She’s mine.
Holy fuck. He hated himself for viewing her like his possession. But there was no denying it, he would fucking stake Matteus personally if he harmed one hair on her beautiful head.
You were no better than him for a century.
He slugged the contents of his glass, then ordered another to drown out the memories of his own blood-frenzied feeding, the way he’d seduced young humans and practically sucked them dry.
Had any died? The thought made his face contort.
Maybe. He’d never waited to find out, sinking back into the shadows once he’d had his fill.
Until a mage had found him. Broken by shame and stumbling around the dark streets of Motham, drunk and disoriented on blood. Emerson had taken him into his home, treated him like a son. Put him through intensive therapy.
When he’d asked the mage why, what he had seen in Oliver’s bitter, twisted soul that was worth saving, Emerson had said, “You have great goodness in you, Oliver. One day you will understand.”
He hadn’t believed Emerson. But bit by bit, he had responded to his care, his belief in him.
It had taken decades. In that time, he’d taken blood through other means. Joined the police force and worked his way up the ranks, finally becoming a detective.
The darkness in him helped in solving crimes. The work he’d done to infiltrate the demon grimaalds and have them removed from the Motham wastelands had earned him a promotion, and as far as his career went, he’d never looked back.
His personal life, on the other hand, had remained a desert. But he’d found some peace of mind in solitude. The lack of closeness to someone was the price you paid for sanity and reason. For being a decent, moral vampire.
But still, despite all the therapy, he couldn’t let go of his hatred of the Kominskys, couldn’t forgive and forget. It was a hatred that this fucking case was feeding. And yet, while some things pointed to their involvement, other facts did not. For one thing, as Clare hadkindlypointed out, it didn’t make sense that the Jordak family would trade with vampires. They hated and reviled all monsters, vampires included.
Maybe Clare was right, maybe he was letting his vendetta against the Kominskys get in the way of reason and common sense.
Ergh, his head was a mess.
He drained his glass, then waved at the bartender again, a bear shifter. “Another whiskey,” he said, tapping the glass on the bar.
The big guy gave him a dubious look. “Just hand over the bottle,” he growled, slapping down a hundred-dollar bill. “And here’s another $20 for your trouble.”
The guy grabbed the money and brought over the bottle.
Afterward, he wasn’t sure how much he’d drunk, but when he picked up the bottle it was less than half full. He shovedit back on the bar and got up to leave. His head spun. He steadied himself and walked out of the bar, shoulders pinned back, priding himself on managing to walk in a straight line even though he was seeing double.
He was about to call a hover cab, then changed his mind. He’d walk, to clear his head.
But his sense of direction was clearly way off, because he found himself walking not back to Motham Hill, but toward the graveyard.
And no, he wasn’t close to sobering up, and yeah, he should fucking turn around, but he was being drawn by something that defied logic. And with a hell of a lot of whiskey in his belly and no dinner, he wasn’t in the mood to be logical.
His nerves were short circuiting as he got closer to Clare’s apartment. No amount of alcohol could mask his hunger for her.
He tried to tell himself he was only going to check that she was safe.
Yeah, right, playing Peeping Tom outside her apartment.
What’s fucking wrong with you, pervert?
Nevertheless, he ducked into the shadows of the graveyard entrance and watched.
Her curtains were closed, but there was a light on in the room still. There was a small crack between the curtains, and his breath caught as her figure flitted past. She needed to close those curtains properly. If he could spot her, so could someone else.
And then she did, she closed the gap, and disappointment coursed through him. He was sobering up, and realizing this was a dumb idea, and yet, he couldn’t seem to move away.
Because what if he left, and in the morning, she was gone?
