s about my age, in his late twenties, with wire-rimmed glasses, a leather laptop satchel, and a green-as-goo smoothie that appears to be permanently glued to his hand. He brings one to every meeting.
Marilyn nods to his cup. “Well, for starters, final-stage vampires have trouble digesting plant-based foods. You wouldn’t be able to drink your smoothies anymore.”
“It’s not like I enjoy it—and I wouldn’t need antioxidants and vitamins if I were a vampire,” Dylan argues. “Besides, I’ve heard NIHA is working on that.”
Nobody needs a pond-sludge smoothie. There are better ways to hide your prescription blood and get your nutrients.
“They are experimenting with a few medications,” Marilyn answers patiently. “But vampires already take several drugs for mood swings, cravings, and anxiety. Not to mention the prescription blood. Do you want to live your life dependent on drugs? A very long life?”
“Did my boyfriend stop taking the pills for his cravings?” Shanda asks suddenly. “Is that why he wants to bite me so badly?”
I press my lips together, reminding myself I’m an adult and shouldn’t snicker. A few others in the room aren’t as successful.
“Blood cravings are different. The desire you’re speaking of is fueled by…” Marilyn looks uncomfortable. “Well, a vampire’s natural impulse to grow their line.”
“So, we’re hormonal?” Brooke says, her cheeks turning pink.
“Basically…yes.”
Well, this is an awkward session.
“Speaking of that, do vampires actually become sterile in the final stage?” Dylan asks. “The pamphlets said pre-vamps can have kids, but vampires cannot. So, no birth control needed?”
“That’s correct,” Marilyn answers, looking like she’d like to get this session back on track.
“Well, that’s a perk,” Dylan says crassly to the man beside him, a longtime group member whose name I can never remember.
The man doesn’t respond, but he looks like he wants to be here as much as I do.
“Unless you’d like to have children,” Marilyn snaps, which is out of character.
Excluding Dylan, the attendees’ faces shadow with sympathy, and my eyes stray to the picture of Marilyn and her husband on the mantle. It’s just the two of them at a theme park, smiling for the camera.
“You’re married to a vampire, aren’t you?” Brooke asks, stating the obvious. “So, you can’t have kids?”
“Correct,” Marilyn answers curtly.
The group goes quiet.
Our leader clears her throat, donning a smile like she didn’t just share something painful with the group. “It looks like we’re just
I smile when people look over at me. They nod and wave their thanks. Several are friendly, but the others are merely curious. My introduction to the pre-vamp lifestyle has been chaotic, and most people in the group are aware of my story now.
At least the part of the story I’m willing to share.
Do they know I fell for my conservator and then found out he hid the fact he’s a final-stage vampire, and now I’m nursing a very serious broken heart?
They do not.
But they do know my vampire stalker murdered my ex-boyfriend, and then his contact at the vampire regulating organization, NIHA, covered up his crimes. It’s been quite the scandal.
We stand, saying our casual goodbyes, and I join Cassian.
“You look surly.” The vampire smiles. “Thinking of Noah again?”
“No.” I toss my purse strap over my shoulder and head for the front door while the others stand around in depressing little pre-vamp groups.
“You could forgive him, you know.” Cassian follows me out the door. “It’s almost been a month.”
“He lied to me,” I remind him as I walk down the driveway.
“Yes, but you lied to me just now, and I’m willing to let it go.” Cassian smirks when I glare at him, opening the door to an expensive Lamborghini that used to belong to my stalker. I haven’t asked him how he came into possession of it. I’m not sure I want to know. “And did he ever tell you he wasn’t a vampire?”
“No, but a lie by omission is still a lie.”
It’s mid-July, and the air is warm even though it’s almost eight in the evening. Marilyn and her husband live in a newer subdivision on the west side of town, with large stucco and rock houses, nice landscaping, and young trees. There’s only room in the drive for three cars, so most of us parked on the street.
The Lamborghini looks a little out of place, and a guy gawks at it as he and his kids ride by on their bikes.
“He misses you,” Cassian says when he slides into the driver’s seat, oblivious to the attention we’re receiving.
Scowling, I click my seatbelt into place. “I’m glad our parting could bring the two of you back together.”
“Believe me, you ditching him because he’s a vampire has done nothing for our friendship.”
His tone catches my attention, and I turn to him. “Why do you sound guilty?”
“You seem hungry, bunny. Want a salad? We can try the new farm-to-table restaurant that just opened near the hot springs. It has a hipster vibe. We might run into your friend Dylan.”
