by Rose Wulf
Seth’s hand landed on her shoulder and the weight of it was steady and reassuring as he said, “This is Veronica Wyndham. She’s the one who identified the traitors.”
Swallowing, Veronica managed a smile and slightly inclined her head. She wasn’t sure whether or not she should say anything just yet, so she opted to see how he would react to her presence.
Robert’s gaze landed on Veronica and held for a long second before he smiled and pushed to his feet. And the reality of his appearance was in such sharp contrast to her imaginings that she immediately felt like an idiot. He appeared to be a middle-aged man with short, light brown hair and a natural, easy-going expression. He was dressed in a warm, forest green sweater and perfectly-pressed khaki slacks. But the biggest difference of all was his height. Instead of the almost seven-foot figure she’d pictured, Robert looked to be a couple of inches shorter than her own five-six.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Wyndham,” he declared smoothly as he held out a hand. “I’m Robert Costas. Thank you for telling Seth about what you heard that day.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Veronica assured him as she shook his hand briefly.
His arm falling back to his side, Robert cast a quick, apprehensive glance toward Jasen before returning his focus to Seth and asking, “Now what is it, exactly, that this visit is all about?”
Seth released Veronica’s shoulder in order to gesture toward the desk and said, “Perhaps we should sit down for this. Some things have come to light recently that you need to be made aware of.”
Robert released an almost silent sigh. “This is going to take a little while, isn’t it?” Without waiting for Seth’s response he turned back toward his desk and added, “Just let me call Tiffany real quick so that she knows not to wait for me.”
As Robert reached for the phone Seth placed one hand lightly at Veronica’s back and nudged her toward one of the two chairs that faced the desk.
Feeling much calmer now than she had been only minutes before, Veronica moved easily and let herself settle into the right chair. Seth claimed the one on the left silently, stretching out and lacing his fingers in his lap. She flicked a glance back, toward Jasen, and found he was leaning faux-casually against the office door, arms and ankles crossed. That’s one way to keep someone from interrupting.
Robert insisted that he knew nothing about there even having been a Slayer—reformed or otherwise—in town two decades ago, let alone that the Slayer had possibly been murdered by a vampire. He was very convincing in his argument and assured them that he would help to uncover the truth however he could. He even offered Veronica his condolences. And, despite the logic of it, she believed every word.
But that meant they were back at square one. They didn’t have a single lead and there were no guarantees that they would ever find one, given how many years had passed. And, as Seth pulled into his driveway, Veronica realized she was starting to feel guilty. She knew that if she said nothing Seth would continue to investigate her father’s murder—and she wasn’t so sure Jasen wouldn’t be helping, considering that, apparently, it was in his job description. But she also knew that they needed to be focusing on finding and stopping Richards and the Wilsons before anyone else got hurt. That was their responsibility, just like solving her father’s murder was hers.
Seth was reaching for his seatbelt when Veronica said, “Wait.” She sighed, turning away from the passenger window and holding his gaze as she added, “Thank you for all the effort you’ve been putting into this, but we both know you have more pressing concerns. You need to be looking for Richards.”
He frowned at her, clearly sensing what she was really saying, and said, “If your father really was killed by a vampire, which looks highly likely, then that’s equally important.”
“No,” Veronica argued quietly, “it’s not. He was killed sixteen years ago; Richards is running around killing people today.” She offered him a sad smile and added, “Of course, you can always help me track down Dad’s killer once you’re done looking for Richards and the Wilson brothers if you want.”
Seth was silent a moment, studying her, before he released his seatbelt and reached forward, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and hauling her halfway across the middle console. He sealed his lips over hers, one hand tangling in her hair and the other landing possessively over her hip. The kiss was hot and powerful and said a thousand things that neither of them had found the words to put voice to.
She returned the kiss eagerly, pouring everything she had into that moment. And then his tongue slid across hers one more time and he pulled away, loosening his grip slowly as they leaned back, into their respective seats. She watched him watch her for a long minute before he popped his door open and tilted his head toward the waiting condo. Without a word she followed his lead and stepped from the car, falling into place behind him as he strode toward the door. She remained quiet as he unlocked the door and led the way inside, flicking on a light as he moved.
Their eyes met again as they stood at the edge of the entry, the doorknob loosely trapped beneath Seth’s fingers.
“I’ll help you with your father’s case,” he promised quietly, “just as soon as I’m done with this job. You have my word.”
She smiled slowly and nodded. “You don’t have to,” she began, “but I certainly won’t stop you.” She stepped closer and leaned up, pressing her lips over his briefly before adding, “Thank you.”
With a short nod and a tense jaw, Seth replied, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
There were so many things she wanted to call out to him as he turned and stepped out of the building, pulling the door shut behind him. She wanted to tell him to be careful, or wish him luck, or not to worry about her. But, mostly, she wanted to say three little words that she’d never said—in a romantic sense—to anyone. It just wasn’t the right time. Will it ever be?
****
“Why don’t you just tell him?” Allison asked as they nursed their lunch the next day.
