19
1316 Words
Robert Montgomery
I can’t follow her train of thought. Nothing she’s saying is making much sense to me. How she went from happy to sad has me baffled.
“What do you mean, you can’t be with anyone?” I turn the car onto one of the side streets to avoid the traffic.
“Nothing,” She smiles and looks away.
She seems to be slowly sobering up. Remarkable. It isn’t that she doesn’t possess the metabolism that wolves and vampires have that makes us immune to human alcohol, but that hers is simply a little slower than ours. When she glances at me, my theory solidifies. Her eyes are growing sharper, more aware.
I pull up in front of her building, and when she gets out of the car, she stumbles. I’m out of my seat and by her side in an instant. “I’ll take you to your door.”
“I can walk,” she insists, but her gait is unsteady. She sinks back into the seat and looks at me. “I’m really okay. I just feel a little dizzy.”
I crouch by her side. “Let me bring you inside and make you some coffee.”
She lifts her gaze toward her building. “I—”
Before she can say anything further, two things happen at the same time. Charlotte stiffens, and I catch an icy scent that can only belong to a vampire. Charlotte is looking at something, and when I turn my head to follow her gaze, my eyes squint, but I see no one.
My senses are sharp. I know exactly when someone is watching me. I’m having the same familiar feeling from a few days ago when I was standing outside the animal shelter where Charlotte volunteers. Either somebody is stalking me or somebody is watching her.
I straighten up and look around.
The scent is beginning to fade. Whoever it was must have realized both of us detected their presence.
My voice is careful. “Does anyone know where you live?”
Charlotte meets my gaze, and I see the moment she understands what I’m talking about. She shakes her head. “This apartment is under my human name, Beaumont. Nobody should know. If they did…” She hesitates before continuing. “There are a lot of people in the clan who would like nothing better than for me to suffer. If they knew where I was, they wouldn’t have let me live in peace for this long.”
I’m silent for a moment, and then I murmur, “Whoever it was, they’re gone now. I think I’m going to hang around for a bit to make sure you don’t get any surprise visitors.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Charlotte exclaims, but I see the relief in her eyes.
“Just for a little while,” I assure her. “Come on.”
As we head inside, I keep looking around. Whoever was watching us left the moment he or she realized that we noticed. It bothers me that a vampire is hanging around Charlotte’s building. In any other scenario, I would assume that this was pre-planned, or that it was someone Charlotte was meeting, but that is no longer the case. She doesn’t have any contact with her kind. Also, the report Harry gave me about the vampires who attacked me revealed that Charlotte had fought them off and given them some serious injuries.
No, this isn’t something Charlotte planned. It could be that someone has figured out where she lives. But if they have—my eyes move toward the building—they would have no problem locating her apartment and breaking in.
My wolf is watchful; a growl rumbles in my chest at the idea of a threat to this woman.
Mine.
My wolf is rarely vocal, and this is the first time it’s laying a claim so blatantly. That is something I’ll have to deal with later.
Charlotte lives on the sixth floor, and when she begins to open her door, I notice the security system. Whoever set it up did a damn good job of it. I can’t smell anyone’s scent aside from hers, which means nobody has come to her apartment.
She flicks on the lights, and I hear a disgruntled meow. Mano is sitting in the doorway of the small entrance hall, and when she sees me, she stands up, stretches, and then trots over, completely ignoring Charlotte. She rubs herself against my legs before sniffing my chewed up shoes with a lot of interest.
I crouch down to pet her. “Hey, girl.”
She purrs loudly.
“Hussy,” Charlotte scoffs, amusement in her voice. “She’s just flirting with you. Completely shameless.”
Mano’s tail is straight as she licks my palm and then proceeds to sprawl herself across my shoes.
“Just take them off,” Charlotte advises, removing her own and placing them on a shoe rack. “I only wear slippers in the apartment. Easier to keep it clean.”
I take off my shoes, curious now about the place she calls home. It’s not a small apartment by any means, and as I look around, I notice cameras set up at different angles in the main rooms that I can see. There is also a balcony outside.
“This place belonged to Edgar Brown, didn’t it?” I ask idly. My research on Charlotte’s background was quite extensive.
Charlotte is quiet for a moment, then she nods. “Nobody would let a fifteen-year-old rent an apartment. I met him in a grocery store, around the block, actually. I was working there. My second job. I didn’t have a place to sleep that night, and he saw me talking to this guy who was telling me he had an extra room.” Her lips curve at the memory. “Edgar drove him off and scolded me. Anyway, he told me to come stay at his apartment. He had a bad leg, so all I had to do was clean up, do his grocery shopping, small things like that. He gave me my own room. He also tutored me in my classes when I needed help. I couldn’t cook, either, and he taught me.” I can hear the trace of grief in her voice. “He passed away three years ago. I didn’t even know he had willed the apartment to me. I never got to thank him for everything he did for me.”
I doubt she would be telling me all this if she weren’t still a little drunk. Sober Charlotte is quite private.
“You mattered to him.” There are still pictures of Edgar, and of the two of them, on the small fireplace mantel, and a cane that could only belong to an elderly man leaning behind the front door. She kept parts of him, a man who took her under his wing at a time when she was most vulnerable. “I guess he wanted to make sure that you were taken care of when he was gone. He cared about you.”
“He did.” Charlotte’s voice is filled with love. “He was the best part of my life.”
When I glance at her, she’s wiping her eyes. I automatically feel guilty. “Are you—”
“I’ll make us some coffee. I think I’m still a little drunk,” she says hastily, turning her back to me and heading into the kitchen.
I follow after her, becoming curious when I see a blanket and pillow on the long couch in the living room. “You sleep out here?”
“What?” Charlotte takes two mugs from the shelf. “Sleep where?”
“On the couch,” I reply, leaning against the door jamb.
- Writer
