Nocturnal Origins: Nocturnal Lives, #1

By Amanda S. Green

Some things can never be forgotten, no matter how hard you try.

 

Detective Sergeant Mackenzie Santos knows that bitter lesson all too well. The day she died changed her life and her perception of the world forever. It doesn't matter that everyone, even her doctors, believe a miracle occurred when she awoke in the hospital morgue. Mac knows better. It hadn't been a miracle, at least not a holy one. As far as she's concerned, that's the day the dogs of Hell came for her.

 

Investigating one of the most horrendous murders in recent Dallas history, Mac also has to break in a new partner and deal with nosy reporters who follow her every move and who publish confidential details of the investigation without a qualm.

 

Complicating matters even more, Mac learns the truth about her family and herself, a truth that forces her to deal with the monster within, as well as those on the outside. But none of this matters as much as discovering the identity of the murderer before he can kill again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hunter's Moon Press
• Release date: Jun 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781949901092

Amanda S. Green

I’m older than twenty and younger than death and that’s all you’ll get from me about my age. After all, it’s not polite to ask a woman her age. I’m a mother, a daughter and was a wife. I’ve spent most of my life in the South and love to travel. The only problem with that is my dog always thinks I’ve abandoned him and it takes weeks to reassure the poor thing. Then there’s the cat who resents the fact I came back before he could figure out a way to kill the dog and hide the body. My house is haunted – it really is. I swear it. What else explains the table that plays music and the light that comes on by itself? – but it’s mine and I love it. Okay, I’m a little strange. But that makes life interesting.

Book preview

1

Some things can never be forgotten, no matter how hard you try. The memory remains, forever imprinted on your soul. It colors your perceptions and expectations. It affects everything you say and do. It doesn't matter if the memory is good or bad, full of life and love or pain and death. That memory remains until the day you die - if you're lucky.

If not, the memory haunts you for all eternity.

Detective Sergeant Mackenzie Santos knew that bitter lesson all too well. The day she died changed her life and her perception of the world forever.

It didn't matter that everyone, even her doctors, believed a miracle had occurred when she awoke in the hospital morgue. She knew better. She knew she had died.

It hadn't been a miracle. At least not a holy one. Ask the poor attendant who'd run screaming from that cold, desolate room in the hospital basement, when Mac had suddenly sat up, gasping for breath and still covered with too much blood. He'd been convinced a demon from Hell had risen to come for him.

Mac couldn't blame him. As far as she was concerned, that was the day the dogs of Hell had come for her.

Now, standing in the alley behind Gunn's, one of the most fashionable restaurants in Dallas, Mac closed her eyes and prayed. She suspected what lay ahead. She could almost smell it - not quite, but enough to know what was there. Sweat trickled down her spine and plastered her thin cotton shirt to her back. Her stomach lurched rebelliously, and she swallowed hard against the rising gorge. She had to keep control. At least for the next few hours.

Easy, Mackenzie. Just take it slow and easy.

She opened her eyes and drew a deep breath. She knew it was bad. Two uniformed officers, hands on knees, vomited into the gutter. There was no black humor, no conversation, nothing. In fact, other than the sounds of retching, the scene was eerily quiet; it felt almost like a dream. A nightmare.

She took a few more steps. The harsh, unmistakable stench assailed her nose, warning her what she'd find.

Unless the restaurant had dumped several hundred pounds of raw hamburger out to spoil in the summer heat, a dead body lay at the far end of the alley. That was bad enough. Then she felt as though she were enveloped in blood, and her stomach rolled over once again.

Oh, God.

Jaw clenched, she stepped forward. Never before had it been so hard to approach a crime scene. Not even when she'd responded to her first dead-body call a lifetime ago. She hadn't hesitated then, not like this.

But she was different now. She knew what sort of horror awaited her. She'd seen it before and it haunted her. Haunted her because it touched something in her very few suspected even existed, something she tried so desperately to hide. The beast within fought for dominance, called by the smell of blood, the sight of raw flesh.

She mustn't lose control. Not here and certainly not now. She blew out a long breath and slammed her mind shut to the horribly enticing sights and smells. Even as she did, the nightmare that had become the core of her existence clawed against her all-too-fragile self-control as it fought for release.

