Layla awoke in a bed of blood. A quick assessment told her it wasn’t hers.
She did have a considerable amount of scrapes and bruises, though, many of them just starting to heal. Whatever outrageous brawl she had been in last night had slowed her healing process. Of greater concern was the memory loss; she had no idea what caused the injuries. Layla couldn’t even remember crawling into her bed the previous night.
Such amnesia was common among new reapers that were still learning to control their voracious cravings for blood. Bloodlust settled over them like a blindfold that blocked out most of their memories, so that they couldn’t recall what they had done upon waking up, high on the sensation of fresh feedings. Valeriya called them blood furies. They were what got most young reapers in trouble with authorities. A blood fury could be a death sentence, not just for those who crossed a ravenous reaper’s path but for the reapers themselves, if they were caught. Layla’s first blood fury had led her to Elise Saint. Then, there had been an insatiable desire for Elise’s blood and a craving for the fear in her eyes as she had hunted her in the middle of the night. But now it was like last night had never happened. Her brain skipped right from picking up the box at the port to the present moment, where she sat, confused, in her bed.
The fog blocking her brain was so thick that at first, Layla didn’t notice Valeriya lurking by her door. But when she did, she straightened up, alarmed. “Valeri—”
“Do. Not. Speak,” her mentor hissed. Ice seemed to settle over the room. “You have one minute to explain why you attacked Saints—”
Layla scoffed. “I did no such thing—”
“Do not lie to me. I’m trying to protect you.”
At this, fury heated Layla’s blood. She stepped out of her bed and onto shaky legs. “I can protect myself.”
Valeriya’s glare deepened. She backed away from Layla and pushed the door open. To Layla’s sour surprise, the Saint patriarch walked into her room. It had been ages since Layla had seen Tobias Saint, but the calculating aura in his dark eyes remained. Even years later, she was still on the receiving end of his accusations.
Police and Saint guards filed into the room after him, making a semicircle that enclosed Layla against her bed. “We have reason to believe you were present during the murder of Saint associates, Colm and Thalia, as well as one young man,” Tobias Saint said coolly.
Confusion creased Layla’s brows. She steadied her quickly rising panic with measured breaths and she clenched her jaw. “Why would you believe that?” Layla knew the sight was beyond damning. Soaked in blood, she looked like a rogue reaper.
“You have a history with the Saints. Mr. Saint has informed us that recently you were on their property, threatening the daughters,” one policeman said.
Buzzing anxiety gripped her heart, squeezing her so tightly, her breath caught. “And?”
The officer continued, “We request your presence at the station for questioning. You risk losing this hotel. Every agreement we established with your clan will be dropped should we find any of you involved in this murder.”
Layla hated that she looked at Valeriya for guidance. Her mentor shifted a quick glance toward the officer awaiting Layla’s response. With a heavy sigh, Layla relaxed her shoulders. “Fine.”
The police station was full despite it being early morning. Layla was set up in an interrogation room with a dimly lit window on one side. No doubt there were people behind that window, watching and listening to her every move. She wrung her hands together, legs bouncing beneath the table. It made her uneasy, knowing she was unable to see the ones picking her apart.
“Layla Quinn. Where were you last night?” the investigator sitting in front of her asked.
Layla dug her fingers into her thighs. Steel chains burned into her wrists and blood seeped down her arms. A Saint steel, manufactured by the empire to keep reapers under control. Layla wondered what life would be like for reapers had the steel never been made. Police officers would have less power in the streets while reapers wreaked more havoc, no steel cuffs to burn their flesh and steel bullets to stop their hearts. It was the perfect material to bring the empire and the police force together.
Layla’s throat went dry as she collected the pieces of her fragmented memory. “I went to the port to pick up a package for someone.”
“For whom?”
She fell silent. Turning Jamie in to the authorities would only lose her another ally. The investigator noticed her hesitation and with a slight lift of his eyebrow, he scribbled a few words onto his notepad. Layla let out a frustrated breath. “His name is Jamie,” she said quickly.
“Jamie…last name?” the officer asked.
“Irrelevant,” Layla snapped.
“Jamie Irrelevant.” The officer laughed dryly, his bushy mustache shaking on his upper lip. “This can go quickly if you cooperate, Layla. Listen: Pick up the package at the port at 10 p.m. Ask for Visily. Say you’re there for Vex. Does that sound familiar?”
Layla swallowed, but remained silent.
The officer cleared his throat. “We found a handwritten note with your name on it at the scene of the crime, so we know you were there. What were you picking up at the port?”
Layla worked her lips between her teeth before blowing out a quick answer. “I can’t be positive. I never opened the crate.”
Doubt crossed the officer’s features. “Where is this crate?”
“With Jamie,” Layla said. She shot a nervous glance at the window, then back at the officer, who was still writing things down. “I don’t know what you want from me. I did not murder anyone, and I don’t know what happened.”
“Hmm…” The officer tapped his pen against his chin, thinking. “Now that is a bold claim. Especially for someone with so much evidence putting you at the scene of the crime.”
Layla’s blood ran cold. The officer leaned forward, and her stomach turned at the intensity in his eyes. “You won’t escape this.”
The door to the interrogation room swung open, and in stepped Tobias Saint. He wore a smug expression on his face that Layla was dismayed she remembered so clearly from her own childhood. Part of her questioned her own parents’ judgment; what had they seen in this man that made them want to build their lives alongside him? Years later, past their death, past the rift that tore them away from her and the Saints, Layla still wondered.
Tobias Saint stood above her with his hands in his pockets. Layla wanted to smack the satisfied smirk off his face. “Moments like these make me regret the clan agreement. I ought to scrap all the developing human-reaper agreements so I can exterminate every last one of you without need for probable cause. It’s clear your kind are not fit to live alongside humans.” Mr. Saint removed one hand from his pocket, and in it sat a ring. Layla’s heart lurched at the sight. “Please explain to me why my daughter’s ring went missing after you paid our house a visit, and it was found at the scene of the crime. Now two of my people and a boy, an innocent human, are dead,” Mr. Saint said, his voice unsettlingly calm.
Ice funneled through her veins and her breath grew shallow as she watched Mr. Saint. Even her hands, burning beneath the steel cuffs, trembled against the cold metal of the table.
“Theo wasn’t human. He was a reaper,” Layla said.
Mr. Saint shared an annoyed look with the investigator. “Really?” He nodded toward the officers standing guard at the back of the room. They approached and spread several photos across the table in front of Layla.
The pictures displayed Theo’s body, laid out on an examining table, a white sheet thrown over his chest and legs. Some photos were so graphic, Layla almost felt guilty peering so closely at the dead boy.
Until she saw a bullet hole in his back and a memory from last night came rushing back.
She shifted uncomfortably while Mr. Saint stared down at her. “He has a full set of human teeth, no tainted blood, no fangs, no corroded heart. There was even a fang found in Thalia’s throat, yet Theo has no gap in his teeth. This young man was as human as everyone in this room.” Tobias Saint’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Except for you, of course.”
“Someone shot him. I did not kill him,” Layla whispered. “I have never killed for sport; I am not a rogue reaper. If I had fed, he would be drained of blood, and I would have blood poisoning.”
“The autopsy will have to corroborate that,” Mr. Saint said.
Her teeth dug into her lower lip and she clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking. Defending herself felt impossible when there was so much evidence stacked against her. The longer she remained in that interrogation, the murkier her own thoughts became. She had seen Theo, cowering in that abandoned house, newly turned. But this boy in the pictures was not a reaper. He was human again. He had been cured.