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The longer I look, the more something tugs at my consciousness. And then I remember.
"I'll tell you, I'm not all that different when it comes to infamy. Some humans think mine is funny, painting their little dogs red and mocking me in their little sleep overs. They suddenly find it less funny when I make time to actually show up and feed on them. Like the dog the humans make me out to be."
“Night Fang,” I growl.
Gail arches her eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"
"They have someone capable of doing this. I met them at the back entrance alley of the club."
I realize the machete used by the red-eyed man bears a striking resemblance to the one used in the attack. It certainly puts him on my radar, especially since he was willing to use it to attack me. Our brief confrontation revealed he’s not above committing murder in a savage manner.
And he takes great pride in his reputation, as evidenced by his willingness to kill to uphold it. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. While I never particularly cared for being called the Big Bad Wolf, I was never proud of it either. Now, with Aria by my side, the moniker is even more distasteful.
Aria doesn’t need the Big Bad Wolf, she needs me, and I can't afford to let her down.
Gail interrupts my thoughts as she takes a whiff of the air and recoils in disgust. "Do you two smell that?" she asks.
I sniff carefully, realizing there’s another smell underneath the blood and gore. A chemical smell.
We search the room, careful not to disturb the evidence that lays scattered around us. The petals, the bloodstained sheets, the eerie silence—everything seems to be a clue, a puzzle waiting to be pieced together.
As we comb through the room, I stop beside a bloodstained wall, the stench really burning my nose. But it’s not the stench of blood. “Paint?” I ask, surprised.
Gail stops beside the wall near the door, sniffs, then turns away in disgust. “Paint.”
Zayn’s brows shoot up as leans closer to the bloodstained wall beside the bathroom. “The stuff on the walls is paint?” he asks, frowning. “Does the same apply to the bed?”
“Unfortunately, not,” Gail replies.
And she’s right. Although dried, I can smell the iron pangs of blood spread across the sheets. This was definitely a homicide. And the only suspect I could think of is someone I know nothing about.
But he’s someone who knows me. Else he wouldn’t have felt confident about attacking me. Not like those thugs who shivered as I approached. He was excited, waiting.
“We may as well let forensics finish up here,” I say, clenching my gloved hands into fists. “We can head back to the precinct and review what we have so far.”
“Right,” Gail agrees.
As we leave, I can’t help but feel this reeks of something bigger.
But what?
Chapter3
Aria
Isigh and bask in the heat of the shower, the glow of the setting sun suffusing the bathroom in amber. The meeting with Zayn is fast approaching and I can’t seem to think of much else.
It has my nerves shot. So many things could go wrong. One wrong word and I receive Peter’s head in a box. I know I’m overthinking; I know Chase thinks so as well, despite being equally as worried. We’re busy dancing and weaving, but we’re always a step behind. We have no choice but to play it safe, and I can’t stop the anxious feeling in my chest telling me we’re running out of time.
Try not to think about it…
The advice is good, but easier said than done. Each droplet of water running down my body is proof that time is passing. That the meeting’s getting closer. That Peter’s still in danger. The sound of my shower door opening has me straightening. Then a familiar, calloused hand slips on my shoulder.
“Chase…” I murmur, already smiling.
He chuckles, his hands roaming over my wet body. “Were you scared?”
“Try harder,” I shoot back.
