by Sarah Piper
Bring them down.
Burn them all…
“Gray? Are you quite alright?” Darius’s firm grip on my upper arms pulled me back to reality, and I blinked up at him in the darkness, waiting for his features to come into focus.
Strong jaw. Lush, full lips. Eyes the color of honey, framed by thick, dark lashes.
Wasn’t he just working at the back, by the drawers? How long was I out?
“Darius?”
“There you are.” He smiled briefly, but it wasn’t a happy one. Cursing under his breath, he said, “I never should’ve allowed you in here.”
“You can’t cut me out of my own plan.”
“Gray, that’s not what I meant.” He slipped a cool hand around the back of my neck, thumb stroking my skin. His touch was soothing, and I felt my nerves settle, my entire body relaxing in a way it never before had in the vampire’s intimidating presence. “I didn’t think about how difficult this would be for you. It’s only been a week since your friend died.”
I inhaled sharply, the sincerity in his words piercing my heart.
“Would you like to wait outside?” he asked. “I’ll just be a few more moments.”
“No, I… I’ll be okay.” As much as I didn’t want to be in a room containing the bodies of my dead best friend and the others, I’d rather be in here with Darius than out there in the empty hallway. What if that soul-sucking feeling returned? What if it happened when I was alone, and I couldn’t find my way back?
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.” I turned away from him, rubbing the sudden chill from my arms as I glanced out the window in the door. The guard upstairs had been smitten with Haley, but how long could she keep up the act before he got suspicious? “I just need to find the charts. You finish… whatever it is you’re doing.”
Darius returned to the body—to Marisol—and I headed for the tall file cabinet closest to the door. Each time I heard another body drawer open, I flinched, but I forced myself not to turn around. Seeing Marisol’s hair was hard enough. If I saw even one lock of Sophie’s bright copper…
The phone buzzed in my hand—text from Haley. It’d been fifteen minutes since I’d left her.
Clock’s ticking, Gray. Kyle’s asking what’s taking you so long in the bathroom.
Tell KYLE I have my period, I replied. That will shut him up. Also, first name basis, huh?
What can I say? I move fast. :-)
You okay otherwise? I asked.
More than okay. I have a date next weekend. Score!
Haley’s bubbliness reached through the airwaves and bolstered me just enough to keep going.
The files were organized by date, so it didn’t take long to find what I was looking for—three manilla folders, each tagged with the names of the victims and dates of the murders.
I flipped through Sophie’s first—various lab reports, handwritten notes scrawled with medical jargon, a copy of my and Ronan’s statements—nothing Alvarez hadn’t already shared.
But there, behind all that paperwork, I felt a stack of slick, shiny paper that could only be photographs.
Oh, Sophie…
I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of my best friend, the last time I'd seen her alive—the real Sophie, not the magic version from the book of shadows incident. I pictured her rainbow hair and the swirling ocean tattoo dancing across her chest. That was my Sophie, just how I wanted to remember her always. I knew the moment I looked at those photos—really looked at them—I would never be able to unsee them, never be able to think of Sophie without recalling these gruesome images.
Bile rose in my throat, the darkness nipping once again at my heels, but I forced it down. I had to do this. For Sophie. For the others. For anyone else this maniac was thinking about hurting.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I opened my eyes and looked at the first photo, trying to evaluate it with clinical detachment. I pretended I was a student, that these were mockups created in some fucked-up graphic design lab by sadistic cops who wanted to scare kids away from the profession. I pretended I was a movie director, looking at someone’s special effects portfolio. I pretended I was trapped in an endless nightmare, begging for the alarm clock to rescue me.
But I wasn’t fooling anyone.
Nothing could've prepared me for the sight of my best friend’s nude body stretched out on a metal table in this very room, pale and lifeless.
Breathe. Just breathe…
Across the top of her chest, from one shoulder to the other, the killer had left his mark in a series of what looked like ancient runes. They weren't Norse or Celtic—not that I could see. Each one was precisely drawn, deep enough to draw blood to the surface, but not enough to spill it.
I flipped through the other folders and found Marisol’s photos. Sophie’s had been taken here at the morgue, but Marisol was still in her own bed, her black hair fanned out on the pillow, her eyes closed. She was nude already—maybe she slept that way. Her cheeks were still pink. If not for the gruesome carvings in her flesh, I might have thought she was still sleeping.
The photos of Helene—the other witch—were similar to Marisol’s, though where Marisol was full and dark-haired, Helene was slight, with white-blonde hair and pale brows and lashes.
My heart ached for their families. For their friends. For anyone who may have loved them. For anyone who never got the chance.
Blinking back tears, I flipped through each woman’s photos again, trying to puzzle it out. In all three cases it seemed unlikely to me that a vampire would have the willpower to resist feeding on these beautiful, bleeding women right then and there.
“It still doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Who ever heard of vampires injecting blood into their victims instead of forcing them to drink?”
“Must you use words like ‘victims’ and ‘forcing’?” Darius sighed. “Anyway, I can't imagine why a vampire would do it, either. It's not very satisfying, and we don't turn people just to turn them. Most believe our numbers are too high as it is—we're simply too many competing for too few resources.”
