Bram held firm and stood tall, directing his focus to one of the numerous crooked trees that dotted the landscape of the forest. It was then he picked up on faint notes of hydrogen sulfide in the air.
The rational side of Bram knew what that scent more than likely meant. The side that struggled with the demon couldn’t think clearly at the moment. Not with all the death and blood around them. It had basic needs.
Ones that caused it to act with a singular focus.
The monster that lived in him pounded at its metaphysical cage, wanting to be free, wanting blood.
Release me, it pushed, the words appearing in his mind much like they were his own thoughts, but he knew better. He’d shared himself with the demon far too long to think the internal voice was anything but it.
Feed. We need to feed, it continued.
“There is bagged blood at the hotel. We will drink it when we are done here,” whispered Bram, knowing the demon could hear him with ease. The issue was, so could everyone else near him at the crime scene if he wasn’t careful. Already they tiptoed around him, as if worried he may snap. Well, most did. Some who knew him well paid little mind to his antics.
The demon hissed. Bagged blood. That will not sustain us. Free me!
“Silence, or I will seek the sun to shut you up.”
The demon knew Bram well enough to realize he spoke the truth. He felt it retreating—at least for now. After a few terse moments, he was able to once again survey the crime scene before him.
Bram had seen a good number of kills in his long life and was something of an expert on causes of death. His medical background played a part in that, but his expertise also came from his upbringing.
All signs pointed to a vampire being involved, though it hadn’t acted alone. There were additional bites on the bodies, as well as spots where flesh had been torn away. Those weren’t from a vampire, and Bram didn’t want to believe what he was seeing and smelling.
The scent of hydrogen sulfide was strong, but not so much as to mask the smell of blood. That, or the vampire side of Bram was so fixated on the crimson life-giving substance that it muted the smell of rotten eggs to a certain degree.
The smell of hydrogen sulfide was one Bram had committed to memory years ago. One associated with a man he didn’t want to think upon.
Dragos.
But that was absurd. The master vampire was locked away—unable to harm others—right? If by some miracle of chance he’d managed to gain his freedom with the aid of The Order of the Dragon and Ager, the situation had just gone from bad to worse. Not that it had very far to fall.
The spree Ager had been on had taken him through a number of countries already. Only two nights ago, Bram had found himself in London, standing in the center of multiple bodies, all lying on the street outside of the very building where he’d had a medical practice long ago. The building had been one he’d shared with a colleague and close friend—Dr. John Seward.
Seward’s area of expertise had been mental disorders, and his practice and knowledge had paired well with Bram’s. They’d been close friends in life and even closer in death. Seward, at last check, was in New York City. But it had been years since Bram had last spoken to him.
Time moved differently for them.
A falling-out had left the men on anything but speaking terms. Even so, Bram had his men keeping tabs on Seward to be sure he was well and good. The last report he’d gotten from the team that did periodic check-ins on Seward had been months ago. That wasn’t alarming, as their first purpose was to stand against evil in New York City and keep the truth of supernaturals from escaping.
Seward was as old as Bram and could hold his own. Still, if what Bram suspected was true—that The Order of the Dragon and Ager had somehow freed Dragos—no one was safe, least of all Seward. There was no telling who else among their notorious partners in crime might be working with them.
At one point, the infamous Whitechapel murderer was rumored to be part of their crew. It wouldn’t have surprised Bram. He knew The Ripper wasn’t human, but past that, he knew very little. The fact Bram could find next to no details about The Ripper beyond what the newspapers had reported, suggested The Order was involved. They were gifted at hiding facts and bending truths. Controlling the narrative was another of their specialties. Often this came in the form of the media. What humans were spoon-fed was very often anything but the truth.
With Bram’s luck, The Ripper was part of the new wave of crimes as well.
“In for a penny…” he said in a partially hushed tone.
“Bram, did you say something?” asked Jonathan Harker, a close friend and confidant, as he bent near one of the victims. Harker’s English accent was less than what it had been when they’d first met long ago, but still pronounced. Now, Harker spent the majority of his time in America, heading various offices of the Van Helsing slayers. He’d been based out of the Chicago branch for nearly five years now. Before that, it had been Seattle for over a decade. He’d even headed the Vancouver branch for some time.
As much as Bram disliked pulling Harker from his duties in Chicago, the crime spree Ager had been on was proving to be too much for Bram to handle alone. All hands were needed on deck.
Harker leaned, reaching out, and moved a blood-soaked leaf with the end of a pen. Under the leaf was a small crystal Bram had seen used in death magik ceremonies more than once.
It was then Bram noticed Harker’s wristwatch. It had a cartoon mouse on it. Harker had more than assimilated to the changes over time, growing and updating with each era, as noted by his watch and attire.
Bram, not so much. He preferred to wear dress-casual clothing. Whenever possible, he went with timeless choices, often incorporating vintage pieces because they reminded him of when he’d been alive. He also felt more like himself in them. Though he had to admit the fabrics were nicer now than they had been.
Less scratchy.
Jonathan looked as if he’d just rushed over from a university campus after a hard night of partying to lend a hand in the investigation. Though there had been a time when the former solicitor was never caught dead in public without a suit. That was another lifetime.
They’d both changed—considerably.
Bram knew Harker stayed up on all things legal and with each new re-invention of himself, he made sure his credentials listed him as a lawyer, but he didn’t actually practice anymore. It was hard to blame him. That profession had been the reason he’d ended up under the thumb of a monster. And ultimately, it had been the catalyst for Bram, Harker, Seward—and their friends Holmwood and Morris—ending up supernaturals.
“Are you in there?” asked Harker. “I asked if you said something.”
Bram shook his head.
Harker watched him with knowing eyes. “All the blood too much for you?”
“It’s proving to be a challenge,” admitted Bram. “I thought I had more control of it, of him.”
Standing without hurry, Harker nodded. “We all think that until we don’t.”
Bram inhaled deeply, still relishing the metallic scent of blood that coated the area, masking nearly all other smells.
Feed. Do it. So much blood for the taking. So, take it. Hear the wolf-shifter’s heart beating? Sink your teeth into him.
“I already warned you,” he said, this time out loud.