Ellowyn Found: An MM Vampire Trilogy Omnibus Edition Books 1 - 3

by Kayleigh Sky

  The Ellowyn king dispatched his soldiers to maintain order and allowed the human police to investigate. His concession to the humans earned him enemies among the vampires who had not agreed to the peace in the first place.

  The killers, when caught, refused to believe they had drained anyone, though they’d done little to hide it. Rounded up and held in custody, it wasn’t until they attacked each other, and close to a thousand of them died of malnutrition, before anybody realized they had starved to death on Synelix. Only blood sated their hunger.

  To appease the riotous humans, the King agreed to the marking of drainers. Other vampires hated drainers as a symbol of Ellowyn capitulation. Humans feared them. But with blood, warm and fresh from a vein, drainers posed no danger. Donor centers opened. Drainers were a minority, but even so, Comity and the towns around it were home to more than thirty thousand drainers and a dozen donor centers. One center, Comity House, catered to the wealthy and the royal family.

  The collection of three-story buildings, all of them topped with giant antennae and satellite dishes, was something between a private hospital and the pricey hotel it had once been. The exterior was a pinkish stone, single story up front with a three-story atrium behind it and two sets of buildings on either side.

  Otto parked in front of the entrance and strode to the steps, ignoring Prosper, who waited for him in the shade of an awning. Otto pushed past the doors into a room with a long wooden counter on one wall, chairs, couches, and tables dotting a… black rug.

  Leave it to vamps to decorate the place like a fucking crypt.

  “I’ll be right with you.”

  The disembodied voice floated into the gloom. Heavy drapes in dark jewel tones covered the windows, yet the air was sweet with the scent of the flowers that decorated every flat surface. It was like a florist’s shop in the bowels of hell.

  “Booming business,” Otto muttered.

  “I think so,” Prosper answered. “Over three thousand clients and one hundred and fifty donors. Minimum number running through here’s gonna be about three hundred a day. There’s five wings attached to this main one.”

  Otto glowered at him, but Prosper stood gazing at a mosaic of the sun on the ceiling spreading from a central chandelier.

  “And you know this because?”

  “I asked. Anything come up on that license plate yet?”

  “No. I talked to a few people in the area. Not one business stays open after six p.m., and nobody admits to being there after hours.”

  “What’s your theory with the video?”

  “I don’t have one. It’s too early.”

  He’d requested a photographic enhancement of the scene, but he wasn’t holding his breath on that.

  In the next instant, Prosper dropped his gaze and dipped his chin at a vampire who appeared out of the shadows behind the counter. Now Otto noticed the open door there. The vamp’s bronze-colored dress clung to her. Her hair was loose, its blackness broken by a single white streak.

  She dipped her chin. “I am Anya Tiliths. Detectives Jones and Prosper?”

  Prosper nodded.

  “We’re here to see Prydwen Wyrthin,” said Otto.

  A smile flickered on Anya’s lips. “Of course. We were expecting you. Come with me, please.”

  She led them out of the lobby into an atrium that took Otto’s breath away. A golden glow streamed through a tinted skylight, and the space was warm and lush with plants. Here, the murmur of voices floated in the air, rustles coming from the foliage. Water babbled.

  By the time they’d followed the winding pathways to the other side of the atrium, several vampires had materialized only to slip away again, and a lone human had trotted by, slight and fair, her hair as light as the sun. Otto swiveled his head as he walked, watching until she disappeared too.

  Young.

  A lot younger than Maisie had been. Were they all young?

  Sex during a blood exchange was illegal. Age, beauty—none of that ought to matter. Maisie had been a common blood whore, but she’d also been twenty-nine when she was killed.

  Too old for a place like this?

  “Detective?”

  Otto startled out of his thoughts, unaware he’d stopped in his tracks.

  Anya gestured to an arched doorway. “Through here, please.”

  Now they circled a sapphire blue pool surrounded by palms. A naked girl swam. Two naked boys lay on their bellies on the damp cement surround.

  No sex, my ass.

