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“Was he a guard?” Kieran asked as a faint sound came from the back of the apartment. “A Huntsmen?”
Lev shook his head. “From what the neighbors say, he was a sweeper—cleaning the streets. Born and raised here. Never been out of the city. Not once.”
“So he was fed on and left to turn here?” Kieran surmised, his tone thick with disgust. “The vamprys are getting even sloppier.”
Lev said nothing as I stepped over the poor soul who’d spent his days cleaning the streets of all manner of shit for the ones who inevitably slaughtered him.
I glanced into the small cooking area. The countertops were clear, the fire long extinguished in the hearth. I checked the kettle, finding broth that had cooled. There was no mess. The people who’d lived here did their best to keep the place tidy. The sound came again, drawing my attention to the closed door of the back area, likely the bedchamber. I couldn’t quite place the odd…gurgling sound.
“Where is the wife?” I asked, knowing damn well that Lev wouldn’t have summoned anyone for a mortal being turned within the city. Sure, it was always somewhat shocking that the Ascended were so damn reckless, but it wasn’t that uncommon.
“Through there.” Lev nodded at the closed door. “She’s dead in there.” He wiped a palm across the linen shirt and vest he wore. His hand shook. “With…with it.”
“It?” Kieran repeated.
I approached the door, noting that Lev didn’t move any farther. A dead Craven or a victim of one wouldn’t have caused the man to linger back as he was. His reluctance had to do with whatever it was.
I pushed open the door, lowering a hand to the dagger at my hip. The foul odor of rot nearly gagged me as I scanned the one-windowed chamber lit by muted sunlight.
“Shit,” Kieran cursed from behind me, picking up something from the floor. It rattled. “There’s a babe here?”
I stepped inside the chamber and looked to the side of the bed. I’d found the wife. She lay curled in a fetal position on the floor, her brown hair matted to the side of her face. One arm was outstretched, baring deep scratches. Her fingers curled as if she’d died reaching for the…
A small bassinet lay upon the floor. Inside, a lumpy white blanket stained by a rusty brown substance stirred.
And that sound came again—a soft gurgling noise that gave way to a low, keening wail from inside the bassinet. The hair on the nape of my neck rose.
I went still, staring at the fallen crib, unable to move for what felt like an eternity. It wasn’t until I felt Kieran draw near that I could even speak. “Please, tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”
“I…I wish I could,” Kieran said, sounding hoarse. “But I’m likely thinking the same as you.”
Neither of us budged as what appeared to be two arms beneath the blanket moved. Two small arms. Tiny ones.
“They had a babe,” Lev said from beyond the open door. He’d come close enough to be seen. Not too far, though. I couldn’t blame him. “A little… A little girl. Less than a year old, according to Maddie’s momma.”
“There’s no way,” Kieran denied. “They wouldn’t have…”
“I want to believe that.” I swallowed. “That not even the vamprys could be that depraved and cruel, but I would be lying.”
I forced myself forward, walking around the mother. A guttural noise came from beneath the blanket, a distorted cooing sound. My gods, I thought as I reached down, taking hold of the edge of the once plush blanket with gloved fingers. I tore it aside.
“Fucking gods.” Kieran staggered back, his hand falling from the hilt of his short sword.
A half-swaddled babe stared up at me with eyes the color of blood, the sockets like the darkest night set in ghastly pale chubby cheeks streaked in dried blood. It strained, lifting those small arms toward me, almost as if it wanted me to pick it up. But those tiny fingers had sharp fingernails—claws that had dug at its skin.
The babe hissed and whined, opening its mouth wide. There were only two bottom teeth—incisors that had sharpened. They appeared fragile, nothing more than grotesquely disfigured baby teeth, but they were strong enough to tear into flesh. To infect.
I tilted my head, seeing the marks on one inner arm, at the inside of the elbow. Puncture wounds. Just two of them. The arm was too small for the Craven to lodge all four canines into it. That hadn’t been necessary, though.
“The babe was drained and left to turn,” I stated flatly, keeping myself in check, locked down. “And it did.”
“That’s what I think,” Lev said. “The babe infected the father and…”
And the rest was history.
The child squirmed, thrashing at the air. I turned my head, closing my eyes. I’d seen a lot of messed-up shit. Things I thought could never be topped. But this? This was something else entirely.
