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.
