Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Vero frowned. “Lyrica was looking into that yesterday. We may need to widen the search.”
“I’m already running it through the new computers,” Fizzlewick said, nodding toward the new, recently set-up, glowing monitors. “The newest upgrades are impressive.”
“Good,” Vero said. But his thoughts were already spinning ahead, back to Lyrica—and the dangers she didn’t yet understand. “Have you found anything else?” He leaned against the desk, his arms crossed as he studied the ancient doctor.
Dr. Fizzlewick rubbed his temples. “Yes. I found gasoline traces on the last victim, but that could’ve come from anything. Even just riding in a UTV. Also, the attacker had to have immense or immortal strength to carve those symbols into the victims’ flesh to that depth, but those females were just human—fragile, breakable, killable.” He sat back in his chair, looking every bit his three thousand–plus years. “I just don’t understand, Vero. None of this makes sense to me.”
“Me either,” Vero said, exhaling heavily. “We’ll give them a proper burial if necessary, but first, we’ll find out who they were. It’s the least we can do. They were killed in our territory on purpose, to make Paxton look weak—and because someone out there is a sick bastard.” His jaw tightened. “I can’t wait to get my hands on the killer.” The Convexus was the next night, and he wasn’t ready. Couldn’t even make sure the territory was safe enough for Paxton to return.
Fizzlewick lifted his empty mug and scowled. “Out of coffee again.” He placed it down with a loud clink. “Any leads on who might’ve done this?”
Vero shook his head. “Not yet. Jonathan found and went through the belongings of the three attackers we killed—those wearing the mark. He’s confirmed there are six of them in total here in our territory. That leaves three still here and who knows how many on the outside.”
“Do you know anything about the dead three?” Fizzlewick asked, leaning forward.
“Not yet, and there’s nobody to really ask.” Vero frowned.
Fizzlewick nodded, his expression grim. “I’ll ask around. Sometimes people will talk to a doctor when they won’t talk to anyone else. But it’s clear this group was secretive. Whoever the remaining three are, they’ve probably gone underground.”
“Except they keep killing human females,” Vero said, frustration heating his throat. “We can’t even figure out where the females came from.”
Fizzlewick steepled his fingers. “That trace of gasoline on the last victim could be from riding a snowmobile for days, but nobody’s been absent that long from our ranks—not that we’ve found, anyway.”
“Unless,” Vero mused, “they have an accomplice bringing the females here.”
Fizzlewick removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “Which means the killer might not even be part of the Kurjan nation.”
“No. Strangers here? We’d sense them. Smell them. Patrols would see and sense signs of vehicles bringing them in, which means somebody on the inside is working with them to mask their arrival. How are we supposed to track someone like that?” Vero muttered, anger flaring hot inside him.
Fizzlewick raised a hand. “Take a breath, Vero. You’re one of the best hunters we have. I’ve heard of your successes and exploits. You’ll find these males.”
“Thanks,” Vero said tightly, though the weight on his chest didn’t lessen.
“Have you looked through the new medical records that arrived yesterday?” Fizzlewick asked, motioning to a pile of manila folders.
“Not yet,” Vero admitted.
Fizzlewick grabbed the top folder and flipped it open. “I was up all night going through the medical files. There’s nothing in here about impregnating demons with Kurjan DNA or anything close to it.”
Vero’s chin dipped as frustration bubbled beneath his calm exterior. “I wish that surprised me, but it doesn’t. If my uncles wanted to keep something secret, they’d have done it right. There’d be no paper trail.”
The door to the medical facility swung open abruptly, and two soldiers stumbled inside. Romer and Dalax, both young and strong, looked as though they’d been through hell. Their faces were more pale than usual, bruises marring their skin, and they hunched over as if they’d taken bullets to the gut.
“What is wrong with you two?” Vero stepped toward them.
Dalax, who was tall even by Kurjan standards, dropped to one knee before collapsing entirely. “Something’s wrong,” he slurred, his words thick. “I feel…off.”
“What do you mean?” Vero crouched beside him, gripping his shoulder. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Dalax muttered, his head lolling to the side. “It hit me out of nowhere.”
Romer swayed before crumpling to the floor.
Vero lunged, catching him before his face hit the concrete. “Fizzlewick, help me out here.”
Fizzlewick was already moving, his sharp gaze assessing the situation. “Lay him flat,” he ordered. “Dalax, have you ingested anything unusual? Anything new or rotten or that could’ve been drugged?”
“No…nothing…” Dalax mumbled, his head rolling again.
Before Fizzlewick could respond, another knock came at the door. Silas stumbled in, looking as pale and sickly as the other two. “Damn it, Vero. I’m sick.”