Tilda Schwan is perfect.
I’ve gone from police officer to stalker. Well, not really. Tilda knows I’m keeping watch. What she doesn’t know is that every moment with her feels like a gift.
The chief may have given me this assignment to keep one of our citizens safe, but if he’d assigned this to someone else, I’d have found a way to change assignments.
She’s too good for me. In fact, I haven’t the slightest hope that anything could come from my desires. No creature as pure and lovely as her would ever give a hulking Sasquatch a second look.
It’s irrelevant, though. I’m drawn to her in a way I’ve never experienced before. As I sit in the police truck, modified to fit my size, I watch her house and make sure the street is safe.
The engine of a cruiser rumbles and parks behind me. Shoes on the pavement alert me to an officer’s approach. In my side view mirror, Chief Martinez is striding my way.
I roll down my window. “Chief.”
“Good morning, Max. How was the night?” He leans on the truck, scanning the area.
“Quiet.”
“Good.” He pauses and studies the house. “You should go home and sleep.”
Before I can argue, he holds up a hand for silence. “I spoke to Mr. Radu this morning. Pierre Brochet committed suicide last night.”
A wash of relief flows over me, and at the same time, I have no further reason to keep watch on my swan. “You came to tell Miss Schwan?”
Studying me for a long moment, he nods. “If you want to accompany me, I’m sure Miss Schwan would appreciate your presence. After all, you’ve been her protector for all these months.” He wipes his brow, as even the early mornings in late summer are hot.
Opening the door, I step out. “I appreciate that, Chief.” I’m relieved she’s out of danger, but I’m not sure how she’ll react. She and I rarely discussed her time with Brochet. My impression is that she’d rather not talk about those years of her life, though in hindsight, maybe she needed to.
With a brisk nod, Martinez heads for the front door, and I follow.
We’re several feet away when the door swings open, and in a long white nightgown and matching white robe, Tilda stands staring. “Something’s happened? Is it Pierre? Did he get away? Is he here?” She grips the edges of her satin robe and wraps it around herself.
Jorge Martinez is great with people. His voice is deep and gentle, putting everyone around him at ease. “Miss Schwan, everything is alright. Let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you why we’re here.”
She swallows nervously and backs up to allow us to step inside.
I close the door behind me.
“Tell me quickly, Chief. I don’t think I can stand it if you hem and haw,” she demands, though her voice is so soft, it’s hard to hear the strength of her conviction.
In the years I’ve been in Harmony Glen, I’ve noticed that the chief always pauses when he’s trying to decide what’s best for someone, even when they don’t know it. “You might want to sit down, Tilda.”
“Oh god, did he harm someone else?” Her blue eyes fill with tears, and she grips the wall behind her. Vampires are strong, and despite her size, she digs her fingers through the drywall.
“No. Pierre Brochet is dead.”
“Dead…” Her eyes roll back in her head, and her skin goes pale even for a vampire.
I reach out and lift her off her feet before she hits the floor. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
“Nice catch, Max.” He sighs and pulls out his phone. “Maybe put her on the couch. I’ll call Mari. She was my next stop this morning.” He shakes his head. “I should have done this better.”
“It would have been a shock no matter how you told her.” Crossing to the couch, I ease her carefully down and pull a soft blanket from the back over her since the nightgown hides little of what lies beneath.
With vampire speed, Mari is at the door in less than two minutes. She rushes through the house and kneels beside her sister. “Did she hit the floor? Do we need blood from the hospital?”
I’ve never seen Mari so worried. Even when her vicious sire, Brochet, came to claim her, she was in control.
“She didn’t hit the floor.”
