Chapter 54: Kind Stalker
ADRIAN’S P.O.V.
It had been two weeks. Two agonizing weeks since Teresa, in that quiet, graceful way of hers, had asked me—no, gently requested me—to "respect her personal space." Her words had been polite, almost delicate, and yet they’d cut right through me. And here I was now, a helpless fool, standing in my dimly lit living room, carefully assembling a gift basket filled with more prenatal vitamins, free pretty dresses and sweaters—all thoughtful, subtle things that might ease her days. The absurdity of it all hit me like a cold wave; hovering at the edges of her life, present but unseen, giving without being able to show myself. It was maddening, like trying to catch smoke, but somehow, I couldn’t stop.
I ran my fingers over the large ribbon I’d smoothed onto the basket, adjusting it over and over as if it was some delicate vase, when Brian walked in. His expression was tense, something unsettled simmering behind his eyes.
"Adrian," he began, his tone tight, loaded with urgency. "We’ve had reports... werewolves have been sighted numerous times near town. They might be here for Teresa. The coven... well, they’re getting anxious about her."
The words pulled me out of my thoughts, my gaze snapping to him. I felt a flicker of anger—hot and sharp—curling through me. "Anxious? About her?" My voice was low, edged with something cold and unyielding.
Brian hesitated, his eyes dropping before meeting mine again. "Yes. There’s talk of... sending her away. For everyone’s safety."
Something inside me twisted. The calm restraint I usually wore felt thin, almost brittle. I took a slow breath, but my words came out harder than I’d intended, quiet and edged in steel. "Brian, tell the coven that if any harm comes to Teresa, I will personally see to their... removal... permanently."
His face paled, a flicker of shock passing through his eyes; he was one of my closest friends but even he knew better than to argue. He gave a short, silent nod, then slipped from the room, leaving me on my own once again.
When he’d gone, I looked down at the basket again, my hands working almost on their own as I finished it. The little items felt small, inadequate somehow, but they were all I had to offer her right now. When it was ready, I picked it up and slipped out into the night, moving through the shadows until I reached her doorstep.
Carefully, as quietly as I could manage, I set the basket down on her doorstep, retreating to the cover of the trees. I knew she’d come out soon; she always did, even this late. Part of me knew I should leave, disappear into the night and not look back. But then the door creaked open, and there she was, peering into the shadows, that same curious look softening her face.
Teresa’s eyes scanned the yard, and my excitement grew, my body aching with the urge to step forward, to close the space between us. Just once, I wanted her to know, to truly see me. But instead, I held my ground, hidden, my hands clenched at my sides. She picked up the basket, her fingers brushing over the ribbon, and after a long, lingering look around, she went back inside.