Vincent
I followed Romeo into town just before dawn, determined to talk to Scott about what had happened with the three vampires. I’d missed him at the store the one time I had stopped in, since he wasn’t on the schedule. I’d run into a medium a time or two in the last century. They were a popular sideshow attraction at traveling carnivals in the early part of the twentieth century. I was more familiar with wiccans and witches than I was with mediums. They were serious since they approached their beliefs as a religion rather than what I’d always thought of as theatrics for money.
It had been interesting to hear that Scott so readily talked to Romeo about himself and his sensitivity to the supernatural world, however, I was suspicious of anyone calling themselves a psychic or medium. What did he have to gain? Was Romeo in his crosshairs somehow? Was he spying for another? Then again, it might be that Scott was simply letting Romeo know he was aware he was a shifter. I wanted to know if Scott had some agenda when it came to my lover. I knew my thoughts could be construed as being overly cautious, but I felt very protective of Romeo even though his magic was stronger in different ways from mine.
I didn’t think Romeo was half as dangerous as I was, though, he would be if provoked.
Romeo was a law enforcement officer and before that, he’d been a Marine. Though, we hadn’t talked about it, there was no doubt in my mind that he’d killed before. I was certain he had some sort of specialized training in the Corps. He was too intelligent to have been put to work as a grunt. I would ask Romeo about his own experiences in the service at some point. It might be interesting to see how closely they resembled my own experience of warfare during the crusades.
He’d no doubt killed men in war, though. I was quite sure, I’d been the one who was more lethal…at the very least, I’d racked up more kills. I felt there was a clear difference between the two men we were. Even before I’d been made vampire, I’d been in service to God whereas Romeo had been in service to his country. Only one of those meant the servant would burn in hell if they failed in their duties. Perhaps I wasn’t giving him enough credit. Or didn’t want to think of him as ruthless.
I was interested to find out what Scott could decipher about me and if it was all bullshit. After witnessing my mate’s power, I’m certain Romeo didn’t need my protection but hell, there was something about the man that was almost too decent. I worried that he was too kind, and that Scott might somehow influence him in the wrong way. Then again, I was probably a horrible influence on Romeo too.
For a time, I’d killed for sport at Sir Robert’s never-flagging encouragement. If I wanted to forget all traces of the humanity I’d once possessed, I could make myself do it. I wasn’t sure why. I’d thought a lot about it over the centuries. Most vampires—those who’d not gone completely feral and dark—retained the bulk of the personality features they’d had as humans. The same thing was true not only of personality, but also character.
My character in life had been fair and charitable, much like my father’s had been. I’d learned kindness from my mother, justice from my father. I’d been taught that being a good servant of the holy church meant making my service the central role in my life. I’d begged to be included when my father and uncle took up arms to go to the Holy Land.
Little had I understood the horrors good men could commit in the name of God.
Men, women, children…no one was spared if they refused to bow to the church. I’d seen many a bloodbath in my time. I wanted to find out if Scott knew all these horrible things about me. If he truly was the medium he said he was, he would be able to sense my past and possibly predict my future…Romeo’s future. This would allow me to protect my unicorn. I had already decided on the day’s objective. I was going to find out how Scott could help me help Romeo protect this town or if he was nothing but all talk and no substance—a helper at best or a charlatan at worst.
Romeo and I pulled into spaces down the block from each other. I waved at him as he got out and smiled at me. He waved back before turning to unlock the door to the sheriff’s station, stepping inside and closing the door.
As I got out of the Civic, I watched a vintage 1980s Trans Am drive slowly down the street. War’s Low Rider blasted out of the speakers, and I found myself tapping my foot in time to the low familiar beat of the song.
The Trans Am had faded black paint and the hood was emblazoned with a faded orange, yellow, and red flame. I smiled at the old car, recognizing it as the same model I’d driven decades ago. I’d loved that car—all eight cylinders of gas guzzling, smog belching, driving decadence. I’d driven the car the last time I was in California, before emissions standards in the state changed, before gas pumps were specially fitted, and additives that helped keep the air clean became the norm.
The Trans Am rolled slowly past me and parked between my car and Romeo’s truck in front of the post office. I admired the car some more. I knew vintage cars like this one were popular with either a younger crowd or older retired people. Kids liked to brag to their buddies how their fathers had passed down their own cars as a legacy or something along those
