Page 18 of The Silver Fox Vampire

“Being in graveyards at midnight doesn’t bother you?” She detected amusement in his voice.

“I practically grew up in a graveyard. Our funeral parlor and home are located a stone’s throw from Tween Graveyard. The graveyard was my garden. I used to play there when I was a kid.”

“And what games did you play in among the dead, Clare?”

"You’ll laugh,” she demurred.

“I promise I won’t.”

“Okay, then. I used to imagine I could bring the dead back to life. And that they’d sit up and smile and thank me.”

“Were you a neglected child that you needed such fantasies?”

Ouch. That was close to the bone.

“Not by my parents. But…” She barely hesitated, trusting him somehow. “I was bullied a lot at school.”

She heard him let out a low expletive. “What little shits kids can be.”

“Yeah, well, I was shy and studious, and not quick to form friendships.”

“Studious? How were your grades?”

“Excellent.”

“So why the police force? Why not a career in academia?”

“I wanted to help people.”

“Like bringing them back from the dead?”

“Or at least investigating why they’d died. I’ve always wanted to bring justice to situations that left others unable to seek it themselves.”

He huffed another laugh. “Ah, yes, justice. Very good. But so much harder than our noble ideals would have us believe.”

“I never thought it would be easy,” she replied, slightly vexed. “I never had it easy myself.”

“Then you have the right attitude.” They fell silent and Clare measured their footsteps as they walked side by side, her arm snug in his.

“So why didyoujoin the police force, Oliver?” she asked finally.

“To make amends.”

“For what?”

“Past sins.” He laughed, but she detected no humor.

“Is that the part of your life you choose to forget?” she asked lightly.

“Maybe.”

He drew to a halt suddenly and she realized that the western park gates were just ahead of them, the lamps from the street illuminating the headstones around them like silent sentinels. She shivered with a sense of anticipation.

She found herself hoping that he would not say farewell. That he would choose to stay with her until the dawn.

He turned toward her, slid her hand out from under his arm and let it go. The loss of his touch was a physical wrench.

“So, this is where we part ways, Clare. I go up that tree-lined street to the top of Motham Hill, and you go…”