Danse Macabre
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Disclaimer: The Lost Boys is owned by Warner Bros. and not me. Only Julie belongs to me along with the plotline for what it's worth.
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Warning: There will be violence and erotic (though not explicit) content after the first few chapters so I will change the rating to 'M' prior to any mature episodes taking place.
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Pairing: This story will be Shane/OC centric with sire relationship between Shane and David. There are also David/Star moments.
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'The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.' – Mark Twain
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The first time Julie Foster laid eyes on Shane Powers in person he was staggering up from the water's edge with his swim trunks riding low against his waist; his entire being saturated with water as though he was one of the Greek water deities of superstition. He was tall and leanly muscled with salty droplets of brine dotting his smooth golden skin like crystalline jewels. He headed straight past her without so much as a second look.
'Story of my life,' she snorted silently.
Gorgeous men like Shane didn't look at girls like her – girls whose waists were a little too thick according to society's strict standard of beauty.
Julie pretended to thumb through the old copy of Cosmo she'd brought along at her roommate's suggestion. Rachel thought Julie needed a crash course in beauty tips and dating advice pronto. She shoved the cast off magazine into Julie's beach bag with a grin that edged on malicious.
Rachel leaned over and patted her cheek. 'Read and learn, Julie. You're twenty and a virgin. You've never even dated… you need to get laid before you turn into the spinster cat lady.'
Easy for Rachel to say – she was a perfectly attractive, buxom blonde that men followed around with their collective tongues hanging from their mouths.
Instead of arguing, Julie smiled and left the apartment.
She had been roasting on the sand just off the boardwalk watching the surfers riding the gentle swells just off shore for the better part of two hours. Eyeing her arm, Julie groaned. Despite a healthy slathering of sunblock her skin was taking on the hue of a cooked lobster.
Shoving the useless magazine back into the depths of her beach bag, Julie stood. She quickly looped her black sarong around her hips; desperate to mask the state of her jiggling thighs. The only exercise she indulged in was walking and that was only if mass transportation was unavailable. Lazy didn't quite describe Julie either since she worked steadily and kept the apartment she shared with Rachel neat as a pin.
Julie was just not a physical person – she lived in her mind.
Living her life mentally rather than physically left Julie with a fuller figure in danger of running to full blown fat. A love of pizza and chocolate didn't help. She was tired and frustrated by the cruelty people felt free to exhibit along with the free advice complete strangers offered to help whip her into shape. Julie was humiliated after being told by a cashier at the video store she needed to rent a Jane Fonda aerobics tape.
She pulled at the straps of her black, conservatively cut one piece swimsuit; swearing at the material cutting into the soft flesh of her shoulders. Once everything was packed up, Julie headed over the sand toward the street access.
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Shane Powers stood under the spigot of the outdoor public showers. Water sluiced down his lean, muscled frame washing away stickiness of salt from hours spent in seawater. His head was tilted back as he shoved his wet, jaw-length hair back over his head. To Julie's mind, he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. He turned and she caught sight of black ink – a tribal tattoo that dominated the golden flesh of his back.
One of the most popular surfers in California, Shane Powers was on the cusp of breaking through to the big time.
Julie had no doubt corporate sponsors would flock to him. Shane would end up wealthy with a sexy, perfect girl on his arm – probably a model – and blow out of Santa Carla riding a wave of sports fame and glory.
She hesitated allowing her eyes linger on his tall, beautiful body for just one last moment.
Most of her life was spent busting ass at the restaurant where she worked. There was no time to come down and enjoy the surfing competitions in person; her previous viewings of Shane Powers had been watching late night cable reruns of local surf contests. Seeing the man she'd idolized in person made her mouth run dry.
Shane turned once more and tugged at the chain; cutting off the fresh water. He ran a hand over his face and flicked away the water before his eyes drifted open. He had the most beautiful pair of eyes that Julie had ever seen – intense green, almond-shaped, with long, pale brown lashes.
At that moment it dawned on Julie Shane Powers was looking straight at her.
Julie felt her face burning under the intense, curiosity of his gaze.
A playful half-smile tugged at his full lips. "Beautiful weather for surfing," Shane stated lazily in a soft, masculine voice that made her toes curl. "The waves out there are fantastic."
She smiled and looked away from him as her heart began slamming against her ribs.
Shyness was her downfall.
Dry, rich laughter reached her ears. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."
Julie chanced a look at Shane and found him watching her with seeming anticipation. Drawing a breath, she forced words out of her closed up throat. "It's a great day," Julie agreed; sounding like a dying frog as her larynx gave out.
He cocked his head; the wetness of the water slicked his hair back and darkened it. "Why are you leaving? It's not even three o'clock."
The burning in her cheeks doubled and the heat traveled downward until her neck and chest prickled uncomfortably. "I have to be to work by five."
Shane nodded sympathetically. "I completely understand. Where do you work?"