Focus on the job, Mac. Just focus on the job.

Finally, satisfied she wouldn't lose control - yet - she nodded once. It was time to get to work.

Hidden deep in the shadows across the street, he watched and waited. Anger and frustration seethed just below the surface, held at bay only by sheer will power. He still couldn't believe it: all his careful plans ruined. Now he was forced to lurk in the dark as he watched events unfold.

Damn them!

When he'd first scented the men approaching, he had cursed his foul luck. He wasn't finished. His prey still lived. There had been so much fight in her, so much fear. How that thrilled him. Too much time had passed since he'd been able to play with his quarry as he had with this one. She'd fought desperately. Then she'd done everything she could to escape. Finally, she'd huddled in fear and begged for her life even as he continued to play with her, much as a cat plays with a mouse just before making that last pounce followed by the kill.

But it wasn't to be. He had scented the men long before they reached the alley entrance. Their conversation warned him they were police. For one brief moment he'd actually toyed with the idea of killing them. Then memory of his last encounter with one of their kind intruded and forced him to admit the folly of the thought.

Damn them all to Hell!

He'd been forced to kill his prey before he finished with her. Worse, he hadn't been able to feed off her. Instead, he'd slunk away like a carrion eater in the face of a stronger, meaner predator. How he hated that. He was no coward, no bottom feeder. He was the predator, and yet here he stood, hiding in the shadows as they swarmed over his kill. That flew in the face of the natural order. He was stronger, more cunning. They should tremble in fear before him. Instead, he played the coward, unwilling to face their greater numbers or their guns.

But they would pay. Sooner or later they would pay for being foolish enough, unfortunate enough, to interrupt him. They'd pay the ultimate price and forfeit their lives. However, that had to wait, at least for a little while.

Still, the night might not be a total loss. The circus across the street offered a potential show he'd not hoped to see. At least not yet. An almost feral smile touched his lips and he chuckled softly. He might get lucky after all.

And all because of one woman, one tall, beautiful woman with a shock of dark hair and penetrating green eyes.

His smile widened to a grin, and his right hand fisted at his side as his heart gave an excited leap. That one woman had brought him such anticipation and then so much frustration. He could hardly wait until they met once more. It would be a meeting he planned to make their last.

Two months had passed since he first laid eyes on her. Something about her had called to him, demanding he master her. So he'd set out to stalk her, confident in his ability not only to find her but also to make her his for as long as he wanted. What a wonderful plan it had been.

Unfortunately, it hadn't worked out quite the way he'd expected. She wasn't like the others - men and women both - who'd fallen to him in the past. She'd proven to be as tough and determined as she was beautiful. When he'd thought he had her cornered and ready for the taking, she'd done the unexpected, the unforgivable. She'd fought back, leaving him wounded and forced to flee before she could summon help.

She drew his attention once more. He could hardly wait to see how she reacted to his handiwork. Maybe, just maybe, the evening wouldn't be a complete loss after all.

Sergeant, I found this behind the other dumpster.

Mac lowered her digital camera and turned to the uniformed officer standing a few feet away. Frustration flared at the interruption, only to be almost instantly replaced by a quick flash of relief. The officer carefully held a battered nylon backpack before him. Blood and other things best left unnamed stained the material. But that didn't matter. All that did was the possibility the backpack might contain information identifying their victim. If it did, Mac's job had just become a little bit easier. After all, once she had an ID on the victim, she could begin looking into friends, family, and acquaintances for a motive to kill.

Shine a light over here, she instructed the officers standing nearby.

Instantly, one of the officers turned his flashlight toward them, its beam focused on the backpack. Mac's mouth firmed into a hard line, and she bit back a curse as she recognized the blue and gold colors beneath the gore. Wasn't it bad enough they had a murder so vicious veteran cops were throwing up in the gutter? Or that the press already circled the alley like vultures? Now she faced the possibility her victim had been either a student or an instructor at one of the most exclusive private schools in Dallas.

Damn, this just keeps getting better and better.

Bag it for me. I'll have a look at it as soon as I'm done here.

