Page 9 of Guardian

Logan jumped up, just as Winter grabbed at the table for support, only managing to get hold of the purple velvet. Off balance, she fell backwards, sending the tarot cards flying. Logan lurched forward and caught her not a second too soon. They both crashed to the floor, but Winter landed on him and not the hard floor, where she could have injured herself.

“Winter, are you alright?”

She thrashed in his arms, but he knew that it wasn’t to escape. She was in the middle of what somebody else might have interpreted as an epileptic fit, though it wasn’t quite as violent. But he knew better: she was having one of her visions. The report had indicated that because she was unaware of what was happening to her, she was most likely fighting the visions physically, which manifested as a full-body spasm.

“You’ve gotta let go, Winter,” he said softly and brushed a few strands of her dark hair out of her face.

He knew now was the perfect time to slip her the poison he’d brought. It was painless and almost instantaneous. Within a few seconds she would be dead, and she wouldn’t even know. It was how he’d planned it. But to take her life now, when she was at her most vulnerable, repulsed him, though he knew it was his duty.

Would he hesitate if she weren’t a beautiful woman? Would he hesitate if she weren’t so sensual, so fascinating? He knew he wouldn’t. But looking at her now as he cradled and comforted her, doubts rose in him. Doubts about his orders, his duty.

With Winter in his arms, he rose. She was still shaking, but less so now, as if the vision was fading. He carried her to the door, opened it and walked through, kicking it shut behind him. He passed the short hallway, which opened to a live-in kitchen. A table with four chairs stood in the middle of the large room, a ragged sofa against one wall. He lowered Winter onto the sofa just as she opened her eyes again.

Their deep blue color almost blinded him, and he froze in his movements, still holding her as if in a lover’s embrace. Which of course it wasn’t. This woman would never have another lover, because she would die today. For a moment, regret flooded him. But then he caught himself. He was here to do his duty to his kin, to protect his species from danger. He’d sworn it many decades ago, and he’d never broken that oath. He wouldn’t break it now. No matter how hard it would be to kill this woman.

Winter looked at him awkwardly.

“You collapsed,” he hastened to explain.

She swallowed visibly and nodded. Instinctively, Logan released her from his hold, and she quickly sat up.

“I’m sorry,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

What had she seen? Did it have something to do with him? Or his brethren? Could he perhaps get some more information from her before he had to execute his plan?

“What happened?” he asked. “Is it epilepsy?” He knew it wasn’t, but he wanted her to talk.

She shook her head. “No, no.” She made a dismissive hand movement. “Just an episode of…” She hesitated, then cleared her throat.

He could see the lie before it left her lips.

“... dizziness. I probably need to hydrate and eat something.”

She wasn’t going to share her secrets with a stranger. Logan couldn’t blame her. And she’d just given him the opening he needed.

“I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“You don’t have to. I can do that myself.” She made a motion to rise.

“I insist.” He turned to walk toward the sink. “Where do you keep your glasses?”

“In the cupboard over the sink.”

He opened the cupboard and took out a glass.

“But don’t use the water from the tap. It tastes like chlorine. There is filtered water in a pitcher in the fridge.”

He turned to the refrigerator, which was located on the other wall and realized that opening its door hid his actions from Winter entirely. He filled the glass with filtered water, then placed the pitcher back on the shelf, but before closing the door, he reached into his inside pocket and retrieved the small vial and emptied its contents into the glass. The poison was colorless and odorless. Winter wouldn’t notice it.

After placing the empty vial back in his pocket, Logan closed the refrigerator and turned back to Winter. She’d gotten up and was walking to the kitchen table, where papers, crayons, and other knickknacks were strewn about.

“I’m sorry it’s messy. I wasn’t expecting any visitors,” she apologized and grabbed some of the sheets of paper to put them in a pile.

More drawings like the ones in her shop. Yet different. On these she’d used colored chalk and crayons in addition to black.

“These your drawings?” he asked and moved closer to get a better look at them.

“Yes.” She shrugged. “I’m not really talented. But it helps me.”