Six Months Ago…

The air was thick with an eeriness he had not felt in years. There were two squad cars parked on the perimeter of what was now an official crime scene, their occupants sitting inside, talking frantically into their radios.

Police Lieutenant Lance Chavez's cell phone had rung at 5 AM, interrupting his morning jog. Captain Ramirez Aguirre was not one to call, especially not on a Sunday morning and never this number. After his reinstatement to the force, Chavez's relationship with the gray-haired, 50-year-old he used to consider a close friend had become strained and strictly professional.

“What do you have, Ramirez?” he said, walking up to the cop standing guard outside the cordoned-off area.

“Good morning, lieutenant. I hope you had a light breakfast today,” Ramirez answered with a grimace.

“That bad, huh?” he replied, not breaking his stride. Ramirez had been on the force for ten years. He’d seen his share of blood and gore. Nothing seemed to faze him anymore, yet here he was, turning green at the collar.

“Just brace yourself. You don’t see this every day.”

Chavez nodded, taking a deep breath as he reached for the gum inside the front pocket of his hoodie. He took a stick, tore its wrapper, and popped it into his mouth. There was nothing scientific behind this habit, but he found that chewing gum while inspecting a crime scene helped keep the bile down. He was almost at the top of the ridge when he noticed something strange. In his experience, one portent of a crime scene was the undeniable stench of blood. Some of his colleagues put Vicks on their nostrils to block it out. Lance never adopted the practice, preferring all his faculties remain at full capacity during an investigation. He wouldn't have needed it now, even if he did use the ointment. The scent of blood was faint, barely noticeable.

Still, nothing could’ve prepared him for the scene that greeted him when he finished his trek. Deja vu hit him like a runaway train. The ridgetop was a flat and dry plateau, unusually cold and foggy, hemmed in by several luscious mango trees. It was the middle of summer. Those trees should’ve been thick with low-hanging fruit. Yet the only things swaying from their branches were five emaciated bodies. All naked. All bone thin with papery white skin. All female. Chavez strode forward with trepidation, picturing a similar scene from a distant past. Seven years ago, to be exact. It had been his first time assisting with a major case. It had also been his first failure.

He stopped in front of the bodies, looking for similarities and differences. Just like before, the women were hanging upside down, their fingers touching the ground. Unlike before, though, someone had beaten and tortured these women before killing them, as evidenced by the vicious gashes and dried-up wounds on various parts of their bodies. In the previous case, except for their slashed throats, the bodies had been practically unmarked. Could this be the work of a different perpetrator? Aguirre didn’t think so. His exact words that morning had been, “It’s happening again.”

Yet something about this was different. Their throats had not been slashed. And upon closer inspection, Chavez noted that the wounds on the necks, arms, breasts, and legs of all five victims were tiny pinpricks. One body had more of these marks than the others. They all appeared to be in groups of two, equally spaced and perfectly round. What weapon could have been used to make them with such precision?

“Poor girls,” a feminine voice behind him said. Chavez glanced back, immediately recognizing the owner of the voice. He’d met her before. She was the lead SOCO agent in this area. Garcia, if he remembered right. She was a tall woman with somber eyes and a no-nonsense attitude.

“Have you inspected the bodies?” he asked.

“Yes, before you arrived. Preliminary only. We were just waiting for you. Captain Aguirre called; he wanted you to have a look before we took them down to the morgue,” she said, motioning to three men with the same emblem on their jackets who were trudging up the ridge with body bags and stretchers.

“Do you have any idea about cause of death?”

“For now, I’d say hemorrhagic shock,” she replied, swiftly putting on a fresh pair of gloves.

“But I don’t see any major wounds on the bodies that would cause them to bleed out. And there don’t seem to be any pools of blood anywhere.”

“Yes, but these girls somehow still bled out. It didn’t happen here, either. This is just a stage.”

Another detail in common with the previous case, Chavez thought.

“They look emaciated, don't they?” Garcia continued. “Like they starved to death. I don’t think they did. They’re skin and bones because they don’t have any blood left. Whoever did this sucked it all out.”

“Sucked it out?” Chavez said, his throat going dry.

The other girls had lost a lot of blood, too.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. I’d have to do a more thorough analysis to be sure. All I can say is that these girls don’t have a single drop of blood in their bodies,” Garcia said before walking away to rejoin her team.

Chavez’s eyes went back to the unfortunate women being taken down by Garcia’s team, a familiar horror dawning on him as his fingers instinctively felt for the wooden cross hidden underneath his shirt, protecting his heart.

