CLAIMED BY THE ANCIENT VAMPYRE

Silence is the virtue of saints. I have never claimed to be a saint.-Eloise Eloise POV The Updrift was one of the worst parts of Macadamia and this building was a run down slab even by its standards. I entered the room my nose wrinkling at the smell of decay. "s**t that's strong, how are you hanging," I called out, finding Dave in seconds. He stood in front of the dead, his nose wrinkled as well. Werewolves had the best of senses. "I'm trying not to puke over evidence," he grimaced, and I huffed. At 6"2, I stood over a foot and a half over Dave, but what he lacked in height he made up for in bulk of muscle that seemed to go on forever. Dave was handsome if you were into the pale hair blue eyes kind of thing — I wasn't into it. Not with him. "What have we got," I asked, bending to survey the body. "Male, dead about forty-eight hours by the smell," he muttered, and I grinned — accurate werewolf nostrils. "I can't tell without autopsy to confirm it but he seems to have been — drained," Dave answered hesitantly. "Drained huh," I murmured and opened my senses a little bit. As a level 2 psyche I was a bit stronger than most. I opened myself to the things around me, breathing deeply so the memories didn't overwhelm me. The victim had come in here to seek shelter from the rain. He'd leaned against the wall, lit a cigarette, smoked it down slowly — twenty minutes of ordinary life. Then he froze. Straightened. Called out to something only he could hear. Then the memories disintegrated before my eyes. I opened my eyes. "You see anything," Dave asked curiously. "Not who did it. Whatever it was, was fast as a blur." I turned his head to the side and sighed. "Did you see that," I asked, and he frowned. "What the f**k is that." "I don't know, but whatever it is this can't be good news," I answered, rising. "When is the team coming." "In thirty minutes." "Well then we get to test your theory." "Did you smell cigarettes, drugs," I asked, and he nodded. "Cigarettes yeah. No drugs though, could have had a little alcohol." "We'll have to wait for the forensic, wherever the hell they are," I grouched. We strode out of the building, fresh air filling our nostrils immediately — and ran directly into the last person I wanted to see outside a crime scene. "Agent Baker." I turned at the call of my name and grimaced when I caught sight of the owner of the voice. As an agent of the underground branch of the Global Bureau of Investigation I should be used to seeing the director in places he shouldn't be, but it never failed to exasperate me. "Director Hiran," I nodded. His face twisted into a slight frown and I had to physically pinch myself so I wouldn't laugh. Director Hiran was a class 5 silver tag mutant and he was also a big fan of respect — which was precisely why I never gave it to him. "How is it going," he asked, and I sighed. "It's going, Director Hiran, but these are things that would be in my report," I replied. His brows raised in slight contempt. "You have a habit of being lax with your duties," he answered, and I smiled sweetly. "I thought that's why I have Dave, to be the parents I never had." "I heard my name," Dave said, sidling up to us. "Director Hiran was worried about our investigation," I drawled. Dave's brows climbed to the top of his head, then he turned. "Director, it's good to see you here." "Agent Bass, what's the development." "Forensic is taking care of it. We should know more within the hour, but our vic's been dead more than forty-eight hours and he seems to have been bled dry." The director frowned, which was a reasonable reaction — it wasn't every day one came in contact with drained victims. Mostly there were maulings or the occasional shrivelling but never a draining. "Very well, report to command. There may be archives that have information on this." Dave nodded seriously, but by now I was out of my mind with boredom. I watched the director hurry away, hands tucked in his pocket. "Why do you antagonize him so much," he asked, amused, and I shrugged. "He's a self-righteous prick." He chuffed in laughter and I smiled. "Let's get to the GBI, he might be right." He nodded, turning towards me. "Forensics seem a bit stumped, this doesn't fit the MO of any of our species," he replied. "Then let's go find answers," I offered. We took Dave's car — as a silver tag werewolf with family branches tracing all the way back to werewolf royalty, he hadn't been on a wait-list very long. "Get in," he offered, and I growled. He laughed. "Come on, you still can't be mad," he queried, and I shrugged. "I can be mad all I want. I got a bike only because the waiting time for a car was so god-damned long." "That's discrimination, and societal class division at its finest," I grumbled as we entered the car. Dave laughed — he was used to my tirades but he got it. "You're a silver tag mutant, you got the bike cause you fell in love with it." He retorted and I mimed zipping my lips. "I will never admit to it. I will say though that I am right and societal class division sucks." Dave nodded in acquiescence. I smiled, looking down at my communicator, scrolling through the case file he was building. "You're awfully quiet there, plotting my demise," he asked, and I smiled sweetly. "Just thinking, Dave. I wouldn't have to think too hard to kill you," he laughed. I glanced up when I realized we had arrived at the GBI building. I sat straighter, pulling out my tag. "Where's yours," I asked him, and he gestured to the glove box. I pulled it out and stuck it out the window once we reached the guard. He plucked the tags from my hand and stared at it, then sneered. "You're a wolf boy." I huffed, and the guard stared at me balefully. "You're going to need to get out of the vehicle," he said, and I sneered in return. "You're gonna have to make me, jock head." He flushed an embarrassed red. "Get the f**k out of the car." "El, let's just get out," Dave said, and I huffed. "If the i***t had asked nicely I might've, but he's pissed me off." Dave sighed and reached to open the door. I shot him a glare and he raised his hands in surrender. ‘I understand you, my little red. Men like him are such a hassle.’ I froze. A quick survey showed that the voice was all in my head. ‘Of course I’m in your head. I’m in every head. The little man is afraid of the wolf but mostly he’s afraid of you — why don’t you give him a taste of what you can do.’ I wasn't dignifying that with an answer. When I told someone off it would be to their face. I straightened. "Look, you're probably new so I'm gonna say this once. Dave Bass and Eloise Baker — you can go ask around, I'm sure you'll be enlightened," I said, for lack of words. "What's going on here," a voice called, and I groaned deep in my throat. The guard turned, a grin on his lips. "They refuse to get down for a check, sir." "And since when did we do that, or were there changes I wasn't made aware of." The male had drawn closer — tall, with red hair that had a sprinkle of gray and green eyes that mirrored mine. "Hello Eloise," he murmured, and I sighed. "Hello dad."