by N M Thorn
Cole gave a barely visible shake, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on his lap. “It all started as usual when the leaders of the two vampire factions gathered for territorial negotiations,” he started, his gaze going out of focus for a moment. “But at the same time, something wasn’t right. It was something on the level of intuition, you know? I can’t even point out exactly when all hell broke loose. It was so sudden—”
He stopped talking abruptly, staring at Damian with wide-open eyes.
“Nikolai, what is it?” asked Damian.
“Dima, I have no idea how the fight started or why,” whispered Cole, his face losing all color. “I don’t... I can’t remember anything. Everything is a blur. One moment we were just talking. Even though it wasn’t a friendly conversation, but no one was drawing swords. The next moment, we were at each other’s throats. For no reason, as far as I can recall. The next thing I remember is you and Jamie coming in.”
Damian was about to ask Cole another question when the door behind them opened with a slight squeak. He turned around and found River standing in the doorway, Gypsy peeking from behind her leg, a feline smirk on her face.
“Hello, boys,” said River dryly, folding her arms. “How long are you planning to sit here? It’s a cold night. Get inside.” She raised her hand to stop Damian from interrupting her and pursed her lips. “I know, I know—immortal supernatural cop and an immortal vampire. Catching a cold is not an issue for you two. I know and I don’t give a damn. Get your asses up and inside the house.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cole and Damian said at the same time and exchanged a quick look, getting up.
“Heel. Roll over. What good boys you are.” Gypsy snickered. Swaying her bushy tail, she strolled around River as if she owned the place.
As they walked inside, River grabbed their arms and pushed them toward the mirror. “Look at you! Both of you!” she yelled, throwing her hands up, tones of desperation breaking through to the surface. “You look like someone put you through a grinder! Blood and gore!”
Damian glanced into the mirror and couldn’t help but snicker. Zerkalitsa, the spirit of the mirror, made some amendments to their reflections by adding a pair of little red horns to Cole’s head and placing tiny, fluffy, Cupid-like wings behind his back. Cole snorted and pressed his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter unsuccessfully.
“Ugh!” River threw her hands up again. “Cut it out, Zerkalitsa. I’m not joking with these thousand-year-old juvenile delinquents! Just look at them!” As the wings and the horns disappeared, River turned to Cole. “You, go to your room and take a nice, long shower. You’ll probably need a full bottle of soap to get rid of all this blood and God knows what else. You both are like the troublemaking, little brothers I never wanted.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Cole, raising his hand to his temple in a military-like salute. “Am I grounded?” He sounded absolutely serious, grave even, but wild twinkles of laughter were dancing in his eyes.
She ignored him and snapped toward Damian. As her eyes halted on the bleeding wounds on his neck and arms, she sighed reproachfully. “Do you need stitches?”
“No, thank you,” replied Damian, warmth accumulating in his chest. “I’ll be fine. I just need a shower and a few hours of rest, if possible.”
She nodded and placed her hands on her hips. “Sometimes... No, most of the time, I’m afraid to ask what you two are doing at night, and why, more often than not, you come home bleeding.” She stared at her reflection in the mirror. “I’m a police detective. So, please, go to your rooms, lick your wounds quietly and tell me nothing.” She pursed her lips, shaking her head. “Plausible deniability.”
Damian smiled warmly at her. “I swear none of this blood is human,” he said softly.
She reached up, her fingers lingering over the bleeding bite marks on his neck. “If any of this blood is yours or Cole’s, it’s human to me.”
She turned around and headed out of the foyer.
Chapter 3
~ Damian Blake ~
The run through the forest seemed endless. With every branch aiming to hit him in his face and every root trying to trip him, Damian couldn’t understand how his own element could be working against him. A noise produced by heavy footsteps—a lot louder and duller than any human could produce—sounded behind him, and he was terrified to look back.
He tried to connect with the energy of Earth but couldn’t find it. It felt as if the entire spectrum of elemental powers was drained from this world, leaving him weakened, gasping for breath. He tried to connect with his magic but found none. The steps were getting closer, and he could almost feel the hot, foul breath of a monster on the back of his neck.
He didn’t need to look back. He knew what was after him. Staring straight forward, he saw the edge of the forest, a bright white light shining between the thick trunks. A shadowy figure—a stark silhouette against the blinding whiteness—appeared out of nowhere. Damian couldn’t see the man’s face. He had no idea who he was, but for some reason, he looked familiar. All he had to do was take one more step closer, and he’d see his face.
A giant, hairy beast jumped in front of him, making him skid to an abrupt halt. Damian reached for his daggers, but for the first time since he became a Destiny Enforcer, they didn’t obey his mental command. A massive hairy paw with long claws plummeted down on him, tearing the left side of his face.
As the pain twisted his insides, he pressed his hands to his mangled face, blood streaming down his cheek, dripping to his chest. The beast roared and swung its paw again. Damian moved to avoid the next impact, but his feet sank into the ground, thin, thorny vines wrapping around his legs. He screamed and started to fall backward.
He woke up and jolted upright, almost falling off the bed. Breathing hard, he looked around, barely recognizing his surroundings. The shrill ring of his cellphone made him flinch. He grabbed the device, nearly dropping it, and stared at the screen, recognizing River’s photo.