“But there’s evidence,” I said, finally turning to face him.
Bad idea. He was standing over one of the bodies—not Sophie, thankfully—and when he sensed me watching, he tugged the sheet back into place.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to let the bile rise, and told myself it was someone else on that cold metal slab. Some other woman, someone else’s best friend, an elderly person who’d enjoyed a full life and died of natural causes.
“Someone tried to turn these women,” he confirmed. “That much is clear.”
“But not through the usual methods,” I said.
“And not through the usual vampires.” He slid the drawer closed. “There are runes—”
“I know. I found the photos.” I glanced down at Helene’s picture, trying to decipher the ancient symbols the killer had carved into her skin.
Spellcraft had been one of Calla’s specialties. I had spent too many nights to count hanging out in her study, peering over her shoulder while she transcribed her spells into her book of shadows.
“Words and symbols have power. More than any potion, amulet, or charm. Written or spoken, even a thought. We must always choose our words carefully…”
Tears of frustration blurred my vision. Why couldn’t I recognize these spells? Why couldn’t I help Emilio and his team solve this? I’d broken into this awful place, looked at these gruesome photos, imagined the things the killer had done, and still I was completely useless, just like I’d been the night Calla was killed.
“This was a bad idea.” I snapped the folder closed and tossed it onto the closest desk. “I don’t know how to—”
In the blink of an eye, Darius was behind me, his hand clamping over my mouth, one arm snaking around my midsection.
“Do you trust me?” he whispered, low and urgent in my ear.
The door to the morgue banged open, and Darius wrenched my head to the side, exposing my
neck.
Before I could even answer his question, his fangs pierced my tender flesh.
Twenty-Six
Darius
Despite all evidence to the contrary, I didn’t mean to make Gray tremble—not like this. But circumstances being what they were…
“Good evening, little plaything.” A vampire I’d never encountered before—a stocky man with a shaved head, dressed in a white three-piece suit—stalked toward us, flanked by an equally well-appointed man and woman.
Pulling back from Gray’s exposed neck, I made a show of licking her blood from my lips. “Find your own blood bank,” I warned. “This one’s already claimed.”
“I see. Well, we’re not from around here,” the leader said. His accent pinned him as an American southerner—from one of the Carolinas, or perhaps Georgia. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to explain why claiming prevents you from offering fellowship to out-of-town guests?”
“She is my claimed property,” I said. “I do with her as I please. And you are not my guests. So if you don’t mind…”
I cringed inside, hating the sound of my words. Hating that Gray had to hear me speak about her as though she were nothing but a meal. But the last thing I wanted was to start a battle with three unfamiliar vampires and risk her getting hurt—or worse.
The one on his left—a woman with an auburn-colored braid and a row of rings piercing her eyebrow—slithered closer. “Do you make a habit of bringing all your claimed pets to the morgue? Not very romantic, is it?”
I wrapped my hand around Gray’s hip and squeezed, hoping the touch would reassure her. She was still shaking, her blood scented with a mix of raw fear and adrenaline as her body shifted into attack mode. I still hoped we could avoid that particular scenario.
Hang in there, little brawler.
“Oh, I beg to differ,” I said coolly. “It’s quite romantic. Out of the way, usually private, nice and quiet. So if you’ll kindly see your way out, I’d like to finish my snack.”
I pressed my lips to Gray’s ear, my tone menacing. “Relax, sweetness. This will be over before you know it.”
I’d said it for their benefit, but there was a truth to my words I could only hope she understood.
Gray nodded stiffly in my arms, her muscles relaxing just a fraction.
Her trust felt like a gift. One I wouldn’t squander.
“The three of you would be wise to move on,” I warned. “Your lives are not worth one anemic female.”
“No need for threats, bloodsucker.” The leader appeared before me in a blink, his gaze drinking in every inch of the woman in my arms. I could practically feel Gray’s blood revolting.
“There’s plenty to share,” he purred. “Isn’t that right, lovely?”
He reached out to touch her hair, but I yanked her backward, one arm wrapped protectively across her body, holding her close.
Her frantic heart hammered right through my skin.
I glared at the man. “Touch what’s mine again, bloodsucker, and rest assured it will be the last time you touch anything.”
He bared his fangs and hissed.
And the bloody prat reached for her once again.
Wrong move.
I wasn’t certain who’d seen it first—Gray or the vampire himself—but she was the only one to make a sound.
Not a scream, not a shout. Merely a gasp.
His severed hands hit the floor, blood slogging out from his wrists. The metal bone saw vibrated in my hand for just a moment before I swung it in another powerful arc, decapitating him.
His body dropped, his bald head rolling toward my feet.
“D!” Gray’s shout was all the warning I had before the other male—a mustached blond considerably larger and more muscular than his bald friend—slammed into me, rocketing us into the storage cabinets.
The bone saw clattered to the floor, leaving me weaponless but for my teeth and hands. Near-evenly matched, the vampire and I devoured each other with punishing fists and fangs that flashed like knives, tearing flesh and splintering bones and spilling blood until the walls around us shook with our shared fury.
The female stood before us and grinned, seeming to await her turn.
