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“I love you too, Ren,” I say sardonically.
“My last partner went off the deep end,” he continues. “Thought he was falling in love with some human woman on one of our cases, and wound up murdering her because he wanted a little taste. Then went on a rampage. He’s incarcerated now.”
I look him squarely in the eye.
How dare he dictate my limitations to me? He has no concept of my personal strength or inner goodness.
Perhaps the taboo nature of the relationships between humans and vampires is what makes them so enticing.
But my relationship with Quinn is worlds different than any of those weaker vampires who lost control. He cannot keep me from her.
If he tries to stand in my way - obstruct me from what I need - I am uncertain what I will do.
“What does that have to do with me?” I ask him simply.
He takes a deep breath, and I think I see fear in his eyes.
“Nothing,” he says.
I purse my lips.
“But if you ever suspect that your relationship with this girl is getting personal, I need you to stand aside, for your own good,” he says. “I can’t lose another partner to vampiric urges. Can’t have more dead people on my conscience.”
“Especially not when the person committing the crime is a dear friend,” he adds.
I shake my head, cast my eyes downward to the hardwood floor, and smile.
Ren will have to remain in ignorance for this, because I cannot think of what I will have to do if he bars me from my love.
His factual recitation of his earlier partnership leaves me disappointed. From what he has told me of it, he never tried to connect with his partner - never tried to understand the struggle of a vampire, hot on the chase of an eternal mate.
Shifter law frowns on these games of pursuit - in some cases, even criminalizes them. They would have humans and vampires meet in cafes and talk over coffee, or through online chat rooms. They expect our courtships to be safe and impersonal.
But none of that works for us. What motivates us is a rush of blood through our fangs, a series of calculated risks, and chasing our eternal mates through the city, even over decades. It’s how my sire met his mate, her sire met hers, and so on.
“You don’t need to worry,” I say simply. “The girl is nothing to me.”
This is a cruel and cold lie, but it seems to satisfy Ren. And that is all that matters.
To claim my prize - continue my chase - I need to keep Ren off of my case. He can never know what Quinn means to me - how intoxicating it is to follow her across the streets of Middlebury.
“Good,” he says. “But know that I’m watching you closely. If you set a toe out of line, I will know. And for your own good, I will have to intervene strictly as your colleague, not as a friend.”
“I would expect nothing less,” I lie.
He walks away from my desk, toward other business, and I instantly feel lighter in the absence of his awful smell.
My mind is free to wander back to my thrall.
I think of how she dominates almost any situation with ease - how she speaks her mind regardless of the consequences, and handles men much larger than her.
But mostly, I think of the look of compliance in her eyes when I have her under my thumb - how her intoxicating blood pulses through her, inviting me just to come a little closer.
Ren cannot know. Quinn is mine.
9
QUINN