Veronica sighed and rested one elbow on the table, propping her chin up with the heel of her hand as she pushed her fries around on her plate. “I can’t,” she mumbled. “He’d push me away.”
“You don’t know that,” Allison challenged, reaching for her large iced tea. “You know he cares about you, so why are you so sure that he’d go running if you told him how you feel?”
“Nothing’s going to come of it, Ali,” Veronica pointed out. “He’s…you know, and he won’t be in town forever. He’ll leave once everything’s settled and forget about me.” She punctuated the statement by grabbing three thick-cut fries and biting them in half.
Allison paused long enough to take a slow sip of her tea before replying, “Let’s think about that for a second. Obviously he’s working on finding the people he was originally called in to find, but you already know he’s not leaving after that’s done. He’s staying in town, by your own admission, for your sake. You can’t tell me you honestly believe that doesn’t mean anything.”
Veronica swallowed another bite of her fries before saying, “First, I explained that it’s important to him for the same reason it would be important to a policeman. And, like you said a minute ago, we know he cares. Caring is just…different.”
“You’re right,” Allison agreed casually, her gaze focused on her large salad. “Caring is different than loving. But you can’t love without it, so it’s a start, don’t you think? And who’s to say his feelings don’t match yours? Unless, of course, they can’t love.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Veronica said, rolling her eyes and reaching for another fry. “I’m sure they can.”
“Then my argument stands,” Allison declared before popping a large forkful of her salad into her mouth.
Veronica sighed again and returned her attention to her lunch. She should have known that Allison wouldn’t understand. The whole situation was just so insanely complicated that, half the time, she didn’t even feel like she understood
it. But she knew that he would leave, eventually, and she wouldn’t have a choice other than to stand by and watch him disappear into the distance. And, once he was gone, she was going to have to find a way to move on. How stupid was I to go and fall in love with an immortal?
She was so lost in thought that it took her a moment to register the sudden throbbing in the back of her head. It came on fast and was just strong enough to make her lift a hand and press against the back of her skull in an effort to alleviate the pain. Where did this headache come from? If it weren’t a different kind of pain—throbbing instead of prickling—she would assume there was a vampire in the diner.
“Miss,” the host called from somewhere to the side of their table, “wait a second, please!”
On reflex, Veronica turned her attention to the side and immediately caught sight of the exchange. The same early-twenties young man who’d shown them to their table was half-reaching toward a female patron, looking a bit perplexed.
The woman looked to be about the same age and height as Veronica and she was dressed in cut-off denim shorts and a plain white tank top with sandals, but what struck Veronica was her hair. The woman—who was giving the host a faintly confused look, complete with head-tilt—had loose, long blonde hair. Only her hair looked practically white in the artificial lighting of the diner, and Veronica found herself strangely inclined to believe that that was her natural hair color.
“If you’ll just give me a moment,” the host was saying, “I’ll show you to a table.”
“Oh,” the woman said, turning and smiling at him easily, “okay.” She slid her feet together, standing straight, and looked as if she intended to wait right where she was.
“Weird,” Allison muttered, her attention also focused on the odd scene.
Veronica was going to comment, but the moment she opened her mouth she noticed that the woman’s eyes were slanted to the side, as if she were watching them. But why would she even be looking over here? A moment later a possibility occurred to her and her own eyes widened. Unless…unless she heard us.
And then she remembered Dennis mentioning that the sensations for vampires and werewolves were slightly different—just different enough for them to be able to distinguish. That would certainly explain my headache. Not that she wanted to admit to learning anything at all from the man who’d twice tried to kill her. But the possibility suddenly seemed undeniable.
In the space it took Veronica to accept that she might, possibly, have just spotted her first werewolf, the host seemed to figure out where he was going to seat her, because he grabbed a menu and called her attention again.
“If you’ll follow me right this way, Miss,” he said politely.
The woman turned her attention back to the host and nodded, starting after him even as she said, “You can just call me Whitney.”
Because she was paying attention it didn’t take Veronica any effort at all to notice that, as the woman walked away, the headache seemed to ease until it was barely noticeable. She just couldn’t believe that that was a coincidence.
“Is it just me,” Allison began, dragging her attention back to her lunch, “or did that woman seem unusually naïve?”
“She sort of did,” Veronica replied distractedly. In fact, she really did. But was that normal for werewolves? Or was she way off base and misattributing an ordinary headache to something supernatural? One more question to ask Seth, I suppose.
****
“You’ve been staring at that paper for nearly twenty minutes,” Jasen declared, his blatant boredom drawing out a bit more of his old-European accent.
Seth released a breath, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. Jasen was right, of course. He’d been reading and rereading the official report of Ronald Wyndham’s murder, trying to pinpoint what it was that was bothering him. And he kept coming back to one word: irony. Ronald had been stabbed through the heart with a piece of cheap metal shaped like a stake. The metal had still been lodged in his chest when the body was found. But there was more to it than that: that piece of irony had jumped out at him immediately. An hour earlier, after placing a call to a friend, Seth had learned something else.