  From here they crossed a game room to a staircase covered in burgundy carpet. The same burgundy carpet covered the hallway upstairs. Voices murmured in hidden places here too. Anya led them away from the voices and followed a curve in the hall that opened a few steps later onto the lobby below. Silver laced the glass in the skylight. Money all over the place. You’d hardly know vamps had lived under rocks until recently. They loved luxury so much.

  As though sensing Otto’s thoughts, Prosper grinned at him.

  “Gentlemen?” Anya gestured at an open door. “Through here, please.”

  Otto stepped in ahead of Prosper and entered the room where a handsome, short-haired vampire stood behind his desk. “Prydwen Wrythin?” Otto asked.

  The vampire dipped his chin. “Detective—?”

  “Jones.”

  “Prosper,” said Prosper, coming up beside him.

  His chin fell lower than was typical. Then Otto remembered. Wrythin was royal. From the lowest family, but still royal. Odd though he wore his hair so short. Otto wasn’t sure he’d seen hair that short on a vamp before.

  “Please,” said Wrythin. “Let’s sit by the window. It’s a lovely day.”

  The love these night crawlers had for the sun still boggled Otto’s mind, though long, full-on sun exposure usually had most vamps running for shade. In fact, not much sunlight found its way past the white awning over the window.

  They took their seats in leather club chairs, which surrounded the low coffee table. Otto faced a statue of a naked man standing on a pedestal beside the window. The glass it was made of was a stunning gold and purple color. Whether the figure was human or vampire wasn’t clear.

  “So, Mr. Wrythin,” said Prosper. “Do you know a Brillen Acalliona?”

  “Call me Wen, please, and no, not personally.” Wen smoothed his tie. “I recognize his name though. A petitioner.”

  “A petitioner?” Otto asked.

  Prydwen nodded. “A would-be client. Not local, but somebody who might want to use our services. They typically come with references.”

  “So a drainer?”

  “I presume. He had a card.”

  Otto rolled the word presume around in his head for a moment while Prosper asked, “When you say, would-be, does that mean you didn’t serve him?”

  “Correct.”

  “Do you ever have non-drainers petition you?” Otto asked.

  For an instant neither Prosper nor Wen moved. A quick glance passed between them. Wen smoothed his tie again. “No. That’s illegal.”

  Wen smiled at Otto, but Otto was aware of his attention on Prosper. His smile was brittle and didn’t make it all the way to his cold vampire eyes, but it told Otto Wen didn’t trust Prosper any more than he did Otto. He had also lied.

  “When did you see Mr. Acalliona?” Prosper asked.

  “Day before yesterday, I believe. What is this about, by the way? I’m only able to talk to you because Mr. Acalliona isn’t a client of mine.”

  “Wasn’t,” Prosper said.

  Wen frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “He’s dead,” said Otto. “Past tense.”

  “Oh, my God.” Wen placed a hand on his chest. “I had no idea.”

  Prosper flashed them both a glimpse at his incisors. At least he didn’t drop them, Otto thought.

  “Anyway,” said Prosper. “Back to the would-be. Mr. Acalliona had a valid donor card. Why wouldn’t you serve him?”

  “I offered to run his card. It only takes a couple of days, bu
t he declined. Usually people make advanced arrangements.”

  “What do you mean by running the card? A security check?”

  “Yes. I use a firm my attorney recommended. They make phone calls where they can… ask questions of associates.”

  While Prosper talked, Otto’s attention drifted back to the statue. Though made of glass, smooth and glossy, it exuded warmth and pliability, as though the color had been painted on a living body. He imagined warm skin that would melt his fingers if he reached to caress it. The face was indistinct, but its beauty shone anyway. The figure rested mid thigh on a pedestal. One arm curled behind its head, the other stretching up as if reaching for the sun hidden by the awning.

  When Otto turned away, he caught Wen’s eyes on him, hot and angry.

  Surprised, he frowned. He’d been following the conversation enough to say, “We’ll need to see the paperwork.”

  “Our files are confidential.”

  “He wasn’t a client,” Prosper said.