“Hello,” he answered the call, his vocal cords painfully sore.
“Damian?” River’s voice sounded troubled. “Did I wake you up?”
She took a pause, obviously waiting for his response, but he couldn’t say a word.
“Sorry,” she continued after a moment, speaking a little faster than normal. “Yesterday, you looked like you could use some rest, and I didn’t want to wake you up, but I sort of have no choice. I called Cole first. He didn’t answer my call but texted back that he was in a meeting, promising to call me as soon as he could.”
She fell silent again, and he could hear people talking somewhere in the background.
“It’s okay, River,” he managed to say, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sleeping...”
“You humans have no idea how to sleep properly. You should learn from us, cats. Up to twenty hours of sweet, blissful sleep a day—every day. Hee-aaa-ven,” purred Gypsy, trotting into the room. “Anyway, what was it? A nightmare? Did a monster under your bed bite you? I could hear you screaming all the way from the kitchen.”
Damian glowered at the cat, mouthing, “Shut up.”
“I need your expertise,” continued River. “I’m at a crime scene, and I think you should see the victim. It could be your jurisdiction.”
“Text me the address,” replied Damian, rising. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
He hung up the phone and headed toward the bathroom but then halted by the doorway and turned to Gypsy.
“Gypsy, if you hear me scream in my sleep again...” he started to say, but as the images of his last nightmare flashed before his eyes, his throat constricted, and he fell silent, a painful smirk curving his lips. “Anyway, if you hear me scream, wake me up.”
“Do I look like an alarm clock to you?” grumbled the cat, jumping on top of the bed stand. She stretched and made a few circles in place for good measure before lying down and curling into a ball. Lifting her head, she pinned Damian with her round, emerald eyes
and added, “Fine, I’ll wake you up. Maybe you are a Sasquatch, but you are my Sasquatch, and no one except me has the right to bite you.”
Twenty minutes later, he walked out of the shower, toweled himself dry and quickly got dressed. He read the address one more time before putting the cellphone in his pocket. He knew the location well, so teleporting there wasn’t a problem.
It was a small gas station on the outskirts of Blue Creek, next to the entrance to the freeway leading to Phoenix. Right behind the plaza, there was an old, half-demolished warehouse. At some point, it belonged to a large construction company, but since it relocated to Phoenix, no one had rented the building, and now it stood dark and empty, which was exactly what Damian needed.
He snapped his fingers and vanished from Paradise Manor, manifesting behind the warehouse a moment later. Quickly surveying the area, he made sure that no one had seen him and circled around the building, heading toward the gas station.
A large area of the plaza next to the store was isolated by yellow police tape, and a few men in police uniforms secured the perimeter, stopping the crowd of onlookers from entering the crime scene. Damian put his dark sunglasses on and opened his other sight, scanning the area. At first glance, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and he started to wonder why River had decided her case had a supernatural origin.
He made his way through the crowd and stopped in front of the yellow line, searching for River. Since he couldn’t see her, he approached a young man in a police uniform who stood in front of the yellow line observing the onlookers.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Damian calmly. “I’m here to see Detective Evans. Can you please call her?”
The policeman observed him with interest, his eyes moving up and down Damian’s body as if sizing him up. Then he shrugged and pressed a button on his mic, turning his back toward Damian.
“Detective Evans,” he said quietly, taking a few steps toward the crime scene. “There is a man here waiting for you next to the store. Should I let him through?”
Before he finished speaking, Damian saw River heading toward them. She walked briskly, the flaps of her unbuttoned trench coat blowing in the wind. Waving at the policeman, she ordered, “Jason, let him through. He’s with me.”
With a tiny smirk on her lips, she watched Damian double up to pass under the police line even though Jason pulled it up for him. She led him toward the crime scene, giving him quick instructions about maintaining the scene’s integrity, minimizing contamination, and preserving physical evidence. He barely listened to her instructions, hundreds of thoughts rushing through his mind.
“Here you go,” said River, coming to a halt, gesturing for Damian to look. “Her name is Sarah Mitchell. She used to own the local flower shop next to the library.” She sighed, for a brief moment looking away from the victim. “She was killed approximately an hour ago. After the autopsy is done, we’ll know the exact time of death. The wound on her neck suggests an animal attack, and don’t get me wrong, I know the desert is full of mountain lions, gray foxes, and coyotes, but I just don’t see wild animals attacking people in broad daylight. This is why I called you. Something doesn’t smell right.”
He glanced down and frowned. The victim—a woman in her middle to late forties—lay sprawled on the asphalt. Her neck had been ripped to shreds by something resembling sharp fangs of what could have been a large dog or a wolf, and her chest and arms were covered in brown spots of dried blood.
Damian squatted next to her and quickly surveyed the area. Once he was sure none of the responding officers or investigators were looking at him, he took his glasses off, looking up at River.
“River, can you please make sure no one comes close to me,” he whispered.
She nodded, and he channeled his power, opening his other sight. Carefully, he moved his hand over the wound on the victim’s neck and sucked in a sharp breath, pulling his hand back. Even though the presence of the vampiric energy wasn’t strong, he identified it right away.
