Captain Sean Renard considered himself a composed man. A calm, rational man who kept his opinions to himself until he'd had time to form them completely. He was not prone to outbursts, nor fits of rage, nor bouts of unrestrained passion. In fact, it was his exact level of levity that often threw off wesen as he could hardly be called a man at all. What was it that Catherine had said?
"Given that you're more demon than man…"
His hand tremored for a moment as it lingered across the top of his computer screen. He had never been someone to be particularly passionate about anything. Perhaps the closest he had gotten was Adeline whom he was quite intrigued by, but not particularly in love with. She was just someone who could keep him on his toes. Keep him guessing, just dangerous enough to be interesting but not quite tame enough to be touchable.
He had always assumed that if he chose to take on a life partner it would have been her. There likely wouldn't be any love, but there would always be intrigue. And to him, that was perhaps safer. In his precarious position he was in no place to accept love. Not that it was likely to ever come his way. That was a reality he had accepted, that he had lived in, that he was familiar with. It was what fueled his compulsion to be rational, clear headed, cool at all times. In his world, passion got you killed.
His eyes flickered across the screen, resting on cascading red hair and deep green eyes. Detective Burkhardt had accidentally sent a picture of himself and Juliette to the entire department instead of just Hank. It was, of course, followed up with a second email apologizing, but for Renard, the damage had been done. The one thing he needed to stay away from was the one thing he couldn't turn away from. No matter how many times he tried to make himself delete the picture, his hand would pause and his eyes would drift – across her cheekbones, down the smooth arch of her neck, through waves of chestnut hair. He closed his eyes as he pressed the screen of his computer down.
It was madness. She was, of course, quite lovely but no more or less so than the millions of other women – HUMAN women he'd come across in his time. Beyond a few vague conversations, he'd never really given her much thought. He knew she had to be intelligent; she was after all a veterinarian. And given how adventurous Nick tended to be he could extrapolate that she was likely similarly enthusiastic about life. But beyond that, there was very little that he could specifically attribute to Juliette Silverton.
Beautiful. Brilliant. Amazing. Bright. Perfect.
The words whispered through his mind and he pressed his fingers into the inner corners of his eyes. This obsession was starting to eat at his sanity. His infatuation with someone whom he barely knew was consuming his daily thoughts, robbing him of his rationality. In its tumultuous wake, all that was left was madness.