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“What?”
She slid over to the corner of the nightstand and lifted the black box that had a dark red X painted on the top and set it in her lap. “Think the forensics team left it behind?”
“I don’t think they’d keep supplies in a shoebox,” he said, crossing his arms.
With a sinking feeling in her gut, she lifted the lid from the box and choked on the gasp that bubbled up her throat but never escaped.
Inside the black shoebox lay a dead bird and a single pink rose.
15
RULES
Useless. The urge to say the word out loud to the officers handling Charlotte’s case burned at the back of Aiden’s throat the entire time he sat across from the lieutenant at the police station.
The man was nice—oblivious to the various Vasirian working in the same place as him, but nice. The curious looks from his kind didn’t escape Aiden’s notice. The female deputy working alongside the lieutenant seemed especially surly regarding Charlotte’s case. Her irritation, coupled with Officer Brooks’ attitude, made him question if the Vasirian officers were protecting the stalker and covering up evidence.
What purpose would any of it serve?
Was it to protect their kind? Keep human authorities out of Vasirian matters? Did that mean the officers would report it to the Blackthorn Clan?
He doubted it.
Vasirian never went to humans to report crimes. They didn’t involve themselves in human matters, and anytime there was a crime committed in their world, it went to the Blackthorn Clan, or the lower Orders in their respective areas of the world—if it went reported at all.
Aiden pushed the glass doors open, leaving the comfort of the air conditioning to face the balmy heat of the outdoors. Cicadas sang their shrill buzzing song, and the smell of fresh cut grass around the station added to the ambiance of summer.
Climbing into his car, he started the engine right away. Flipping the air to full blast, he relaxed back in the driver’s seat trying to sort through everything that had taken place since he arrived in Athens.
Like with the break-in, the police did no more than document the shoebox with the dead bird and rose left behind in Charlotte’s apartment. They said they would take fingerprints and photos. But like they told her, if they didn’t find a lead to go on, there wasn’t much they could do outside of record the information and hope the man would make a mistake.
He only hoped the mistake wouldn’t cost Charlotte her life.
His knuckles blanched on the scalding steering wheel as the thought of something horrific happening to Charlotte crossed his mind. The fear he experienced at the real possibility of her demise made his stomach sour. His demons rose to the surface, reminding him of his own dance with death.
He wanted to help her, wanted to fix the situation so she could go to school and have the independent life she strived for. But a gut feeling deep inside told him something more held her to this college town than wanting to prove to her family she could make it on her own. Something deeper than her fears of a stalker.
He needed to figure out what. It was the only way to help her.
Putting the car into gear, he backed out of the parking space and left the police station. He needed to get back to Charlotte before the sun set. Leaving her alone after the break-in didn’t feel right, but she’d had classes to attend.
He suspected her classes were over for the day, but he didn’t want to risk interrupting her if they weren’t by calling or texting her cell phone.
Instead, he made the twenty-minute trip across town to the blood donation clinic.
Sooner rather than later, he would need to figure out a stable solution to make sure his needs were met. He couldn’t leave blood packets in her refrigerator, but he couldn’t make a habit of leaving her place multiple times per day. Round trip, it took anywhere from thirty to forty minutes depending on traffic.
That left her vulnerable. It wasn’t an option.
If she was in class, it would be easy to get what he needed, bring it back to feed, and dispose of the evidence in the trash chute after putting it in something so it wasn’t obvious a blood bag was in the trash collection.
Until he found a fixed solution, he would have to make do with a morning feeding. He’d done it before, but it wasn’t a viable long-term solution.
Not wanting to risk running into her with a blood packet, he finished it in the bathroom at the clinic before leaving.
He didn’t fear not finding someone to accommodate his needs at the clinic. Across the world, wherever a blood and platelet donation center existed, at least one Vasirian was on staff to assist the needs of those not in the school system. One with the ability to compel humans into believing everything was legitimate and to do damage control when someone needed to feed on site like he did moments ago.
Arriving back at Charlotte’s apartment as the sun began its descent over the horizon, turning the sky warm with shades of orange and pink, he parked in the neighboring parking lot.