Once more she turned her attention back to her crime scene. The row of dumpsters to her right disappeared into the deeper shadows of night. A streetlamp at the mouth of the alley relieved the darkness in the distance. A halogen light/motion detector combination, mounted over the door she assumed led to Gunn's kitchen, cast a harsh glare. Four cops aimed their flashlights toward the last several dumpsters.

As she slid the digital camera into her jacket pocket, Mac glanced skyward. Sunrise was still several hours away. That made this initial investigation all the more difficult, at least until Crime Scene arrived and set up their high-power portable lights.

Even so, judging from the pallor of the two uniforms posted nearest the victim, the lack of lighting might also be a blessing. The officers stood nearby, flashlights aimed at the body, their eyes fixed on some point well above the ground. Pale, swallowing almost convulsively, they clearly fought the urge to be sick. Recognizing the symptoms, Mac wished she could be anywhere but there.

Unfortunately, she couldn't, so she carefully stepped around the dumpster for her first sight of the victim.

Only to come up short. Her gasp was lost in the sounds of yet another police car pulling up with a screech of tires. Mere inches from the toes of her battered boots blood pooled, cooled. Arterial splatter formed a sick sort of mosaic on the sides of the dumpsters and the building wall a few feet away. In the center of the blood pool lay a mass of dissected flesh that might once have been human. Little was left to identify the remains as anything but flesh and bone amid too much blood. A skull, an arm, and a leg, most of a torso-but not much else. Someone - or something - had done a number on the victim even Jack the Ripper would envy.

Unfortunately, Mac had seen this sort of carnage before. It filled her nightmares and haunted her waking hours.

Every inch of this alley and the surrounding area is to be searched. I don't want anything overlooked that might help us.

Her voice sounded flat even to her own ears. But it didn't appear that the uniforms noticed. One simply nodded and reached for his radio to relay her orders. She instantly shook her head and cut her eyes toward the mouth of the alley. There was no sense in putting the call out where the media could pick it up. He nodded in understanding and moved off to speak with several of the other officers already carefully searching the scene and marking potential evidentiary finds.

Jenkins, check the backpack for some ID. Mac sat back on her heels and blew out a deep breath as she once more fought down her inner demons.

Already did, ma'am. It belongs to a Maria Elena Delgado. She teaches at Covenant Hills.

Damn it!

All right. Make sure the ghouls-- She nodded once more in the direction of the reporters gathered as close to the mouth of the alley as possible. --don't get so much as a whiff of that piece of information. I don't want the media broadcasting anything until I've had a chance to talk to the next of kin as well as someone from the school.

Understood, Sergeant.

And see if there's anything in there to explain why she was here - a date book, calendar, cell phone, anything.

With that, Mac turned away from the horror that had once been a young woman with so much life ahead of her. What had possessed Delgado to be in that alley in the middle of the night? How had she gotten there and had she been alone? Could there be another victim waiting to be found?

Talk to me, Maria. Tell me what happened. Mac spoke softly as she once more produced the digital camera and began taking photos.

A few minutes later, Mac climbed to her feet and absently dropped the digital camera back into her pocket. Experience told her Delgado had been dead less than two hours. The blood was too fresh, the state of decomposition too slight. Besides, she'd seen nothing to indicate the rats and other vermin she knew lived in the alley had been at the body. So this was a fresh kill.

But knowing that didn't help. Not really. The restaurants in the area had been closed for hours, since midnight. Because of the trendiness of the area, there wasn't a vagrant to be found. If anyone had been around at the time of the murder, they'd fled like rats leaving a sinking ship.

Just like the monster who did this.

Let the crime scene techs and then the coroner in, she told the nearest uniform as she took one last look at the victim. I want preliminary reports on my desk by 0830. Who called it in?

No one. The uniform swallowed hard, and she watched as he struggled for control, much as she had a short time earlier. My partner and I were doing a walk-through when we thought we heard something. When we neared the alley, the smell --

He broke off, unable to continue. Mac nodded, her expression grim. She understood what he'd felt when he first recognized the smell. More, she knew he'd second-guess himself for a long while, wondering what would have happened if he and his partner had reached the alley just a few minutes earlier. Could they have prevented the murder? She knew the answer. If they had arrived in time to stumble upon the murder as it was happening, they would have been killed just as surely, just as brutally as Delgado. But she couldn't tell him that. Not without revealing things she didn't want to admit to herself, much less to others.