  Wen sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I suppose that’s true.”

  He rose and pushed a button on the intercom on his desk. “Anya, will you bring Mr. Acalliona’s application to me?”

  He turned back.

  “Run us through the process,” Otto said. “Pretend I’m a prospective client. What do we do first?”

  “You’d be here. I’d interview you.” Wen returned to his seat, glancing at the statue before meeting Otto’s gaze. “You’d have to demonstrate financial means. As I mentioned earlier, most of our clients are referrals.”

  “Okay,” said Prosper. “We’re referred. Knock, knock.”

  If possible, Wen’s eyes grew darker, and Prosper flashed him a smile, clearly enjoying the rise of Wen’s ire.

  “We have five dormitories. Each one has donors and staff and operates independently. Anya or another greeter would meet you and bring you to me,” said Wen. “You’d complete an application and review our gallery.”

  “Gallery?”

  “Our donors.”

  Otto smiled. “Oh, I like that. I get to pick whoever I want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can the donor refuse?”

  Prosper snorted at him. “This is a job. You don’t get to refuse.”

  Wen’s lips parted just as a knock came on the door and Anya entered. He extended a hand, and she brought him a file folder. When the door closed, he passed the folder to Prosper and turned back to Otto. “They can refuse. They don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Now it was Wen’s turn to smile. The tips of his fangs showed behind his incisors. “I’m told we’re charming to humans.”

  Otto forced his jaw to relax. “Okay. So I’ve seen the gallery and picked someone. Did Mr. Acalliona get to that point?”

  Wen’s expression turned sour. “He did. He chose Isaac.”

  “We’ll want to talk to Isaac,” said Prosper.

  “I never approved him.”

  “So does that mean they never met?”

  “They met. This isn’t a taco truck. I don’t expect you to understand, but feeding from another being is extremely intimate, sometimes painfully so.”

  “But there’s no sex.”

  “Absolutely none. We abide by your laws on that matter and enforce it to the letter.”

  A raspy laugh stuck halfway up Otto’s throat. He guessed the nubile creatures at the pool were just eye candy.

  “And none of your donors work it for a little side money?”

  Wen frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “Blood whores,” said Prosper, sliding Mr. Acalliona’s application into the file folder. “We’ll need a copy of this.”

  “Are any of your employees blood whores?” Otto asked.

  “They may have been at one time. I wouldn’t hold that against them. The Upheaval created hardships for your kind too.”

  Nothing in Wen’s voice told Otto he gave a good goddamn about human hardships, but flouting the law probably wasn’t good for business, and this was a profitable business by the look of things, though he doubted drainers were the only clientele. But that was a crime for a different investigation.

  Otto’s gaze skated to the statue for a moment before he let it settle on Prydwen again. “We’d like to talk to Isaac.”

  Prydwen sighed and returned to his intercom. “Anya? Is Isaac available?”

  “No, sir. Not today.”

  “Arrange something for tomorrow or the day after.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Wen turned back without taking his chair. “I assume you heard that. Is there anything else?”

  “Just the copy,” said Prosper.

  “Anya can help you. I’ll walk you down.”

  Prosper went out the door, and Otto stood. When he reached Wen, he turned back to the statue by the window. The tightening on Wen’s face was a whisper, but Otto noticed it.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “A local artist. A client’s brother.”

  The burning in Wen’s eyes drew Otto in like a lure. He pulled away from it with a grin that brought a scowl onto Wen’s face.

  “’Appreciate your cooperation,” Otto said.

  Wen nodded, and Otto followed Prosper downstairs. He was across the lobby when Anya appeared in the doorway behind the counter and motioned to Prosper.

  “A phone call. You can take it in here.”

  Otto remembered the antennae and satellite dishes on the roof. The kids here lived a quality life the outside world had yanked out from under everybody else. Even Otto had to sit on his front porch to talk on his phone. He had reception on two TV channels on a good day. He remembered the necklace Maisie had worn. Her new dress. As though she’d come into money.

  Prosper turned to him, and Otto said, “Meet you outside.”