And his sanity.

The clinking of wine glasses and soft chatter of voices signaled the start of a new day at Red. It was the newest addition to the string of bars I owned in the Metro and was fast becoming the most lucrative of my ventures. Sitting right at the heart of the city and surrounded by offices and high-end condominiums, Red was the go-to place for hot-blooded young professionals eager to slake their thirst and brush off the troubles of the day.

Marcel Chatelain, however, wasn’t one of them. I could hardly even characterize him as hot-blooded. But he was a longtime friend and a permanent fixture at Red. Right now, he was sitting at the bar, his long fingers caressing a shot of vodka he would never drink, smirking up at me with one perfect brow arched in obvious disapproval.

“I can’t understand you, Nick. How can you keep doing these menial tasks night after night? You own the fucking place, man. You don’t have to tend the bar.”

Here we go again, I thought. Marcel was the ultimate snob. He considered anything that involved manual labor degrading for people like us, born to royal houses that no longer existed. He lived to give orders, not take them.

“It calms me down, Marcel. Doing something as trivial as washing glasses gives me peace. For an hour or two, at least,” I replied, stacking the shot glasses under the counter.

“You are a strange man. Do you know that?” Marcel laughed. “You are the only person I know who finds peace in washing dishes. I find my peace between two plump, giggly females writhing beside me in bed, thank you very much.”

“I don’t do dishes, Marcel, just glasses,” I said, ignoring the last bit. It would only trigger another unwanted discussion about my sex life, or lack thereof. Marcel believed man was made for sex and not the other way around.

“By the way, I’m having a party tomorrow night. I expect to see you there, having fun with at least one voluptuous woman hanging on your arm.”

“You want me to bring a date?” I grimaced.

“Much better if you can bring one. But I will be content to see you enjoying the party with one gorgeous female wrapped around your neck.”

“You know I have rounds to do, Marcel.”

Marcel rolled his eyes at me and leaned on the counter, whispering conspiratorially. “What about your ‘apprentices’? Can’t one of them take your shift for just one night?”

“They’re called ‘apprentices’ for a reason. I don’t think they’re ready to take on—”

“Oh, come on, Nick. It’s just for one night,” Marcel groaned.

I shook my head and sighed. There was no getting out of this. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

“Pinky-swear?” Marcel said, his eyes glinting mischievously, with one slender pinky shoved up my face.

“Oh, shut up,” I grunted, knocking Marcel’s hand away.

Marcel laughed. “You’re going to enjoy the party, I promise. The twins will be there. They’re slim brunettes with legs that never end, just your type.”

“Will there be humans at this so-called party?”

The grin on Marcel’s face faltered, giving me the answer I would rather not hear. He knew I didn’t like mixed parties because they often ended in debauchery and unintentional deaths. Things I wasn’t eager to engage in.

“Just a few. Only the ones initiated into our way of life, so you need not worry about exposure—”

“It’s not exposure I’m worried about and you know it.”

“I didn’t invite the raucous ones, Nick. I’m not that stupid,” Marcel said, pouting dramatically.

“I just wanted to be clear, Marcel. I don’t want to be forced to report you to the Council. Again.” It was my job to keep the peace in my area of responsibility and report everything to the Council, even unruly friends.

Marcel sighed. “I know. And I thank you for all those times you defended me. I promise to be good, okay? This will be as tame as a six-year-old’s birthday party.”

“Yeah, right. Party for a six-year-old Troll, more like,” I muttered under my breath. Marcel still heard, thanks to his damned preternatural hearing.

“Ugh! I would never countenance holding a party for those mindless freaks,” Marcel said with an exaggerated shudder.

“Mighty convenient that they’re extinct then,” I said, drying my hands on a nearby napkin before glancing at my watch. Almost 2 AM, time to do my rounds.

“Leaving now?” Marcel said, noticing the gesture.

“Duty calls. Don’t worry. James is more than capable of attending to your every need.”

“Not every one of them, I’m afraid,” Marcel said, a licentious look coming over his refined, aristocratic features. “Unless you’re giving me permission to—”

“No. James is off-limits. My staff, every one of them, is off-limits, Marcel.”

Marcel raised his hands in surrender and laughed. “Alright, alright! I was joking, okay?”

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “Just behave, Marcel. Please?”

“I promise to be good, ma Jolie Maman,” he said, eyes twinkling with childish mischief as he drew an x over his heart.

