Seattle didn't just drip with rain. It soaked into your very soul, a cold, wet grip that matched the hidden darkness of the city.
Tonight, it was a full-on assault. Rain pounded the worn wooden slats of Pier 57, turning the flashing red and blue lights into blurry, painted streaks.
I tugged my leather jacket collar tighter, the damp already sticking to my hair. Crime scenes were always ugly. Supernatural ones were a nightmare. Especially with vampires in the mix.
Detective Marcus Jones stood under a shaky overhang, his trench coat as worn out as his face. His eyes caught mine as I slipped under the yellow tape, my boots splashing in the puddles.
"Vance," he growled, voice rough over the hammering rain. "Thanks for showing up. Hated dragging you into this storm."
"You wouldn't call unless it was strange, Jones," I shot back, cutting to the chase. We had a deal. I helped with cases that broke normal rules, and he sometimes ignored my not-so-legal side jobs.
He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "It's strange, alright. And bloody." He nodded toward the far end of the pier, where a white tent shielded the worst of it from the rain.
"Victim's Julian Thorne."
I froze. Julian Thorne. Younger brother of Kaelen Thorne, the Alpha vampire who ruled Seattle's undead with a brutal iron fist. Julian was trouble, loud and careless. Kaelen was the enforcer. Ruthless.
"Bet I can guess," I said, voice dry. "Looks like a vampire kill?"
Jones grunted. "Drained completely. Classic. But..." He waved me to follow him to the tent.
Inside, the air felt heavy, thick with the sharp smell of blood and something icy, unnatural, making my skin crawl. Julian Thorne lay on his back, his forever-young face stuck in shock. His fancy clothes were wet and stained dark. The neck wounds screamed cause of death.
But the markings got me. Cut roughly into his chest, after death by the jagged look, were symbols. Not vampire signs, not anything from the usual dark magic books. They felt ancient. Cruel.
"Forensics got nothing," Jones muttered, voice low. "The kill looks like vampire punishment. Maybe Kaelen got sick of fixing his brother's messes."
It made sense. Alpha vampires kept power with total control. Julian pushed too far, too often. A messy, public kill would send a loud warning.
"But these symbols?" I traced one in the air, feeling a weird, sharp tingle on my fingers. My storm magic, tied to weather and raw emotion, shifted, uneasy. It hated this.
"Exactly," Jones said. "Doesn't match. Doesn't match Kaelen's way either. He's harsh, but neat. This feels like a ritual. And clumsy."
"So, you think someone’s setting him up?"
"Or someone else has a reason," Jones replied. "Listen, Elara, I need your help. Officially, Kaelen Thorne is the top suspect. Strong motive, means, chance. But these symbols..." He shook his head. "They're your kind of thing. Can you figure them out? Before the higher-ups pin it all on the scariest guy around?"
"I'll try," I said, eyes locked on the odd carvings. "Send me the photos. Clear ones."
"Already sent," he answered. Our careful trust worked because we both needed something. He wanted answers normal cops couldn't find; I needed the doors he could open.
Back in my office above a Pioneer Square bookstore, rain slammed the tall, arched windows. I kicked off my wet boots and poured a hot coffee, the sharp smell pushing back the pier's lingering cold.
The crime scene photos lit up my screen. Julian Thorne's pale face, the dark wounds, the strange symbols sharp against his skin.
I shut my eyes, reaching deep, tapping into the part of me linked to wind and lightning. I let the leftover energy from the images hit me. There was death, cold and final. There was a faint trace of vampire power, weak but real.
But under it, humming like a live wire, was something different. A raw, sharp, old magic. Not vampire. Not Fae, not any kind I knew. It felt like rough stone and old blood, like promises made in dead languages.
Jones was right. This wasn’t Kaelen’s doing. Or if it was, he used something way outside vampire tricks.
A quiet ping cut the silence. A new message on my secure network. Usually, it’s nervous clients or Silas Blackwood from The Raven’s Eye with odd tips.
This sender had no ID. Weird.
I opened it. The message was short, straight to the point.
"He didn't do it. Find the truth. - K"
My breath stopped. K. Kaelen Thorne. The Alpha vampire himself. Saying he’s innocent and... what? Hiring me? Warning me?
Rain smashed against the glass, matching the sudden chaos in my chest. The city’s deadliest hunter was now maybe my client. Or my worst trouble.
Crap on toast.
This case just jumped from odd to deadly messy. And Kaelen Thorne was at the center, dragging me right along with him.
