The chase For Blood

"We're getting impatient, brother," a woman's voice purred, its silky undertone laced with menace.

A man with unnaturally reddish eyes glanced at her, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his sharp features.

"The girl," she pressed, her voice sharpening. "We need her. They're growing restless, and you know what happens when they do."

"Are you sure," he replied, his tone low and measured, "that it's not you who's growing restless and impatient?"

A sweet, sinister laugh spilled from her lips, filling the dimly lit room like a haunting melody. She tilted her head, the firelight catching on the sleek waves of her black hair as she dragged her long, black-nailed fingers through it. "Perhaps," she admitted, a smirk playing on her crimson lips. "But I don't understand it. You've had five full years to find her. You did. And yet, here we are—still waiting. Why?"

The man's gaze shifted back to the flames, his red eyes glowing brighter, reflecting the fire's intensity. "I have my reasons."

Her laughter returned, but this time it was sharp, mocking. She leaned closer, her piercing red eyes narrowing like daggers aimed at his calm demeanor. "If I were in your shoes, brother," she said, her voice dripping with scorn, "I would have brought the girl to them long ago. She's just one fragile human—how hard can it possibly be?"

He didn't flinch, his expression impassive. "Sister," he began, his voice a cold, quiet warning, "we may be stronger than humans, but we are not invulnerable. A bullet to the chest would still do the job." His gaze remained fixed on the flames, as if the fire held answers only he could see. "I do not fail," he added, his voice hardening. "And I won't start now."

She hissed, her lips curling in frustration, but she said nothing. The fire crackled between them, the tension thick and heavy. Whatever plan the man had,it sure must be good

________

Evelyn woke up with a groan, her head pounding as if punishing her for skipping dinner the night before. She pressed her hands to her temples, wincing at the dull ache. "Ahh," she muttered under her breath.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement and turned her head, startled to see Eric leaning casually against the doorway.

"This place is a mess," he said, his lips curling into a smirk. "You should really clean up more."

"Good morning to you, too," she shot back, her tone dry. "What are you doing here? I lock my door. Did you break in?"

"Didn't break in," he said smoothly. "I used the front door."

"How?" Evelyn demanded, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I'm a detective," he replied smugly. "I have my ways."

She glared at him, unimpressed.

"Alright, alright," he admitted, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I asked for a spare key at the reception. I can't believe you didn't tell them we're divorced."

Evelyn groaned and flopped back onto her bed, covering her face with her hands. "I have my reasons. Now get out."

"Not so fast," Eric said, his tone turning serious. "We need to head to the station to officially open your case, remember?"

Evelyn sighed, keeping her eyes closed. "Why is it always you?" she muttered, her voice muffled.

Eric chuckled, the sound infuriatingly nonchalant. "I don't know," he said with a grin. "Maybe it's fate."

"Or maybe it's my punishment," she retorted, finally sitting up and shooting him a pointed glare.