The grand carriage rolled to a stop before an imposing stone building, its polished surface gleaming under the pale light of the late morning sun. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and old parchment, a quiet contrast to the man who resided within. The horses, restless, stamped their hooves against the cobblestone drive, their harnesses jingling softly as the coachman climbed down. With a practiced hand, he straightened his coat and reached for the gilded handle of the carriage door.
The door swung open with a quiet creak, and from within emerged a man who seemed untouched by time itself.
A century old vampire stepped down, his movements fluid, deliberate—each motion measured as though the world itself bent to accommodate him. The sunlight caught the sharp lines of his high cheekbones and the delicate contours of his lips, lending a deceptive warmth to a face that had long forgotten the touch of life. His skin, smooth and impossibly pale, bore the luster of fine porcelain, unblemished despite the centuries he carried upon his shoulders.
He was dressed in the finest attire befitting a noble of his stature, a tailored waistcoat of deep charcoal, fastened with silver buttons, and an elegant long coat that trailed behind him like a whisper of shadow. A subtle, yet undeniable air of authority surrounded him—one that commanded obedience without the need for words. His hair, dark as ink, was swept back in effortless perfection, not a strand out of place. But it was his eyes that held the true weight of his presence. They were the color of aged gold, deep and unreadable, reflecting the world with an eerie clarity that unsettled even the most steadfast of men.
Without hurry, he ascended the stone steps to the entrance. pushed open an oak door, revealing the interior of his office. The polished desk stood at the center, its surface scattered with documents and quills, the scent of old ink lingering in the air. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, illuminating the dust motes that swirled in the stillness. Yet, despite the golden light, the vampire's presence seemed to dim the room, as if even the sun understood that it did not hold dominion over him.
He crossed the threshold with quiet confidence, his boots tapping against the marble floor.
Lord Rhaegal Blackthorn sat with effortless poise on a perfectly polished leather chair, his presence radiating authority and discipline. Without hesitation, he pulled a pile of documents toward him and began working, his golden eyes scanning each page with quiet intensity.
Minutes passed in silence until a soft knock echoed from the heavy wooden door. It creaked open, and a man stepped inside, his tailored coat a clear indication of his high status. With a casual air, he strode across the room, hands in his pockets, before sinking into the couch with nonchalance.
Lord Rhaegal, however, remained unmoved, his focus unwavering as he continued reviewing the documents before him. He did not bother to look up, nor did he acknowledge the presence of his visitor.
"Ignoring me as usual, I see," Lord Reinhard drawled, clicking his tongue.
"When have I ever been concerned with you?" Rhaegal replied flatly, his gaze still fixed on the parchment in front of him.
A low chuckle rumbled from Reinhard's throat. "Just making sure you're still the same Lord Rhaegal Blackthorn—the King's loyal hound."
At that, Rhaegal finally lifted his head. His golden eyes burned like embers in the dim light of the office. "What brings you to the Bureau of Investigation?"
Reinhard's playful demeanor shifted, his expression sharpening into something more serious. "I'm here on behalf of His Majesty."
Rhaegal gave a silent nod, prompting Reinhard to continue.
"There's been a string of unusual deaths in Bay Haven County. High-ranking vampires are being targeted. My team has investigated, but we have yet to uncover the cause of death."
"I see."
Reinhard stood, his coat rustling as he approached the desk. Reaching into an inner pocket, he pulled out a sealed envelope and placed it before Rhaegal. "Everything we've gathered on the case is in there."
Rhaegal took the envelope, running his fingers over the seal before breaking it open. He skimmed through the contents, his expression unreadable. "Leave it to me. I'll take it from here."
Reinhard smirked. "Then I'll take my leave." With a slight bow, he turned and strode out of the office.
Left alone, Rhaegal continued reading. The case was perplexing—each victim had succumbed in the same eerie manner. They had first fallen into a trance-like state, only to die days later, bleeding from the ears and nose. No signs of struggle. No identifiable cause. Yet, a quiet suspicion coiled in Rhaegal's mind.
Setting the documents aside, he stood with measured grace and exited his office. Just a few steps away, he pushed open another door, revealing a large chamber where several men in black coats worked diligently at their desks.
The moment he entered, every man rose, bowing in unison.
"Mac Hayles," Rhaegal called.
A young vampire with deep black eyes hurried forward, bowing respectfully. His clothing, though not luxurious, was neatly pressed—a standard for anyone working under Lord Rhaegal Blackthorn, the Bureau's deputy.
"Yes, my lord," Hayles answered.
"Assemble the team. We have work to do outside the office."
"At once, my lord." Hayles bowed again before swiftly moving to carry out the order.
Rhaegal turned on his heel and strode back into his office, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor. He picked up the envelope Reinhard had delivered, tucking it inside his coat before making his way toward the exit.
By the time he stepped outside, three sleek black carriages were already lined up before the Bureau's entrance. Hayles approached, his expression composed but alert.