Ronald Wyndham—formerly Ronald Claypool—had been murdered on the one year anniversary of his father’s death.
“Are you going to tell me what’s so fascinating about a report you’ve surely memorized by now, or do I need to have you shipped off for a psyche evaluation?” Jasen asked pointedly, a tinge of irritation coloring his voice now.
“It’s ironic,” Seth finally replied, letting himself slump back into the cushions of his couch.
Jasen quirked an eyebrow at him. “There was nothing ironic about my question.”
“No,” Seth said, barely biting back his own irritation. “The murder.”
“Yes,” Jasen agreed, sounding bored again. “I know. How ironic that the Slayer was stabbed through the heart with a makeshift stake. Very creative. What’s your point?”
Instead of pointing out that Ronald Wyndham was a retired Slayer, Seth said, “It’s not just that. The date of the murder—it was the one year anniversary of his father’s death.”
Jasen hummed for a moment, mulling over Seth’s words, before admitting, “Well, I suppose that is interesting. And you think the vamp knew that?”
“It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise,” Seth said. Far too much of a coincidence.
“I take it this means something to you?” Jasen asked, eyes narrowed quizzically.
Seth nodded slowly. “I’ve been hunting a vamp for the better part of a century who has a habit of playing with irony when he kills.” It was the truth, and not nearly a secret. He hadn’t been there the night, back in 1918, when his now-best friend Corbin had been Turned and forced to watch as his family was slaughtered. But he’d heard the story a dozen times over since he’d befriended the younger vampire, and he’d offered his help in tracking down and ending the vampire responsible. They’d never learned their target’s true name, though Seth had met several other victims since he’d begun his hunt. And all of the bodies who turned up along the way had an undeniably ironic death, just like Ronald Wyndham.
“You think this is connected to that?” Jasen asked, sounding genuinely surprised, as one dark brow lifted high on his forehead. Jasen had long-since heard Corbin’s story, as well as the stories of several other vampires. They both knew that he had standing orders to tear the vampire’s throat out if he ever ran across him.
“I can’t ignore the possibility,” Seth replied darkly.
Jasen was quiet for a long minute before he said, “Then we can’t sit on this. We take down that idiot Richards as soon as possible and then we tear this city apart until we find the bigger fish.”
“You’re not considering the possibility that that bigger fish is already swimming in another lake,” Seth pointed out. “He’s been half a dozen steps ahead of us since before we knew he was a problem. I can’t imagine he’d be so sloppy as to stick around.”
“That’s possible,” Jasen allowed, “and if that’s the truth then we’ll move on as soon as we’re sure. But he got away scot-free after killing that ex-Slayer. What if he decided to stay for a while just for the hell of it?”
Seth sighed again, understanding Jasen’s point. “I know. We have to look.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Are you sure?” Veronica asked softly on Sunday evening. She’d spent the better part of the day going over what Seth had told her the night before, and she still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the idea of her father having been killed by a vampire they’d been hunting for nearly a hundred years. It seemed outrageous. And the pathetic little question she’d had to ask that night just seemed ridiculous in comparison to his news. It certainly wasn’t important to know that werewolves were frequently unfamiliar with modern human culture when she was learning that her father had, essentially, been killed by a vampire serial-killer.
Seth’s arm tighte
ned around her waist and he shifted, rolling in to her and letting his nose rest in her hair. “As sure as I can be,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
Veronica swallowed and curled her arm over his bare torso. He would be leaving soon to resume his hunt—which was more important now than ever—and then she would be alone with all the time in the world to think over this latest revelation. “Don’t be,” she whispered into the skin of his shoulder, “I’d rather know the truth, even if it’s hard to hear.”
His arms tightened around her and his lips ghosted over the shell of her ear, but he said nothing.
She wanted to be dwelling over the fact that she might never see a resolution to her father’s murder. She wanted to be angry that it was taking so long to find Richards. But she couldn’t focus on any of that. Something in her gut told her that their hunt was going to be over soon, and though she didn’t know what that something was, she believed it whole-heartedly. And once the hunt was over Seth would be leaving. She would have to let him go.
“Don’t cry,” Seth rumbled beside her ear. He followed the quiet request with a gentle, tender kiss to her temple. It was only then that she realized her eyes were burning.
Veronica swallowed, trying to push the tears down. It was harder to bite her tongue every second she spent in his arms, and now her heart was pleading with her to tell him. Allison could be right. He could feel the same. And then what? They would both hurt even more knowing how much the other would miss them? That didn’t exactly sound like a preferable solution.
“I wish I could keep you.” The choked, whispered words were past her lips before she’d even realized she was speaking.
Seth immediately tensed around her, his arms locking, and she could hear the tightness in his jaw when he said, “No you don’t.”
“Yes,” Veronica insisted softly, the hand over his back curling into his skin as if she had the strength to hold him against her forever. “I do.”
“Veronica,” Seth groaned. She pictured him squeezing his eyes shut as he rested his cheek against her temple.
