3. Kairhyse

3

Kairhyse

T his is a chaotic mess. I'm thankful I won't be the one cleaning it up.

Three. Three Gods damn bodies in one night, and that made it what, fifteen just this month alone? What is going on?

Murder isn't uncommon here, but the string of high-profile killings has everyone on edge, including those at Hause Sidence. My reaction may lean more toward annoyance than genuine concern. Nonetheless, it signals my return to the field. Whoever the bastard, or bastards are that are pulling this off, I'm itching to put a stop to it.

"Ah, Sirion Monroe." An older man stands over a bloody, very much dead, Shifter.

I hate the title of Sirion—why Achille didn't just call us bodyguards was beyond me.

"Sirion Anderson. I'm happy that there have been enough deaths that it has captured the attention of Achille."

I roll my eyes disdainfully. "Captain, your sarcasm falls flat," I remark. The local authorities, despite relying on Hause funding, demonstrate a glaring lack of commitment to adequately training their personnel. The responsibility consistently falls upon Achille, a predicament I had warned him would inevitably spiral out of control .

As it was now.

The Captain, whose name escapes me, appears to be nearing fifty. He's your typical middle-aged man, blending in with the sea of others just like him. He stands shorter than me, and as I approach, I notice the scent of fear emanating from him. It's evident in the throbbing vein on his neck and the anxious gulp that betrays his attempt at being calm.

His brown gaze meets my crimson one. "Kairhyse, no disrespect intended. I simply meant in my statement that we're grateful for Achille sending assistance," he explains.

A low, throaty groan escapes my second, Mathas Anderson, followed swiftly by a laugh. "Cut the bullshit, Captain. What are we dealing with here?"

Despite its glaring obviousness, I allow the Captain the chance to voice his perspective. Mathas and I, both Vampires, can decipher the story told by the blood in this room without a single word needing to be spoken. It overshadows the remnants of the two bloodied bodies we discovered an hour earlier at a park not too far from here.

"He has been identified as Miles Talon, but you already knew that. Security seems to be tight-lipped, and even when they did talk, it really wasn't helpful. They said he brought a girl in here, and when they were shutting down, they came in to kick them out. That was when they found him."

I pace around his motionless form, frozen with an ashen complexion. This scene is chaotic, with blood splattered across the floor, originating most notably from his lower regions. "Where's the girl?"

"She wasn't here," the Captain sighs, "our Shifters confirmed there's only his blood at the scene, suggesting she could be the assailant or, more likely, she got lucky and escaped. The security guard described her as dainty. Look at the size of this guy—I'm inclined to believe the latter."

He's massive, there's no denying that. Wider than me, but I doubt he was as strong. Looks like those muscles are more for show than anything else.

"What did she look like? Maybe we can find her and get some answers," Mathas suggests, joining me. He's new to Achille's team, just a week in and under my guidance for training. He's had experience with other major control Hauses, but nothing quite like Achille's .

"The security guard didn't get the best look, the one feature he could comment on for certain was her hair. Long, dark as the night, and like silk."

"Great," Mathas comments dryly, "that narrows it down to… fifty percent of the female population then."

The Captain raises his hands defensively, but I divert my gaze, fixating on Miles. His throat is slit, a clear cause of death. Yet, something strikes me as odd. There are no other marks, no bindings on his wrists, and no signs of restraint bruising.

I draw closer, dropping to a kneel, scrutinizing his face closely. No signs of resistance. He hadn't put up a fight. My gaze shifts down to the absence of his cock, then back up to his throat. Another hint of blood lingers, but there's still no indication of a struggle.

The taste of stale blood turns my stomach, and a shiver runs down my spine as I anticipate what's to come. With a swipe of my index finger across his neck, I bring the metallic liquid to my lips, cleansing it away.

Creamy, with a hint of bitterness and a tang that leaves my tongue vibrating. Fucking disgusting.

I savor the flavor on my palate, letting it meld with my saliva, all while I inhale deeply. Undoubtedly, there is a distinct presence that lingers, but it is intricately woven into his bloodstream, rendering it challenging to pinpoint.

Yet, traces of its former sweetness linger, and inexplicably, a surge of desire stirs within me. Swallowing quickly, I stand upright, feeling tension grip my shoulders. "We need to find that woman," I assert.

"I can detect her scent all over him," Mathas remarks. "It's challenging to get a precise read, but I'm confident that if I encountered it, I'd recognize it as hers. And, just so you know, she's a Dylox too."

"How can you tell?" I ask, not that I didn't already know, but understanding his thought process is crucial—integral to his training. If my name is going to be on his resume, he damn well had to be the most exceptional Sirion when he advances.

"Not a trace of Mundane scent in here, except for the Captain's," he explains .

He might not be entirely right, but I won't correct him. I pick up on the subtle hint of Mundane on Miles, leading me to speculate that she might be a hybrid, or exclusively involved with Dylox, gradually assimilating their scent over time.

I nod and turn from the Captain, "Please have the body sent directly to his father, Angus Talon. An autopsy will be done in private, and you can close the case. We will take it from here."

There is no need to wait for a reply, and I gesture for Mathas to follow me out. I tuck my hands into my pockets, brush past the security guards, and exit. The cameras and flashing lights meet us, and I hiss in protest. Fucking Mundanes. Always so curious.

"Excuse me, excuse me!" A news anchor approaches Mathas and I, but I have no intention of entertaining this. Let them speak to the authorities; we aren't here to answer questions.

We depart, finally clearing the mob. Mathas releases a throaty chuckle. "This is far more exciting than my last gig." He throws his hands behind his head, stretching, his back popping audibly. "So, what's your take, Kairhyse?"

His bright crimson eyes remain unblinking as he looks at me expectantly. "All the murders in the past month share the same signature: no signs of struggle. It's as if they simply laid there and allowed themselves to be brutally murdered."

I glance at my wrist to check the time. It's been a while since we last fed, and we need to return to the compound before continuing our tracking. Three fifty-five. Definitely need to eat.

"Whoever it was, the woman or someone else, did you smell what I did? They made him eat his—"

"Yes, I could see it in his teeth."

Mathas visibly shakes, "I can't imagine being alive when that happened. For him to have eaten his own dick willingly, that is fucked."

I inhale deeply, feeling my chest swell. "Something tells me it wasn't voluntary. First, let's feed, then we can figure out a plan to track down our elusive girl."