Julie froze. "The Santa Carla Brewery."
"I've been there before, but I don't remember seeing you," he remarked lazily.
"Most people don't remember meeting me."
Shane looked out toward the water. "I find that hard to believe. Pretty girls are always memorable."
She could feel her heart slamming against her chest in painful, dull thumps that she was certain he could hear even over the noise around them. Pretty?! Me? Julie was both flattered and mortified. No man had ever referred to her as attractive.
He turned his head back toward her; his eyes were filled with sincerity. "What's your name?"
"Julie," she replied so softly she doubted he could hear.
A smile curved his lips upward. "Julie is a lovely name…"
"Shane!" The gruff male voice interrupted Julie's thoughts and she blinked.
He looked toward the male figure stalking toward him across the sand and frowned. "Greg."
Julie studied Greg and decided it was time to go. He was squat though still in shape with a prominent chin and dark hair sporting a white streak that flopped across his forehead. Sporting bright green swim trunks, he held himself with an aura of redneck superiority that rubbed her the wrong way.
"Shane, the guys are ready to catch another wave."
The expression on Shane's face was one of aggravation, but it quickly smoothed into a charming smile. "No problem, I'll be right there."
Greg seemed to notice Julie in that moment. A cruel smile slipped across his face as his eyes took on a hard, shiny appearance. "Lookin' for an autograph? That'll be twenty bucks. Shane Powers don't just give away his signature for nothin'."
Julie was horrified and discomfort must have swamped her face because Greg's eyes narrowed; giving him the look of a shark scenting blood in the water.
"Oh…" Greg looked her up and down before shooting a questioning look in Shane's direction. "I had no idea you liked fat chicks."
Shane's generous mouth twisted into a frown. "Cut the shit, Greg. I told you I'll come back down and I will."
A sharp laugh escaped Greg's throat before he turned and started jogging back to the shore.
"I'm sorry…" Shane began quietly.
"Don't worry about it," Julie bit off in a cool voice. "I have to get going." Without waiting, she headed toward the street entrance as fast as her legs could carry her.
She had no idea that Shane watched her walk away; a tight frown stitched across his mouth.
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The Santa Carla Brewery was rocking. Throngs packed the dining room and spilled out into the beer garden in the warmth of the evening. Loud rock music crashed from the stereo system and the bar was so packed all three bartenders were sweating profusely and running to keep up with the sheer numbers flooding in looking for cold brews.
The brewery was tucked into a good size building in a shopping mall not far from the university; behind a local, very high end bakery and a gardening supply store. Built and decorated like a rustic log cabin, the Santa Carla Brewery was incredibly popular with both students and locals from the affluent surrounding neighborhoods.
Julie was soaked in sweat by nine o'clock. Now that midnight was rolling around, she was finally getting a chance to cool her heels. She wiped the perspiration from her brow and shot a smile at her boss. "I think we survived the rush."
Briscoe Jones chuckled and stroked his russet-colored goatee. "By the hair on my chiny, chin, chin."
She laughed and returned to scraping the grill. "You're such a weirdo."
"True," Briscoe returned. "If I was normal, I wouldn't have hired you." He winked and began polishing the stainless steel tables that made up the line across from the industrial ovens and stoves.
It was true; Briscoe hired Julie when most professional kitchens refused to employ women – especially women with little experience. She started as a dishwasher and made her way up to a cook through hard work and Briscoe's training. Every day was a new challenge and Julie loved her work. She wasn't rich, but she made enough to pay her bills.
Julie stuck her tongue at Briscoe and he laughed.
The man was kind to her and reminded Julie of a much older brother.
Before she could tease him further, the kitchen doors swung inward and spat Dean Travers into their midst. Dean was one of those tall, dark men with a perfect body who looked like he belonged in an issue of GQ Magazine. Dean was an okay guy who tended bar for Briscoe and brought in more tips than any of the other bartenders.
"What's up?" Briscoe asked with a cocky grin. "The kitchen closes at midnight."
Dean gulped. "Ah, we have a celebrity out in the bar."
Julie turned from the grill; the stink of grease and charred meat in her nose.
Briscoe snorted. "You don't say. Who is it, the mayor? Kitchen is still closed. Booze, peanuts, and microwaved nachos after midnight, Dean."
Dean cleared his throat. "We got Shane Powers sitting at the bar."
She felt sick upon hearing the name. The memory of her curt dismissal as she left the beach brought an uncomfortable heat to her cheeks. Luckily, the sunburn she acquired hid the evidence of her guilt.
"I'll be damned!" Briscoe was a former surfer and venerated the younger generation with zealous passion. "What did he order? I'll whip it up quick. Shane Fucking Powers in my place!" The sense of wonder in Briscoe's voice only made Julie want to shrink until no one could see her.
Dean finally looked her way. "Powers asked to see you, Julie. He's pretty much mobbed out there… just so you know."