“Don’t call me that, and Dylan is not my friend. Also, when is the administration office going to assign me a real conservator? Ethan and Reid are in jail. I don’t need your special brand of protection anymore.”
“Maybe I should get some wire-rimmed glasses,” Cassian muses, ignoring me. “What do you think? Is it time I enter my hipster phase?”
“The hipster phase is over. You’ve got to keep up.”
“Then what is Dylan?”
“A schmuck.”
“Did you take your blood this afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“You sure? You’re rather grouchy. Now tell me the truth—would I look good with glasses?” The vampire looks over at me, posing with his chin resting on his fingers like he’s deep in thought.
“Of course you would. You’d look good in a trash bag.”
He nods, humble as always. “I can’t do smoothies, but maybe I should start drinking pour-over coffee and correcting people when they say coffee is a bean?”
“Please don’t. Besides, doesn’t coffee give you indigestion?”
“Sadly, it does.”
“Then this conversation is pointless.”
Cassian laughs, abundantly amused. “You are in a bad mood today.”
“I don’t want to keep going to these stupid support groups. They’re depressing and awkward. I don’t need to know the intimate details about Shanda’s love life.”
“You have to attend the next one—it’s at your house.”
“Only because you added me to the rotation when Marilyn sent the clipboard around last week.”
He shrugs. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so irritated with Shanda if you had a boyfriend of your own.”
Not bothering to answer that, I look out the window.
“I know you’re mad at Noah,” Cassian presses. “And I’m not saying you don’t have a reason to be, but he’s a standup guy—one of the best I’ve met, and I’ve lived a long time. I don’t know why he didn’t tell you, but I’m certain he didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’d rather date you than go back to him.” I glare at the scenery outside the window. “At least you never hid your vampireyness from me.”
“Don’t tempt me. I have the same desires as Shanda’s boyfriend.”
“Ew.” I look back at him, grimacing. “Don’t say things like that. It’s creepy. So creepy.”
“I won’t bite you, Piper,” Cassian laughs. Then he sobers, frowning at the road. “I already have too many vampire progenies running around.”
It’s a problem that plagues him. Though he’s an advocate of eradicating the virus altogether, vampires keep randomly showing up bearing his line’s mark.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have snacked on so many humans while you were living it up in Transylvania.”
“I’ve only personally created two vampires,” he says heavily. “One of them passed the virus to countless others, and it’s her vampires who are running amok.”
“Who was it?” I ask, holding fast to the conversation. Cassian rarely talks about people from his past. Noah mentioned a woman, but the vampire has never brought her up himself.
“Her name was Sophia,” he answers.
“Was?”
“We met in the 1800s. I don’t know if she’s still alive or not.”
“Ethan mentioned he was turned by a woman,” I point out. “Do you think it was her?”
“It could have been, or it might have been one of her many creations.”
“But you sense her on me, right?”
It still makes me uncomfortable.
He turns to look at me. “Yes.”
“Does that mean I have to disappear?”
Cassian snorts out a laugh. “No. You’re a good little bunny, and I’ve decided to keep you.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re terribly condescending?”
He grins, pulling into a parking spot outside the restaurant I didn’t agree to go to. “Such a feisty herbivore.”
“Who was the other vampire you created?”
Cassian shuts off the engine and turns in his seat, frowning at me like he doesn’t want to say. But his guilt-riddled expression does all the talking.
“No,” I whisper, horrified. “You turned Noah?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Is that why he hates you so much?”
“He’ll forgive me eventually. Forever is a long time to hold a grudge.”
I pause, thinking about it, growing uncomfortable. “Why…I mean, how? What were you doing?”
“It was during a hunt. He took a bullet to the stomach and was dying right in front of me.”
“You saved him,” I say softly. “But how? The first bite wouldn’t change him.”
“He was already a second-stage pre-vamp. Most hunters are—staying clean while you’re fighting vampires is impossible. They come at you, fangs first.” He gestures to his mouth like I don’t know where the fangs are located.
“Like Emma,” I say, referring to the receptionist at NIHA’s local administration office.
“Exactly like Emma.” He frowns. “It was going to happen eventually. All hunters know it. They either die or they become vampires. It’s a job hazard.”
“Then why is Noah so mad?”
“He went nine years—a long time. He thought he could avoid that final bite.”
“Did you get in trouble?” I ask, curious if he’s above the law.
“No,” Cassian says heavily. “Noah didn’t turn me in. Everyone assumed he was bitten by one of the vampires we were fighting.”
“Can’t other old, decrepit vampires like yourself tell he’s from your line?”
“The vampires we were fighting were from my line, too.”