Besides that, he detected a barely noticeable residue of some other magical energy he couldn’t recognize. It felt oddly familiar, but just like in the house where Cole had the meeting with the leaders of the opposing vampire faction, he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. The answer lingered somewhere on the outskirts of his mind, but no matter how hard he chased it, he couldn’t catch it.
There was also something off about the victim herself. While there was nothing special about her appearance—she looked like any suburban soccer mom—there was something about her that made him do a double-take. Scanning her with his second sight, he frowned. She was dead, so even if she was mundane, her body would no longer be emitting the energy of a human soul. Yet there was a strange, weak glow about her. Even though it was dwindling down, he could still see it.
As realization dawned on him, he glanced up at River, his chest tight with worry. “Perun almighty, you were right. It is my jurisdiction,” he whispered, scrambling to his feet. He pressed his hand over his mouth while searching for his cellphone with his other hand. “No good... this is not something we need now...”
Pulling his cellphone out of his pocket, Damian dialed Cole’s phone number, but as his call went straight into his voice mail, he groaned and swore under his breath. Opening the messages, he started to type, searching the screen for every letter.
“CALL ME BACK NOW! YOU HAVE A MUCH BIGGER ISSUE THAN THE VAMPIRE OPPOSITION.”
“I really don’t like the sound of that,” muttered River, frowning. “You better explain yourself, soldier.”
“River—,” he started to say, but was interrupted by a howl of despair that made the small hairs on the back of his neck rise.
“Let me through!” A man was fighting against two policemen who were struggling to hold him behind the yellow tape. “This is my wife! My Sarah...” His voice turned into a painful sob which slowly morphed into a low, feral growl. His eyes lit up with a dangerous orange light, and Damian knew if he didn’t do something at once, it would be too late a heartbeat later.
“Let him through!” he yelled, sprinting toward the police line.
Reaching the yellow tape before River, Damian grabbed Jason and the second police officer, yanking both of them away from the man. Then he put his sunglasses on and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, allowing some of his magical energy to wash over him.
“Sir, you need to calm down,” he said firmly, watching the orange glow in the man’s eyes slowly dissipate, and added in a whisper, so only the man with his supernatural hearing could hear him, “Stay calm... You must control your true nature. You don’t want to expose the World of Magic in front of all these humans.”
The man raised his eyes at Damian, and his face turned ashen. “My lord,” he whispered, making a move to kneel, but Damian held him up.
“Stop it,” he whispered, his fingers digging into the man’s shoulder. “I know you respect me, but there is no need to kneel.” He smiled, hoping his smile was friendly enough to calm him down. “Please, follow me, and no matter what you see next, you can’t allow yourself to transform. If you do, I will have no choice but to fulfill my duty. Do you understand me, sir?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“The name is Damian Blake,” said Damian, turning around to meet River’s troubled gaze. He waved at her, making a quick introduction. “This is Detective Evans.”
“I’m Craig Mitchell. Sarah is... was...” His voice shook, breaking. Tears gathered in his brown eyes, threatening to spill, but he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, forcing them back, and two deep wrinkles materialized between his bushy eyebrows. A moment later, he lowered his arms, meeting River’s calm gaze. “Can I see her, Detective?”
River nodded, motioning for him to follow her. As they approached the dead woman, Craig froze in place, and the air around him shimmered. Damian channeled his magic, getting ready to do whatever he had to do to stop a purebred werewolf from a full transformation in front of human wit
nesses. Werewolves weren’t known for their patience and self-control, so Damian was pleasantly surprised when Craig took a deep breath, suppressing his emotions.
He turned to Damian, looking up at him, his gaze deadly still. “Who did it?” he asked, a dangerous growl accompanying his words. Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at River, he added in a hoarse whisper, “Was it a vamp attack?”
“I don’t know,” replied Damian honestly. “Detective Evans summoned me here because she suspected the case was supernatural.”
“Oh?” The werewolf glanced at River with renewed interest. “She is touched?”
“Exposed,” replied Damian. “Anyway, I can detect the presence of vampiric essence, but it’s not pure. There is something else here.”
“Bloodsucking motherfuckers,” growled Craig, spitting out one word at a time. A dangerous orange light ignited in his eyes, and the air around him shimmered again like a desert mirage. “It’s time we put these disgusting leeches back in their place.”
“Craig, you need to calm down.” Damian frowned, taking a step closer to him. “We already have tension in the Arizona Vampire Court. We don’t need to add a conflict between the werewolves and vampires—”
Craig laughed, his voice filled with bitterness. “You’re too late for that, Enforcer,” he said, shaking his head. “My wife wasn’t the first werewolf killed by a vampire in the last month. Ask the detective here.”
Damian turned to River, his limbs filled with led. “River, do you have any other cases of... um... animal attacks in Blue Creek or Phoenix?”
River frowned, approaching them. “Why?”
“Are there more cases like this?” asked Damian, pointing at the dead woman. “It’s important, River.”
She nodded. “One case in Blue Creek about a week ago, and another one in Phoenix,” she replied.
