Serpent of Desire

08

I adjust the glass jars on the shelf, turning each one so the labels face outward before lifting the feather duster. With a dramatic flourish, I swoop the dust away—right into my face. I cough, sputtering because I still haven't learned my lesson with these damn dusters.

With a wave of my hand, I step back, admiring the spotless shelf. Not that it matters. My shop's been glaringly empty for days. Ever since word got out about the murders, no one's come in. Not even for my potions.

The boredom has been soul-crushing, and to top it off, I haven't heard a peep from Hawke. No updates, no leads—nothing. My life has become about as exciting as the dust I'm clearing off these jars.

The shrill ring of my phone breaks the silence, pulling me from my thoughts. I pick it up, answering with a sigh. "Hello?"

"There's been another killing. Westminster Avenue Apartments, room 162." The voice is quick, blunt, and doesn't bother with any further details before hanging up.

I glare at the phone like it's the one responsible for my foul mood. Family problems.

With a huff, I toss the duster aside and grab my keys. I'm already dreading how Hawke will tear me a new one for being late, but at this point, I don't give a damn.

When I get to the apartment, Hawke's nowhere in sight. Of course. The only company I have are the two bodies. Very dead ones.

I move closer, stomach twisting as I take in the state of them. Slashed from neck to hips, their stomachs practically boiling around the gaping wounds. The flesh bubbles, as if it was scorched by something not quite fire, but something equally grotesque.

It's not just unpleasant—it's a brutal way to die.

I crouch beside the bodies, my mind calculating. I try to figure out where they were standing, how the attack came at them, but I can't even tell what gender they were. They're just... gone.

Still, it gives me something to do, something to focus on. At least I can pretend I'm being useful.

The door slams open, making me jump, and in strides Hawke, his eyes locked on me with that ever-present anger.

"Where the hell have you been the last few days?" he demands, skipping any pleasantries.

I roll my eyes. "Here and there." Lies. I've barely left my shop, but he doesn't need to know that. "What about you?"

"I've been tracking the creature while you've been off gallivanting with a dick or two."

His words hit me like a slap, and my jaw clenches. Don't say something you'll regret, Ilaria.

Too late. "Well, I guess you're not that good of a tracker, since two of your comrades are lying at my feet, and I got here before you did."

His gaze darkens, and I know I've hit a nerve. He steps closer, crowding me, trying to use his size to intimidate. His presence alone would send anyone else running, but I've never been one to back down.

"If I find out you had anything to do with this—" he starts.

"I didn't," I cut him off, teeth clenched. "What the hell would I gain from killing enforcers?"

"To gain access to the underworld," he spits out like it's obvious.

I laugh, a cold, bitter sound. "The underworld? Why the fuck would I want to go back there?"

"Everyone knows you've been outcast, always looking but never entering. That's your punishment."

I smirk, but there's no humor behind it. "Sure, that's the punishment. But what good would it do to get back there? I don't want to go back. And in case you forgot, I can't. So even if I wanted to, I couldn't kill them." I turn my back to him, tossing out my final words. "What I'm curious about is how two of your partners were in the underworld when they were slaughtered. Where the hell were you?"

I hear him shift behind me, probably opening his mouth to spew more accusations, but I don't let him.

"And you say you've been tracking this thing. So where exactly did you end up while your friends were being gutted?" I throw my hands up, the frustration boiling over. "Because it sure as hell wasn't here saving them."

His face hardens, but he doesn't say anything. Just glares at me, his anger tangible, almost like a physical force pressing against me.

Before he can respond, the air shifts, rippling with power. I don't have to turn around to know who it is. My brother and his right-hand man.

"Great," I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes as they materialize in the room. Just what I needed—family drama on top of everything else.

"What have you learned?" my brother demands, voice cold as always.

"Nothing," I reply, the bitterness creeping into my tone. I turn my back on them, not interested in whatever lecture he's about to deliver.

Hawke, though, flashes my brother that look of false respect he always reserves for people with more power than him. "Not much, sir," he says, glancing around the death-stained room. "But it's continued killing."

"I can see that. Clean it up." My brother barely spares us a second glance before siphoning out as quickly as he arrived.

"Such a lovely person," I mutter, half under my breath.

Hawke glares at me again, his eyes dripping with disdain. "What?" I ask, raising a brow.

He shakes his head, then turns and walks out, leaving the bodies, the blood, the mess for someone else to deal with.

Typical enforcer male. All accusations and orders, but when it comes to actually doing the work? Not a chance.