I just shook my head and walked away. I had more pressing matters to take care of. I shouldn’t have bantered with Marcel. He had a way of distracting one with inanities. I waved at James, Red’s head bartender, to let him know he was now in charge of the bar and our most entertaining, if slightly annoying, customer. The burly man nodded and took my place at the bar.

After making a quick trip to my private office to change my clothes and condition my mind for the task at hand, I walked over to the framed poster of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody hanging behind my desk and pushed it aside. A dark biometric control panel appeared. I pressed my right palm on the pad and waited for the tiny light above it to turn green. When it did, the recessed door slid open, revealing the dark hallway beyond. I stepped through, exiting into the narrow alley past the mesh gate at the end.

I took my usual route, sweeping through the familiar side streets and alleys, all my senses in a heightened state. All seemed quiet and in order. Satisfied that there was nothing urgently needing my attention, I scaled the walls of the building beside me and went to my favorite spot, the narrow balcony of an unoccupied condo unit facing the street. I sat down and waited for her to walk by. I didn’t know her, not even her name, and I had no intention of knowing. No point in cluttering my mind with unnecessary information or starting things I couldn’t pursue to fruition.

Under different circumstances, I probably would’ve risked it. I wasn’t immune to the calls of the flesh like Marcel often accused me of. I, too, liked to indulge in female companionship once in a while, no matter how briefly, especially since I preferred human lovers to those of my kind. Relationships with women of my ilk got too complicated in the long run, considering our long life spans. Yes, in another place and time, I would’ve approached and wooed her, even spent a few years of her mortal life with her. We were in dangerous times, however, and I wasn’t here for my pleasure. My assignment was too delicate. I couldn’t afford the distraction. I must content myself with watching her from afar.

As I sat on my perch, my body throbbed in excitement, anticipating her unique, sweet scent to wash over me. I had chanced upon her six months ago, walking down one of my routes on the first night of my patrol duty. I wasn’t expecting the instant effect she had on me and it caught me off-guard. It took all of my willpower to keep myself from swooping down and sampling her intoxicating blood. It was so distinct and had a fragrance that enticed and aroused my primal instincts. The last time I’d caught a whiff of a similar scent, I almost ended up getting burned at the stake. It wasn’t an experience worth repeating. Still, I couldn’t help but await her appearance.

I glanced at my watch again. 2:45 AM. She was never this late. She always kept to a predictable routine, always on the dot. Something was wrong. Of course, she could’ve just taken the day off. Could she have fallen ill? No, she passed by me last night. I would’ve noted the change in her body chemistry. I really shouldn’t worry too much about her absence. Humans were unpredictable beings, given to shifts in mood and temperament. Maybe she just changed her routine or even her route. Maybe she went out with friends, like those packs who frequented my bars. Yet, the tingling in my nerves reinforced the idea that something had gone wrong. And I wouldn’t find peace until I uncovered the reason.

Rising to my feet, I sniffed the air more diligently to catch her scent and retrace the last path she took. It was very faint, confirming that she had passed this way several hours ago on her way to work. Gliding from building to building, I zeroed in on the place where her scent was strongest. It was in an alley between two old brick buildings. The entrance was being blocked by a large metal garbage bin, obscuring the view into the alley from passersby. Aside from her familiar scent, I recognized another one. Something I didn’t want near her—the scent of hungry vampires.

I took a deep breath and rushed through the sides of the buildings to reach her, praying that I wasn’t too late. What I saw next curdled my blood. Three hooded figures surrounded her, frantically pawing her body, setting her up for the ultimate violation. I could smell their arousal, their hunger, not only for her blood, but also her flesh. They were newborns let loose without a Guardian. Newly turned vampires were always hungry, which made them even more dangerous. They almost always killed their victims, often sucking them dry because of their uncontrollable hunger. But they were not usually interested in having sex with their victims. Blood was their primary interest. These three, however, seemed more intent on raping her.

One of them was kneeling in front of the girl, leaning forward in an attempt to lick her abdomen with its filthy tongue. I grabbed this one first and with a flick of my wrist sent it flying into the brick wall. The other two jumped at the sound, turning blood-red eyes towards me. Fear bloomed behind them, but only briefly. Another thing that made Newborns dangerous was their bloodlust. They would always stand their ground, choosing to fight instead of fleeing, feeling invincible, even against a deadly Enforcer such as me.

I smiled. This was like taking candy from a baby. They sealed their fates the moment my blessed blades slid into my hands. The Dark Knight had descended, and they were about to feel his fury.