Chapter 23 #2
I sighed, the fight eking out of me like air out of a balloon. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Is that satisfactory?”
“Not completely,” I said, honestly. “But it’s better, and I get the feeling it’s the most you’re willing to do.”
“Correct.”
My shoulders slumped, and I sipped my coffee to give myself something to do so I wouldn’t say something I’d regret.
Beckett was doing a lot more than he’d shown any willingness to when I’d first found out about the vampire. This was a win.
But I could see the incoming disaster. And maybe I was paranoid and this would all be fixed without any trouble, but given that I cared about both human locals and supernatural locals, how could I be anything but worried?
I can’t be mad at Beckett though. Disappointed, yes, but mad, no.
He’s made his boundaries clear from the beginning, and I can respect that.
He’s an immortal. Any decision he makes now he’ll have to live with for the rest of his life.
And given modern technology, it’s not as easy to disappear as it was decades and centuries prior.
“I’m sorry, Abi. I wish I could do more,” Beckett said.
The regretful crinkle around the corners of his wine-red eyes were enough of a sign to let me know he was apologetic despite his resolution.
I offered him a smile. “I know. Thanks.”
Beckett nodded slowly and slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
“So…” I peered around his office. “You’ve still got some time before the US stock market opens, right?”
“Yes. Would you like to stay for a moment?”
“Sure.”
“Take a seat then.” He gestured at a comfy settee.
I found a coaster for my coffee cup and set it on an antique wooden end table. “I finally remembered to look over that bag of tea the Paragon gave us.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. The bottom is labeled Poetic Similes for Unromantic Dolts.”
“How fitting.”
I laughed as I plopped down on the settee, feeling marginally better, but still unsettled.
I’d enjoy this moment with Beckett. But once we were done, I was going to put a call in to Daphne. Immediately.
I admired the darkening sky—which was the only reason why I was able to sit on the beach in my jean shorts without burning my buns to a crisp.
A few seagulls fought over a crust left over from an abandoned sandwich a little farther up the beach, and the evening wind coming off the lake was cool enough to make me shrug on the light jacket I’d brought.
It was peaceful, which was why I’d decided to wait for Daphne here instead of heading back to the mansion when she’d called to let me know she was going to be about an hour late to our dinner meet up because of a Pack meeting.
I rolled my faithful—and progressively worn—Algoma guidebook up and shoved it into the deepest pocket of my jacket. “Peaceful. Yeah, that’s the whole reason why I don’t want to go back to the mansion. It’s not because I know Beckett would be up by now and moving around.”
I groaned and pulled my knees up to my chest.
Why did I have such a hard time resisting Beckett? It just wasn’t fair.
One of the seagulls finally managed to rip a good chunk off the sandwich crust and greedily scurried up the beach, leaving only two seagulls fighting over the scraps.
I watched and, despite my stomach growling, resisted the impulse to dig out the definitely smushed and most likely crumbling granola bar in my jacket pocket. (If the seagulls suspected I had any food on me, they’d be all over me like they were on that sandwich.)
Meanwhile, I tried to herd my thoughts towards more constructive things, like pondering the vampire roaming the Door Peninsula.
The details were straightforward by this point. The vampire was moving frequently for hunting, because—according to the book and confirmed by Beckett—they needed to feed frequently. This was backed by the police noting it was a widespread problem in the peninsula.
Vampire prime hunting time was night, which matched the attack times.
The Algoma ones had all taken place between roughly dusk and dawn or shortly after.
The feeding marks wouldn’t be obvious, particularly because if they followed the advice of my borrowed book, the vampire probably fed from the wrist and not the human held belief that the favorite vampire feeding place was the neck.
I also knew from things Beckett had said that the vampire likely had some degree of wealth, and probably wasn’t connected to a vampire Family.
The seagull that had fled the sandwich fight hotfooted it past a family cleaning up their picnic dinner, and stopped near Lina—one of the wine enthusiast employees from von Stiehl Winery I’d met—and Josephine the fancy tourist, who were conversing by the boardwalk, to devour its crust snack.
I studied the pair for a moment, my thoughts still immersed in the fog of the vampire and the subsequent attacks.
Shannon said Josephine was touring the area for the summer, and she first visited Algoma just a few weeks before I moved here.
She’s always in her floppy sunhat and sunglasses no matter the time of day, which I assumed was part of her rich tourist shtick, but it would hide her red eyes if she’s a vampire. She’s also pale, and wealthy…