It's not something you can ever forget. Try not to dwell on it. You couldn't have done anything,

He nodded, his expression miserable.

Get me your report by 0830 as well.

Understood, Sergeant. Will you keep us posted?

Of course.

She gave him a slight smile and started back down the alley, ready to get out of there but knowing she wouldn't be able to for hours yet. What a hell of a way to start her first day back to full duty.

He leaned against the wall, arms folded, head cocked to one side. For several hours he'd hidden in the shadows, watching, waiting. The hunger remained but he managed to control it. His anger had muted some, replaced by a satisfaction he savored as he tasted the fear and consternation from the police across the street.

Part of him wanted to move closer. How wonderful it would be to see their reactions to his work. He took pride in every kill, and this one was no exception, even if he had been forced to rush it. But he couldn't move closer and risk her recognizing him.

And that galled him to no end.

A shout from one of the reporters wrenched his attention away from his musings. The activity around the mouth of the alley suddenly increased. The reporters pushed against the cordon like sharks closing in on fresh chum. Voice after voice lifted, questions shouted. The way they jockeyed for position reminded him of carrion eaters fighting for a better spot around a corpse. A short laugh escaped his lips, and he quickly clamped his mouth shut. Even as he did, he smiled, thrilled with the mental picture he'd painted. He'd made the kill, and now the human scavengers gathered for his scraps.

Curious, he leaned forward, straining to see what was going on. Without warning, the reporters parted as she pushed her way through. Not once did she answer a question shouted at her. It was as though she were deaf to those around her. When one of them stepped in front of her and shoved a microphone in her face, the look she leveled at the poor man left no doubt what she wanted to do.

His lips pulled back, and a growl rumbled deep in his throat. He remembered that look and the violence behind it. She'd leveled it at him the evening he'd so foolishly underestimated her. A cold shiver shot through him at the memory of the night that had come so close to being his last.

He still didn't know how he'd managed to get away before she could summon help. Hurt, frustrated, he'd nursed his wounds for a week. With each day that passed, his anger grew. How dare she think she could fight him, hurt him, and not be made to pay!

That hadn't been the end of it. It couldn't be. No one had ever beaten him as she had, so she had to die. Nothing else would be accepted.

For two weeks he planned his next move. It wouldn't be easy. He'd have to make sure she was alone and unaware of his approach. Of course, the latter wouldn't be difficult. Not for one such as he. He simply had to wait for the right moment. Then she'd learn just how foolish it had been to deny him.

Even when that time had come, she'd managed to thwart him. He'd wanted her to suffer and then die slowly, horribly. Instead, she'd turned those killer eyes on him as she fought like a demon possessed. She'd injured him with her thrice-damned gun even as he delivered what should have been the killing blow. Her cry of pain had been music to his ears as pain threatened to overwhelm him. But he'd been lucky. He'd managed to escape, confident in the knowledge he'd killed the bitch who had hurt and denied him, before the police arrived.

Only to discover she'd managed to foil him yet again. Somehow, she'd survived her wounds and had healed so quickly he wondered just what she was. Perhaps he'd managed to turn her without meaning to. If that was the case, he'd soon know. The sight and smell of all that fresh meat would call to her beast and she wouldn't be able to control herself.

Now, seeing how she all but growled at the reporters, he smiled in anticipation. Oh yes, she was very close to shifting.

Heart skipping in excitement, he waited. Even from across the street, he saw how she fought for control. There was a hint of fear, perhaps even panic in her expression. She might not know what was happening to her, but he did and he could hardly wait. The fun was just about to begin.

Then he lifted his head and sniffed the air. Something was wrong. She didn't smell right. Whatever was happening to her, it wasn't what he expected. By the gods, what was it about her? She should have died weeks ago. Instead, she'd healed and was back to work. Now he could see, could sense how she fought for control. He knew blood and flesh called to her. She should be giving in to her beast by now but wasn't.

