Page 8 of Blood Bond

"He killed them," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.

"Slaughtered them," Killian echoes grimly. "Sire?"

"We keep moving. There's nothing we can do for these now." Seth's words might be stark, but his expression reveals his true feelings—pain and anger.

Near the door to the main dance room, I see a pair of bare legs amidst a pool of blood. The body is twisted and torn, mangled beyond recognition. The woman's face is turned away, her back contorted unnaturally—a testament to brutal force. I don't need to see her face to identify her. The "C" branded on her hip says it all.

Maya.

The girl who'd escaped Crevan before me, the one who suffered so much at his hands, lies before us. I press my lips together, steadying myself and resisting the urge to rush to her. My heart hurts, both for her and for the echoes of my own past.

The silence is eerie. Through the large windows, I see dusk approaching, the sunlight turning a deep orange, signalling the day's end.

We move deeper into the bloodbath, past more bodies sprawled across the floor. Seth's expression remains stoic as he strides ahead, but there's a glint of vengeance and rage in his eyes. Each step echoes in the heavy air.

On reaching the lift, Seth halts at the sight of a man I remember seeing only a week ago. Seth kneels, touches the man's face with a gentle reverence, then slowly shakes his head in disbelief at the senseless carnage.

"He didn’t do this alone," Naneve murmurs. "It looks like he came with an army."

Seth’s jaw clenches as he surveys the devastation. "Knowing my brother, he did."

Our search through the floors is silent, introspective. We're presumably looking for survivors. Six floors up, and we've found no one. Despite the scattered bodies, the count seems less than the number of people present when this place was bustling. Maybe some escaped. Maybe many.

Emerging from the stairwell, I sense something. "Wait," I say abruptly, bringing everyone to a halt.

Naneve scowls, while Killian and Seth focus on me.

"Can’t you feel it?" I ask, extending my hand. It's palpable, as if another person stands before me.

"You’re sensing something," Killian rumbles.

My palms face forward, feeling the hair on my arms stand on end, attuned to an unseen force that doesn't seem to affect the others. It's like a vibration, a subtle but tangible energy coursing through me, unnervingly cold and unsettling.

But this strange sensation becomes inconsequential as a sudden, deafening crash resonates from one of the rooms along the hallway.

Seth reacts swiftly, Naneve hot on his heels. Killian hesitates for a brief moment, torn between confronting the unknown and his duty to protect me.

The layout resembles a hotel, rooms lined up side by side, and Seth cautiously approaches the third door along the hallway. As he pushes it open, the sound of sobbing reaches my ears.

"Tasha," Seth murmurs softly as he steps inside.

Tasha is hunched on the floor near the sofa, an overturned table beside her. The room mirrors the grotesque aftermath of what we witnessed in the main reception. A tempest of desperation has ravaged every corner, leaving behind a trail of utter chaos. Glass shards litter the floor, furniture lies in disarray, jagged claw marks scar the wooden surfaces, and the walls look battered and bruised, as if absorbing the anguish of the room's turmoil.

Tasha, the dancer from Seth's club, once full of confidence and finesse, is now a mere shadow of herself, her cocky demeanour replaced by an aura of vulnerability.

"Tasha, my darling....." Seth crouches beside her, gently tilting her chin to face him.

"I tried to help her?—"

On the other side of the room, a large thick curtain catches Killian's attention. He pulls it back slightly. "Seth…."

"I didn't know what else to do. I tried ... I thought ..."

Seth motions Naneve overcome to Tasha's aid, then joins Killian by the window. As he opens the curtains, a sudden impact against the glass results in a gruesome splatter of blood.

A grotesque, contorted face appears on the other side, its features twisted into a nightmarish visage. The woman presses her face against the window, her fangs—one of which is chipped—visible as they scrape against the glass.

The horrifying reality dawns on me. "Layla."

---