"Everyone is ready. Where are we headed, my lord?"
"To Bay Haven County. Someone is hunting high-ranking vampires, and His Majesty wants it stopped."
Hayles frowned. "Do we have a cause of death?"
Rhaegal's gaze flickered. "It's a tricky one. We'll examine the bodies first before drawing conclusions."
Hayles nodded, accustomed to his lord's calculated approach. Though he had worked under Rhaegal for decades, he had never been able to fully decipher the man. Rhaegal was a leader who treated his subordinates with fairness, but he never allowed anyone close. There was always a cold, impenetrable wall between him and the rest of the world.
"Tell the others—we leave immediately," Rhaegal commanded, handing the sealed envelope to Hayles before stepping toward the waiting carriages.
The coachman swiftly jumped down, a small wooden stool in hand. With practiced ease, he placed it beside the carriage, bowing slightly as Lord Rhaegal stepped out with effortless grace.
"Head to Bay Haven County," Rhaegal commanded, his voice calm yet carrying undeniable authority.
"Yes, my lord."
Eugene, the coachman—a vampire who had served Rhaegal since his appointment as deputy—climbed back onto the driver's seat. Taking hold of the reins, he gave a flick of his wrist, and the horses stirred forward. The black carriages ahead rolled smoothly along the cobblestone road, leading the way through the winding path toward the county.
The journey was quiet and uneventful, the rhythmic clatter of hooves filling the air. An hour later, they arrived at Bay Haven County.
Bay Haven was a city of wealth and power, a place where the elite of both vampires and werewolves resided. Towering buildings of exquisite design lined the streets, their facades gleaming under the sun. Neatly trimmed hedges adorned grand estates, and the scent of fresh flowers drifted through the air. Well-dressed men and women strolled along the paved walkways, their attire finely tailored, their laughter light and refined. Carriages of different designs rolled by, each more extravagant than the last.
Yet, despite the county's grandeur, Lord Rhaegal's carriage did not stop to admire the scenery. Instead, it pressed forward, descending into the quieter, more somber part of town—the morgue.
The moment the carriages halted, Rhaegal stepped out with practiced elegance. The rest of his men followed suit, their movements disciplined. Hayles was the first to his side, while the remaining five fanned out around the building, standing guard.
The morgue's interior was cold and sterile, the scent of preservation chemicals lingering in the air. Behind the front desk sat a man who quickly straightened at the sight of Lord Rhaegal. His eyes widened, and he hurriedly rose to his feet, bowing deeply.
"You are most welcome, my lord," he greeted with deference.
Rhaegal regarded him with a glance but said nothing.
"We have been expecting you," the mortician continued, his voice laced with nervous energy. He was a werewolf—of low birth, judging by his simple attire and lack of noble markings.
"Take us to the bodies that were brought in recently," Hayles ordered, his tone clipped and professional.
"Of course, this way," the mortician replied, leading them through a dimly lit corridor until they reached the storage room.
He gestured toward five bodies laid out on separate slabs, each covered in a thin sheet. "These are the victims," he explained. "All five were brought in within the last two days. We have yet to determine a cause of death. It's… strange. Almost as if they passed naturally."
Rhaegal said nothing, his golden gaze shifting toward the lifeless forms.
Hayles, without hesitation, stepped forward and pulled back the sheet covering the first victim—a male vampire. He meticulously examined the hands and nails for signs of struggle, then moved to the neck, searching for any indication of strangulation. Nothing. No bruises, no wounds, no visible signs of harm. He proceeded to inspect the other four bodies, each examination yielding the same baffling result.
They looked untouched. Peaceful, even. But these were vampires, creatures whose lifespans stretched for centuries. Natural death was a rarity among their kind.
Confused, Hayles turned to Rhaegal. "My lord, I can't find anything wrong with them."
Rhaegal finally moved, stepping forward with the quiet precision of a predator. His face remained unreadable. "I'm not surprised," he murmured.
Hayles frowned, perplexed. "What do you mean?"
Rhaegal's gaze flickered toward the bodies. "Look closely at their stomachs."
Hayles did as instructed, scanning the abdomen of each victim. It wasn't immediately obvious, but after a moment, he noticed it—a faint swelling, subtle but present. His eyes widened in realization.
"My lord… they were poisoned?"
Rhaegal nodded once. "That's right."
The mortician's brows furrowed in disbelief. "But… how? Vampires are immune to poison."
Rhaegal turned to him, his expression as sharp as a blade. "Ordinary poisons, yes. But if my suspicions are correct, this is no ordinary toxin." His voice darkened, carrying an ominous edge. "And if we don't find the source by the end of today, more will die."
Hayles straightened, sensing the urgency in his master's tone. "What are your orders, my lord?"
Rhaegal turned on his heel, already heading for the exit. "You're coming with me."
Hayles didn't hesitate. "Yes, my lord."
With that, they strode out of the morgue, leaving the bodies behind.