Book 2: Who’s to Blame?

Maddox

Blood coats the floor in the entryway. I could see it before I even kicked in the door. My warriors, still in their human form, join me as I walk into the house.

The body of a young maid, legs prone, arms over her face, is positioned off to the side of the door. This blood is hers. She has bite marks and deep scratches from claws on her chest, neck, and face. I can see that from here, but when I step closer to her and roll her over, I notice that the blood is coagulated. She has been laying here for a while. I’m no medical expert, but I’m guessing it’s been a few hours.

I have seen my fair share of bodies on the battlefield from warriors who have died early in the fight, ones we gathered much later, and the blood is similar.

Her cold, empty, green eyes stare up at me. I close them for her, careful not to step in the blood as I walk away.

“Be careful,” I tell the men with me. “This is a crime scene.”

A whiff of the air tells