  Clouds and a sharp, glary light met him beyond the doors. By the time he slid halfway into his car, Prosper was coming down the steps. He sat sideways, arm slung over his steering wheel, and tensed as the ground moved underneath him. Prosper paused, meeting Otto’s gaze. Slowly, Otto stood again. Prosper was already pale. It wasn’t like he had much more color to lose, but he also looked sick.

  “What?” Otto asked, trying not to shiver as his skin crawled.

  “The license plate.” Prosper cleared his throat. “GL8SS?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It belongs to Prince Rune.”

  Otto shook his head. That wasn’t the guy he’d seen. He let his eyes blur, floating back to a minute and a half that had seared itself into his brain. A guy in a knit cap. Otto had never gotten close enough to see him, but he’d been light on his feet, limber and fast. Why would he be driving a vampire’s car?

  “I guess we talk to your prince,” Otto said.

  Prosper made a face. “What for? It’s a dead end.”

  Otto’s head snapped back up and his eyes narrowed. “Nobody’s above the law.”

  Prosper’s flat expression told Otto otherwise, but damned if he’d let anybody get away with murder, even the murder of a lowlife drainer.

  He slid back behind the wheel and gazed over his shoulder at Prosper before he started his engine.

  “We talk to him.”

  9

  A Phone Call

  After making sure the cops had set off for their cars, Wen rushed through the central atrium to the gardens behind the building. His tension eased when the area was vacant. He strolled into the sun, wincing at the light but wanting the warmth that sunk into him. A few early blooming roses and cherry blossoms scented the air. The draw of the curved bench by the fountain was only natural, he supposed. It was Jessa’s favorite place to sit and wait for Isaac. He thought of Jessa’s peculiar confession that he felt close to his mother here. Wen doubted Jessa remembered much of his early years beyond the chaos of crumbling rock and panic. Where those tender feelings came from Wen didn’t know, but he was willing to indulge Jessa’s romanticism to keep his ambition on course.

&nb
sp; The white stone bench was warm, the breeze across the fountain cool.

  Wen bent his head over his phone, shielding his eyes. He had a landline that usually worked, but he wanted privacy, so he punched in a number on his satellite phone and hoped Jessa wouldn’t be the one to answer, as he, strangely, liked to do. But no, it was the prince himself who picked up, which was also strange.

  What is wrong with these royals?

  Wen’s head filled with memories of home and the reverence that had flowed to every royal family, though the Seneras had always acted like commoners. Qudim and his fated love. For pity’s sake. Not that Wen wanted to return to Celestine, despite his attachment to the old ways. Here he had a chance to rise, and he intended to.

  But Rune’s voice, though it said nothing out of the ordinary, sent a chill through him anyway.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Wen, sir.”

  “What do you want?”

  “A client that came to me yesterday was killed. Murdered. I just talked to the detectives assigned to investigate it.”

  Rune was the high prince. Wen knew the chiefs of police in the district reported to him, but Rune, of course, shared nothing with Wen, so what news Rune bothered to keep up on, Wen had no idea.

  “Why do I need to hear this from you?”

  He cringed at the impatience in Rune’s voice, and his chin dipped automatically. “He was a drainer. My client.”

  “And?”

  “I’m worried about Jessa.”

  Silence followed. No clouds covered the sun, but the air suddenly chilled.

  “Why would this concern Jessamine?”

  In some strange way, Rune’s use of Jessa’s full name put Wen in his place, as though only family had the privilege of using Jessa’s nickname.

  “What if it concerns him?” Wen asked, laying weight on the what.

  “How could it?”

  “He’s a prince.”

  “This is not news, Wen.”

  “I don’t like coincidences.”

  “Similarities, you mean.”

  “Who would want to kill a drainer?”

  “I can think of any number of reasons, none of them connected to your center or to Jessamine. Even Ellowyn are prejudiced. In any event, I have another job I might have to take. If so, I’ll be out of town again, but I’ll apprise Malia of this development. It’ll be up to her to keep Jessamine in line. He’s innocent, you know?”