Why? What was it that made her so different?

Without thinking, he took a step forward. The moment he did, she paused, one hand on the open door of the black Mustang parked across the street. Her head swung in his direction, and he instinctively ducked back into the shadows. Had she seen him? Not daring to breathe, he waited. This wasn't where he wanted to have their next meeting. There were too many people around, people who would take her side without hesitation.

Relief washed over him when she shrugged and slid inside the car. That had been too close. He'd have to be more careful. He wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating her again.

Mac slid inside the Mustang and shut the door. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, and she held on tightly. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she closed her eyes. She'd managed to maintain control - barely - but it had taken every ounce of strength she possessed. Now she had to get out of there before something bad happened.

Maybe she'd gone back into the field too soon. But so what? She would have gone crazy if she'd been forced to spend one more day on desk duty. It was just pure bad luck she'd been called out to such a grisly crime scene. She certainly couldn't tell Dispatch she didn't want to take such calls anymore because the smell of blood and the sight of a fresh kill excited her in ways she didn't want to think about.

She slid the key into the ignition, and the engine roared to life a moment later. She knew one thing already. Delgado's killer was the same person who'd attacked her just a month earlier. She'd sensed it the moment she neared the alley. The sight of the carnage reminded her of the wounds that had marked her body and that were now scars fading with a rapidity that scared her. Whoever or whatever had attacked her was also responsible for killing Maria Delgado.

Now she just had to figure out who or what the killer was before someone else was hurt. But only after she had herself under firm control once again. She couldn't continue as she had these last few hours. She'd been too close to the edge. It wouldn't take much to push her over, and that scared her because she didn't know what would happen if she lost control.

She had to get out of there - now!

2

Mac took a step back and studied the dry-erase board on the far wall of the conference room. She'd spent the last half-hour covering it with crime scene photos and various reports. The left side of the board reflected what little she knew so far about Maria Delgado's murder. Mac's precise handwriting filled the center of the board, laying out the specifics about Delgado. But it was what occupied the right third of the board that drew Mac's eye no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

Appearing to be an almost mirror image of the crime scene photos taken just that morning was a series of photos of another attack, one Mac was all too familiar with. She didn't need to see the image of her own blood-streaked face, or the gun loosely grasped in her right hand, to remember that night. That night she'd known she was dead. Whoever, whatever, attacked her had dealt what should have been a deathblow even as she managed to squeeze off three quick shots from her off-duty .380. Her scream of pain had mingled with the concussion of the gunshots, shattering the silence of the night. The distinctive odors of blood, her blood, mixed with cordite filled the air. Then everything had gone mercifully dark.

She'd known what was happening. She'd felt her life ebbing, her soul leaving her body, even as she crumpled to the ground. Now, as she looked at the photos, her chest tightened and her heart pounded almost as hard as it had that night. She knew without a doubt that the person, the thing, responsible for trying to kill her was also responsible for the killing that morning. But how to prove it?

Be honest, Mac. The real question is how to prove it without having people think you've lost your mind.

All she had to do was look at the photos of the two crime scenes to know the attacks were related. She had no doubt she would have been torn apart much like Delgado had she not been able to use her gun. Besides, one photo she'd taken that morning spoke volumes. She just didn't know what to make of it because it didn't make any sense. A large paw print smeared in the blood, exactly like one found near Mac's body that fateful night, had been less than two feet from Maria Delgado's body.

But what did it mean?

Unable to look at the photos any longer, Mac turned and crossed to the battered table in the center of the room. Her notes were scattered across the top, a few photos peeking out from beneath the pages. She'd spent all morning, and the better part of the afternoon, trying to make sense of the evidence without success. Not that she'd actually expected to. Unlike most crime scenes, this one presented so many forensic challenges - challenges ranging from sorting the everyday debris of a busy back alley from evidence to the processing of an unknown number of fingerprints - that it would be weeks, maybe even months, before all the evidence had been examined.