But she’d never get it.
Gray, who’d been dismissed as a potential threat and momentarily forgotten, slammed a wooden stake into the woman’s back, paralyzing her before she could even scream.
Her companion hadn’t seen it; he was too focused on me. Somehow he’d gotten hold of my saw, and he sliced my thigh clear to the bone. I had just enough time to knock the tool from his hand before he could do more damage. It spun out across the floor, once again out of reach.
My leg tingled, then went numb.
Still, I didn’t relent. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him get to Gray. I hit the man with an uppercut, then launched myself at him, biting an ear until I tasted more blood.
I glanced up to search for Gray, hoping she’d taken cover. But I couldn’t see her, and for my momentary distraction, I was rewarded with a punishing blow to the head, my skull ricocheting off a metal sink pipe. The room spun before me as I sank to the floor.
Finally noticing the state of his female, the male turned back to me with renewed fury.
“You die here tonight,” he spat, dropping to the floor and unleashing a storm of punches to my head. Blood poured from the lacerations in his face, his ear torn clear off, but he was a powerhouse, relentless in his quest to pulverize me. “And your little blonde bitch? She’ll be no more than a smear of blood on my shoe, not even worth the time it would take to lick clean.”
My vision swam with red, and I channeled all that rage, that fear, that primal need to protect Gray into a deafening roar. Shoving him off, I pulled my good leg to my chest and kicked hard, blasting him into one of the metal tables.
He was up again in an instant, charging right for me.
“D!” Gray shouted, and I chanced a quick glance up—just long enough to spot another wooden stake sailing through the air.
I caught it in midair with one hand.
And I slammed it straight into his heart.
The vampire gasped, then collapsed on top of me, eyes rolling back into his head.
“Gray! Are you alright?”
“I’m good,” came her call, loud and clear.
I nearly wept with relief.
Shoving my unconscious vampire aside, I slumped back against the wall and closed my eyes, giving my flesh and bone a moment to mend. It didn’t take long; the attack had taken a toll on me, but now that the beating had ceased, my body could focus on knitting itself back together.
After a moment, I got to my feet, frantically searching for Gray.
My eyes found hers across the room.
Her hair was a mess of tangled curls, her eyes wide with fear. But she was otherwise unmarred.
I took in the sight of the two staked vampires on the floor, then smiled at Gray.
“Are you always so well-armed, little brawler?”
She shrugged, a small smile lighting up her face as well. “Why do you think I wore these boots?”
Because they’re sexy as sin, and you’re sexy as sin, and I don’t care if we are standing in the middle of a morgue surrounded by carnage and death. If I stare at those exquisitely creamy thighs any longer, I’ll have no choice but to kiss you…
“So what do we do about these two?” She nudged the woman with the toe of her boot. Unlike decapitation or incineration, stakes wouldn’t kill our visitors, but they did poison them. Hawthorn was especially toxic to vampires, considerably slowing the innate ability to heal. If Gray and I left now, we’d have a few hours’ lead on them, at least.
But leaving them incapacitated wasn’t an option.
“Gray, you know we can’t leave them alive.”
Despite her deftness with the stakes, Gray looked seriously pained by the idea of finishing the job. “But… Isn’t there some kind of dominance rule? We kick their asses, they run away with thei
r tails between their legs, never to rise up and bite the hand that feeds them again? Or… something?”
“No one likes a mixed metaphor, love.” I stepped over the pools of spilled vamp blood, finally locating the bone saw. “I have no idea where they came from, but unless we take care of them now, they’ll almost certainly come after us again. Probably with reinforcements.”
Gray’s brow creased, her eyes glazing.
Bloody hell.
She may have been a witch—a very powerful one, even if she didn’t realize it yet—but underneath all that magic and fire and those seriously arse-kicking boots, she was still a human. A beautiful, vivacious, twenty-five-year-old woman with hopes and dreams and a soft heart, no matter how badly she tried to convince herself—and the rest of us—otherwise.
She deserved better than this. Every witch in this room—Sophie, Marisol, Helene—deserved better.
When I touched Gray’s shoulder, she flinched, but I held firm. “I’ll finish it, Gray. Clean up as best you can, then wait for me upstairs. Your friend is probably worried.”
“Do you know,” she said, her voice suddenly devoid of warmth, “Ronan was the one who taught me how to kill monsters? No offense.”
“None taken.” I winked to let her know it was okay, hoping to bring back a bit of her spark. Her face had gone so pale, her eyes glassy. “It’s a bit of a required skill in this city, isn’t it?”
“He was my first friend here,” she said, her voice still strangely detached, “and almost before I knew his name, he was drilling it into me about never leaving home without weapons. About identifying the entry and exit points for any room or closed-in space.” She smoothed her hands over the front of her short skirt. “I know the fastest ways to kill a fae with an iron blade—and the slowest. I’ve memorized the Achilles Heels of every creature known to the Bay, and some that’ve only appeared in mythology books, just in case. I might be outmatched, out magicked, outpaced, and I might not stand a chance against three vamps or a rabid shifter or winter fae magic, but even then, I’d never go down without a fight. But you know something, Darius?”
“What is it, love?”
