“This is the third body at Pyre.” Wrath cracked his knuckles one by one. “The third female, right?”
“Yup, but one was a human. It’s pretty much the same M.O. as far as I can tell. At that club, after sex, everything taken, body left to bleed out. I think we’ve got a serial predator. I also think we need to bring in a professional on this.”
“Agreed. I want to find the SOB who’s playing with knives. And I want you to put out a warning on social media. I’m tempted to even shut that club down the old-fashioned way.”
By the term “old-fashioned way,” V knew damn well the King wasn’t talking about petitioning the human mayor of Caldwell to throw a padlock on the front door of that shitty old factory. It was more a case of a hundred ounces of C4, a gas tank’s worth of accelerant, two matches, and some popcorn.
And you know, it might be nice to make some s’mores.
“I’ll post the warnings online,” V said. “And we should make sure the Audience House has flyers. The word will get out fast.”
“I want someone monitoring that place. If it is a serial killer, they’ll want to go back to their hunting grounds. We can catch him that way even if he’s left no clues to his identity behind.”
“Or hers.”
“It can’t be a female.”
“Says who.”
“Good point.”
As V considered the staffing requirements, he mostly hid a curse. They were shorthanded already, and after the altercation with those shadows earlier tonight? Things were going to be extra tight as they tried to pin down exactly what had happened at that glymera party.
But, whatever, someone’s off-rotation was just going to have to be spent rubbing elbows with fake vampires because the King was right. They needed somebody on-site to catch the motherfucker.
“We’ll take care of everything,” he vowed.
The King dropped his chin and stared out over the top of his wraparounds, his pale green eyes lit with an unholy light. He might have been unable to see, but he could still send a message and a half with those peepers.
“You find this murderer,” Wrath said in a deep growl, “and deal with it, do you understand me.”
Vishous nodded once. “I’ll handle the endgame personally.”
Humans had jails for this kind of thing. Vampires, on the other hand, believed in an eye for an eye. And whether the perp could handle sunlight or not, this was going to be taken care of the “old-fashioned way.”
You pick off members of the race, whether or not you knew what they were? You were knocking on a door that was going to be answered.
“I’ll keep you posted.”
“You do that, V,” Wrath growled.
The following evening, Boone dematerialized to the rear driveway of the King’s Audience House, re-forming back by the detached garage. Following a shoveled pathway, he entered through a reinforced door, and as he went through the kitchen, he raised a hand in greeting to the various doggen who were preparing fresh pastries for the waiting room. The scents of baking sweet dough and homemade cherry and strawberry preserves reminded him he had not had First Meal, but as soon as he was out the flap door and away from the triggers, he forgot all about his stomach.
With long strides, he headed for the front of the mansion, zeroing in on the deep voices that percolated out of the open doors of the dining room. And as he went along, he practiced his speech: 1) his shoulder had fully healed, and he was willing to let Dr. Manello examine said healing; 2) he’d had all day to process his father and stepmahmen’s deaths; 3) the Fade Ceremony could wait until he was off rotation in two days; 4) there was nothing in the trainee handbook that required a mourning period following the passing of any family members.
Halfway through the foyer, he paused and smoothed his hair down. Which was stupid and a hangover from his youth. Like any of the Brothers were going to care whether his cowlick was behaving?
Kicking himself in the ass, he marched up to the archway and knocked on the jamb.
Across the largely empty space where civilians had private meetings with their King, a couple of the Brothers looked over from the fireplace. It was Rhage, the biggest and blondest of the Brotherhood, and Butch, the used-to-be human with the Boston accent. The former was eating a half gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream with a sterling