Page 1 of Tainted Souls
PROLOGUE
PENN CITY IS RARELYin mayhem.
When it is, there’s always a bloodsucker involved. Flashing lights and wailing sirens cut through the endless buzz. Crime scene technicians converge on the corpse, their cameras strobing in rhythmic bursts.
The victim lies sprawled against a dumpster, his limbs contorted at unnatural angles, wearing what was once an expensive suit now soaked through with blood.
Helene approaches slowly, careful not to disturb their work. The streetlights catch on her umber skin as she ducks under the yellow tape, casting shadows that accentuate her high cheekbones. Tightly coiled locs fall in neat rows, cascading past narrow shoulders like a curtain of midnight, each strand meticulously maintained.
She surveys the body with practical detachment, noting every detail: male, mid-thirties, his throat a ruined mess—not theclean punctures of a controlled feeding, but a savage tear that nearly decapitated him.
The flesh around the wound is discolored, purplish veins spreading outward like poisonous roots. His eyes remain open, clouded but still reflecting terror.
A silver watch glints on his wrist, still ticking. His wallet lies nearby, contents untouched. This was obviously not a robbery. Whoever did this was either inexperienced, or they wanted him to suffer.
“Copy,” Officer Monroe answers into her earpiece before switching it off. She steps over to Helene’s side, the digital interface illuminating her angular face. “The suspect has been identified, Chief. Her name is Kyla Rogues, approximately fifty years old based on Redmoore’s intelligence. Immigrated nine years ago, and maintained a clean record until tonight.”
Unable to help herself, Helene glances at Kyla in the back of the car, internally judging the vivid streaks of violet in her hair.
It is a bold choice. Beautiful, too.
Unfortunately, boldness has a habit of crossing into criminality.
“Not all vampires, but always a vampire.” Helene lets out a sigh of apathetic verdict before turning to address the other cops. “Evacuate the area before starting the investigation.”
Another dead body isn’t what shocks her. She’s seen countless dead bodies throughout the course of her decade-long career. What shocks her is that some of these vampires think they can get away with it, as if there’s some sort of thrill in disobeying the law.
What’s even more shocking is how their victims will defend them.
They are so addicted to the bite that the real risk of ending up in a morgue drawer doesn’t even scare them anymore—playing with death at its finest.
“There’s no need to make a fuss,” Officer Nox says as he handcuffs the man that was nearly Kyla’s next victim. “You’ll get off with a fine.”
“Please, just listen to me,” the man pleads, his eyes darting to Kyla in the back of the police car. By the looks of it, he’s somewhere in his early twenties. Old enough to be hanging with the crowd around this district, young and impressionable enough to treat danger like a dare. “It wasn’t her! She was with me the whole time.”
That’s what they’d all say, and Officer Nox knows it. Even if what he’s saying is true, Kyla still brought an innocent human dangerously close to dying. Feeding from the vein, even for a mere taste, is enough to tip them toward death itself.
All it takes is a pinch of greed.
Officer Nox rolls his eyes and pushes him into the car. “Believe it or not, this is for your own good. You were about to be next.”
Helene pinches the bridge of her nose. Junkies are a nuisance, but it’s her duty to protect them. To protect the human race.
“Chief?”
Helene’s radio crackles to life, the harsh static cutting through her thoughts.
The voice on the other end is frantic. “Chief! Do you copy?”
Dispatch never sounds this panicked.
She grabs the radio in hand, a cold dread settling in her gut. “I copy. What’s going on?”
“The perimeter sensors at the eastern gate have been compromised. I’m only getting this to you now because the security team was found unconscious. All of them. I-I think some are dead.”
“What?” Helene stiffens. “How many breaches?”
“Multiple signatures. At least three, maybe more.” The dispatcher briefly pauses to catch his breath. “They weren’t Pennians, Chief. They were wild ones. We’re under attack.”
