Page 22 of Nothing Watching

He walked on, his eyes scanning the crowds, his mind focused on finding her. He knew that she was out there, waiting for him. He could feel it in his bones, in the way his heart raced just at the thought of her. He needed his muse, and he craved the love he knew she would show him, a love that might have been ordained centuries ago, because he believed in reincarnation and the endurance of spirits.

The night air was cool on his skin, sending shivers down his spine. He felt alive, invigorated, ready to take on the world.

It was then that he saw her. At first, he wasn’t sure if it was her, but as he drew closer, he realized that it was. She was standing on the corner, her back to him, her blond hair cascading down her back in waves.

Then she turned, watching the traffic, waiting to cross the road, and he gasped aloud.

The light from the streetlamps caught the strands, making them shine like gold. Her features were pure and even, almost otherworldly in their beauty. And her eyes, oh her eyes. They were the color he had been searching for, like the sky on a clear summer’s day. He felt a jolt of recognition go through him, a sense of knowing that this was his Eve, his Iseult, his Frejya.

He sped up his pace, his breath quickening. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the anticipation building inside of him. He was about to meet his destiny, to finally find the one he had been searching for.

He followed her, now closing the distance, watching her every move, waiting for the right moment. Would it come? It might not, and he knew that he needed to be prepared for the disappointment. She could open a door and disappear into one of the buildings, and be lost to him, for a while at least.

For a woman like this, he would wait. And he was good at waiting unseen. He’d done it before.

She walked with poise, almost like a queen, her steps sure and measured. He watched in awe as she crossed the street, her eyes focused ahead, not once glancing back. That made him frown. Surely she should sense him, just as he was sensing her? The power of his gaze alone should draw her attention, if the attraction was even half as strong on her side.

But maybe he had to be patient and give it more time. He hurried forward, jostling another man carrying a briefcase, who glanced at him, looking annoyed. Quickly, quietly, he apologized, not wanting to create a scene or do anything that might delay his pursuit.

Then he drew in another sharp breath as he saw where she was going.

She turned down a side street, narrow and dark, the streetlights flickering overhead, casting eerie shadows on the walls. He saw her look back, and thought he picked up a nervous expression on her face, as if she wasn’t sure.

No wonder she felt nervous. Love was terrifying. No doubt, she was sensing the pull of attraction, the overwhelming force that was going to change her life forever, just as he was.

All he needed to do was to stand in front of her, meet her eyes, and see that power mirrored there.

The street was deserted, the only sound the distant hum of traffic on the streets beyond. He took a deep breath, inhaling the musty scent of garbage and damp that permeated the air, but to him, it smelled of ancient stone, and of steel, of wood smoke and roasting flesh of the boars caught in the mighty forests surrounding the city.

He let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

There she was, walking more slowly now. Waiting for him.

He sped forward, his breath catching in his throat. This time, he willed her to feel the same.

“Love me,” he murmured, as he reached her. “Be my muse.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Juliette hurried out of the police station, wondering why the hotel receptionist was calling her back, and hoping it might mean an important lead. Had she gotten the list of old staff members from the time of her father’s murder?

Right now, anything would be helpful.

“Hello?” she said in hopeful tones.

“Hello, Ms. Hart. It is Gertie Weber, from the Hotel Kompfort,” the receptionist said, and Juliette could hear a note of reproach in her tone. After all, Juliette had rudely insisted on taking her name, which held her accountable for what she had asked.

“Thank you so much for calling me back, Ms. Weber,” she said, wanting to show gratitude where it was deserved.

“It is no problem.” Now the receptionist was sounding marginally appeased. “I went into the records and compiled a list of every staff member who was working here at the time that Mr. Hart was killed.”

She sounded proud of her own efficiency, and Juliette was overwhelmed.

“That’s amazing. I really appreciate it. It could be extremely helpful to me. Thank you,” she gushed.

“It is no problem.” Juliette’s outpouring of gratitude had definitely mollified her. “I will email it to you, yes?”

“Please. That would be great.”

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