Briscoe shot a discerning look in Julie's direction. "You know Shane Powers?" And you didn't tell me? Was the silent, accusatory question that lingered in the air.
Julie shrugged. "I met him this afternoon down at the beach. We just sort of ran into each other." Briscoe's eyes grew wide with disbelief and she hurried along, "The conversation lasted about three minutes at the most. It was no big deal."
Briscoe snorted. "Obviously he remembered you, kiddo." He gestured to Dean. "See if Powers will come back here after his autograph session is up. Julie will be ripped to shreds out there."
Dean nodded and headed back out into the busy bar.
Julie turned and began scraping the grill with more gusto.
"Being shy isn't anything to be ashamed of," Briscoe remarked quietly as he finished up disinfecting the prep tables. "I always thought you had a sweet personality – it just takes the right guy to appreciate you."
She blushed but remained silent as she finished the grill.
Ten minutes passed before the kitchen doors opened again, but this time the tall figure of Shane Powers entered the room. He had his hair pulled back into a ponytail; dark wash jeans, a deep green t-shirt with Van Halen blazing across the front in bold white lettering, and black boots made up his ensemble. Five o'clock shadow was clinging to the strong curve of his jaw – pale brown instead of the golden hue of his hair.
He was a handsome, very healthy specimen of manhood.
Julie was at the sink washing her hands with lemon-scented soap in the vain effort to free herself of the stench of grease. She turned away and began scrubbing at her skin more vigorously. All she wanted was to sink through the concrete and become invisible to everyone present.
Briscoe's warm voice rang out. "As I live and breathe if it isn't Shane Powers! I never expected to see you in my brewery."
Shane chuckled; the sound mirthful and yet soft at the same time. "This is a great place, man. You should be proud. Honestly, I don't spend much time in this part of town. I'm always surfing in order to train and when I'm not training, I'm over in Capitola."
"You must just be scraping by." Briscoe sounded concerned. "When I was your age, surf competitions paid crap."
"They still do," Shane responded. "I'm lucky I have a few sponsors or I would have to pull out of competitive surfing and get a job like everyone else. My friends and I share a four bedroom bungalow in north Capitola so that helps with the expenses."
Briscoe laughed. "I remember living like that when I was younger. Win that competition down in Los Angeles and you're in the big time."
"I'm going to try my best."
The room was so quiet for a moment that all Julie could hear was the water splashing from the tap across her hands, the men's breathing, and the mingled echoes of Bohemian Rhapsody and laughter from the bar.
Briscoe cleared his throat. "Julie, I'm going to talk to the bartenders for a minute."
She felt her heart sink as the doors swished leaving her alone with Shane Powers.
"I didn't realize you were a cook. That's cool. How do you like it?" His voice wasn't quite as soft as before and it was warmer in tone than when he'd been speaking to Briscoe.
Julie shut off the water and started drying her hands. "I love it."
Footsteps echoed on the concrete floor; drawing closer. "I'm sorry about what happened earlier. Greg can be a prick when he chooses. Please accept my apologies."
She looked up and swallowed upon finding Shane so close to her. "You're not the one who needs to apologize. You didn't need to come all the way over here. I'm fine." Shane cast a dubious look her way so Julie released a loud, pent-up breath. "Honestly, I'm good."
He was studying her closely with those intriguing green eyes. "My motivation wasn't just apologizing for Greg."
"Oh?"
Shane smiled and little butterflies began fluttering in Julie's stomach. "I liked talking to you, Julie. Most girls either come on to me or make complete fools of themselves, but you're different… natural. I was hoping we could hang out when we have time."
Julie didn't feel like she was natural when they spoke earlier – she felt like she had been cold. She searched his face for some sign of duplicity and found none. The belief he genuinely wanted to spend time with her was a shocking revelation.
"Okay," she managed.
Shane's smile only grew. "Fantastic! I love making new friends. You'll have to cook for me some night and I'll bring a nice bottle of wine."
Friends…
Julie's heart ached like someone ripped it out. Her expression faltered for half a second before she pasted a smile across her face. "I'd really like that. I share an apartment over on Locust Street so we could get together there. My roommate is a nurse and she works the night shift." Locust Street was several blocks north of the boardwalk in an area close to the Santa Carla historic district. The houses were all small Victorian creations and her apartment was no different.
"Sounds great," Shane leaned against the wall and gazed down at her. He was around twenty-five or twenty-six in her estimate and not the least bit immature like his friend Greg; she wondered why he hung around that guy. "Give me your number and I'll call you tomorrow to make arrangements."
Julie began craning her neck looking for a pen and paper.
He chuckled. "Julie." She looked back up at him and he pointed at his skull. "I have an excellent memory. Give me your number."
She cleared her throat. "555-1769."
"555-1769," Shane repeated as he straightened. "Got it. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Julie." He winked and left the kitchen out the open back door.
Julie stared after him for a moment before a goofy grin played across her mouth.
