Page 2 of Hound

“A Regal Vampire Family has gone missing.”

“Huh. Definitely wasn’t expecting that,” I blurted. “Does the public know?”

“No. Besides the Vampire Ministry, Nina, you, and I know. The media hasn’t discovered it yet, but due to the tense Two-Species Treaty feud, it’s grown difficult for the Vampire Ministryto conceal it. The few vampire presses who have a crumb of information have been forced to scrap it, but word could still spread?—”

“Lace.” I didn’t like interrupting him, but when it came to politics, I could give less than a fuck. While it made the world go around, it made my brain pound. “I got the gist, no need to expand. I can hear the terror laced in your voice. Pun-intended.”

That earned me a chuckle. “Is it that bad you had to crack a joke?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged my shoulders. “What do you want me to take care of?”

“Sylvester Reynard-Mallory, a renowned artist turned newsmonger, is showcasing resistance toward the Vampire Ministry. While they’re keeping a close eye on him, he has a history of failing to comply with the Ministry’s orders.”

“When would you like me to report?”

“Tonight,” he affirmed.

“What about my post?”

“Follow as scheduled. You’ll need an alibi if things go south.”

“They never do, you know that.”

“I know, Enzo,” his voice softened, “but tonight could either break it or make it for the CEG, Vampire Ministry, and Bureau alike. We can’t risk that.”

I nodded as I rested a hand along Mom’s tombstone, dusting off the debris that covered it. “It’s local, I’m guessing?”

“He so happens to be visiting a feeding bar near your area as we speak.” Lace mentioned the coordinates in a hushed tone.

I rolled my shoulders. “You want me to follow the usual procedure?”

“Yes. And Lorenzo?”

“Yeah?”

“If his silence can’t be guaranteed, he takes his last breath tonight,” he emphasized.

Whenever Lace green lit it, electricity instantly sparked my veins and tugged at the lurking hunger.

Like now.

My jaw hardened as a growl itched against my throat.

“Understood.”

At the edge of Ottawa, where the brisk river ribboned through the Quebec border, stood a four-story gothic mansion. With a black and red exterior, pointed arches, and wood trim, the vampire parlor was the only one in this area. The rounded driveway remained empty, but after showcasing the invitation Lace was able to pull at the last minute, the space confirmed what the shifted air hummed.

Low, dark music droned inside the velvet burgundy walls, deadpan lyrics and high-pitched baselines heightening the bodies inside. Vampires plagued every inch of the feeding bar. Few roamed across the dimly lit lobby, red liquid sloshing in their goblets. I was expecting—hoping for—at least a human or two. The more outsiders there were, the less unwanted attention I got. While no one bothered glancing my way as I followed exploding laughter through the den of darkness, hypervigilance came with the job. As a lycan, it was second nature, just as concealing my scent.

Like breathing, I didn’t have to think about it. Instead, in this line of work, my movements needed to be calculated into a choreography that led my prey from point A to B without any obstacles. Tonight’s prey was simple.

Silence him. If he didn’t want to be, then a permanent solution would be enacted.

Hallways branched all around, leading to various rooms and hidden staircases, an oval-shaped bar rooted at the center of the floor. Glass liquor bottles trimmed the column and mirrored the bodies that occupied the dens.

Perfect.

Primary colors flared across the rooms, reds, yellows, and blues obscuring faces, but emphasized the glistening red-stained fangs. Intensified the strumming music that vibrated against the walls. Swelled the bland, metallic scents that bled into the rancid air.

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