Page 31 of Death Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Headlights cut across the street.

A sleek vehicle slid into view, stopping too smoothly for a normal driver in a panic. Another followed behind it. Then another.

The air shifted.

Cold, clean, predatory.

Vampires.

Spencer Carr stepped out of the lead car, black hair neat despite the chaos, blue eyes alert. For a split second, as he scanned the blood and bodies, his pupils darkened and his irises flashed red. Hunger flickered across his face, then he swallowed it down like a man fighting his own throat.

Behind him came Delia.

Long red hair, green eyes, medium build with curves, dressed casual classy. Not couture, not business attire. Jeans and a jacket that looked expensive but practical. She moved with a smoothness that made my skin prickle. Not rushed. Controlled. Like the night belonged to her.

Three vampires followed, faces hard, eyes bright, moving like a unit. Reinforcements.

Delia’s gaze swept the scene, taking in filming mundanes, dead bodies, burning corpses, officers, and the unnerving speed of the undead.

She didn’t flinch.

She just exhaled. “That’s a lot of witnesses.”

Spencer moved toward Tegan immediately, concern written in the tightness of his posture. “Kacey’s asleep. She’s okay. I got here as fast as I could.”

Tegan nodded once, relief flickering. “Thank you.”

Delia stepped closer, eyes scanning the crowd. “Where do you want me?”

Victor turned toward her, expression grim. “Start with anyone filming who saw the kills up close. We need that gone.”

Delia’s green eyes narrowed. “I can do that. But it takes time. Keep them contained.”

“I’ll handle crowd control,” Victor said.

Faith barked a laugh without humor. “Good luck.”

Delia didn’t react to Faith. She moved toward the nearest cluster of mundanes with phones raised.

She didn’t wave her hands. She didn’t chant. She simply stepped into their space as if she belonged there, her gaze locking onto the first witness.

A woman holding her phone with shaking hands blinked as Delia approached. “Who are you?”

Delia smiled. It was small. Calm. Too pleasant for the situation.

“Someone helping,” Delia said softly.

She lifted a hand, two fingers brushing the woman’s temple.

The woman’s eyes widened, then unfocused, as if her brain had been gently unplugged.

Delia’s voice stayed low, measured. “You’re safe. You were scared. You saw a stunt that went wrong. You’re going to go home and drink water. You’re going to stop watching the street.”

The woman nodded slowly, face slack.

Delia removed her fingers, and the woman blinked again, confusion replacing terror. She lowered her phone as if she’d forgotten why it was raised.

Delia moved to the next witness.