And that didn't begin to take into account the state of the victim's corpse. There was still speculation about whether they might not be the victims of some elaborate hoax set up to make the Department look bad. After all, it was obvious that the corpse had literally been torn limb from limb. How could a crime like that be committed, even in the middle of the night, without someone noticing something?

Mac understood why her fellow officers were questioning their own eyes. Especially since she expected the coroner to confirm her suspicions that parts of the body were missing. After all, not even the most jaded cop wanted to believe one human could do such terrible things to another. But she knew better. Even without a DNA identification, she knew the victim had once been Maria Delgado and that the injuries inflicted upon her had been done perimortem. What Mac didn't know was if the killer was human.

Mac closed her eyes and was once more thrust back to that terrible night when she'd been attacked. In the weeks since, she'd done her best to forget it. But now she had to look back on it, had to try to remember as much as she could. If she didn't, someone else would die, and that was a burden she didn't want to carry.

She'd been on her way home after a night out with friends. She hadn't wanted to go out, but they'd insisted, telling her she'd spent too much time moping after her breakup with Rob Woods. So she'd had a couple of drinks and had done her best to forget how her pride still smarted after finding out he'd been cheating on her. Then she'd been attacked just feet from her own front door.

The struggle had been brutal, and she'd known she was fighting for her life. Her attacker had said nothing. Instead, he'd come at her with a single-minded determination, fists and feet flying. Taken by surprise, she hadn't been able to get her gun out. Not before those first damaging blows had been dealt. She'd fought back by instinct even as she struggled to take her gun from her shoulder harness.

As the .380 cleared leather, a low, menacing growl sounded from in front of her. Even in the dark, Mac watched as something happened to her attacker. His features seemed to blur, to shift. Disbelief froze her for a fateful moment, and she could swear that whoever attacked her had changed from man to beast before striking what should have been the killing blow. But how could that be? Surely that had been nothing more than a trick of her imagination. Yet it had seemed so real.

And if it was real, what did it say about the Delgado case?

Mac's right hand absently rubbed her stomach, where the worst of the fading scars still marked her body. Until the night she'd been attacked, she would have sworn the worst monster on the planet was man. Now she wasn't so sure. And that scared her. It scared her almost as much as what seemed to be happening to her.

Stop it! She scrubbed her hands over her face, forcing her mind back to the present. Get a grip, Mackenzie.

Dropping onto one of the chairs at the table, she leaned back. The moment she closed her eyes, she regretted it. The room spun like an out-of-control carousel, and the nausea she'd fought all day returned with a vengeance. She swallowed hard before taking a deep breath. She couldn't afford to get sick now. She had a job to do.

Not that she was getting very far. After going to Maria Delgado's apartment and finding no indication she'd been there since the previous morning, Mac had spent half an hour on the phone with Delgado's parents in El Paso. Unfortunately, they hadn't seen or spoken with their daughter in more than a week. They had no idea why she might have been in that alley or who she might have been meeting. Worse, when Mac had been forced to admit she didn't have a positive identification of the victim, Mr. and Mrs. Delgado had insisted she must be wrong. Their little Maria couldn't be dead. She was a good girl. No one would want to hurt her. All Mac could do was promise to give them a solid answer as soon as possible. And that could be weeks, maybe even months, down the road, depending on how fast the lab worked.

Compounding Mac's frustration was the fact she hadn't been able to speak with anyone at Covenant Hills Academy. For some reason only the perverse gods of administration understood, the school was closed. It wasn't a holiday. Hell, it wasn't even close to a holiday. So why couldn't they be in class like every other school in the area?

Another wave of nausea swept over her, and Mac pillowed her head on her folded arms. Dear God, she didn't have time to get sick. She especially didn't have time to get the flu. What else could explain why she hurt all over and felt like she was going to lose what little food she'd eaten that day? The crime scene had been bad, true enough. But not so bad she'd still be nauseated more than eight hours after leaving. And she'd felt all right when she left home that morning. Oh, she'd been a little off, but that was because it had been so early. Hell, it had barely been three a.m. when she received the call. It was no wonder she'd felt a little odd then. But why couldn't she shake the dizziness and nausea now?

I've got to concentrate, find some answers before the brass realizes this murder is connected to what happened to me. I can't let them