Page 5 of The Hive Queen

As Pen joins me, she glances back at Captain Bailey. “Is he still giving you a hard time?”

“We’re disagreeing about whose crime scene this is.” I gesture toward the car. “Can you take a look? I’m hoping you’ll back up my assessment.”

“I can back it up either way.” Her golden eyes gleam, and her smokey voice curls around me. “I’m always on your side.”

The temptation to accept that offer rides me hard. But if I’m in the wrong, then I’m man enough to accept it and pass off the crime to Bailey. “Just the facts, Ms. Cay.”

Her golden lashes sweep down to veil her eyes. “If he keeps bothering you, I can always make him stop.”

“I don’t think he’ll be moved by your request,” I say, purposefully misunderstanding.

There’s something dark and thrilling about being the lover of a woman so willing to cross the line to get what she wants. But that’s a slippery slope I can’t let myself start down.

Until recently, I thought I was a magic-resilient human, like those I oversee in the JTFPI. But it turns out I’m the reincarnated, missing member of the group who currently call themselves The Cleaners. I’m also an abandoned fae prince, which is actually the harder pill to swallow.

Since the day I met Pen, Marc, Darius, and Flint, I was drawn to them on an instinctive level, and slipping back into their fold felt like coming home. The fae prince thing, though… I still feel human, even if darkness slithers inside me more and more.

My mind is blank before age eighteen, when I woke up with no memory. But I’ve been to the Library, the seat of all knowledge, and read my history book. I know the depths to which I can fall, have read of my exploits. If I let it, darkness will consume me again, and with Darius gone, there’s no one left to stop me.

Who would have guessed that a demon would be the most honorable of our group? And now he’s gone.

Pen’s voice breaks me from my thoughts. “What are we looking at here?”

“I’d rather you do your assessment first and give me your opinion.” I motion for one of the techs, a woman named Young, to back away from the car for Pen to look inside.

A man lies in the reclined passenger seat. His pants and underwear are bunched around his feet and his shirt is shoved up his chest, leaving the gaping hole where his privates should be on full display.

“Exploding dick.” Pen shakes her head in disbelief. “Goddamned exploding dick.”

Surprised, I stare at her. “Why does it sound like you know more than I do about this?”

“I don’t. Not really.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and opens a screen before passing it to me. “A couple months ago, we got a request to dig deeper into a similar case, but I turned it down because we don’t deal with humans.”

I take the phone from her and skim the file. A similar death happened a couple of months ago, but the police wrapped it up quickly, citing it as a revenge killing by a girlfriend who was cheated on. Her DNA had been all over the crime scene, which isn’t surprising since the couple lived together. Based on the report, she tried to tell the police about a monster murdering her boyfriend, but they trumped it up to an attempt at an insanity deal.

Rage simmers inside me. I should have been brought in on this case as soon as she saidmonster, but it got swept under the rug, all neat and tidy. Just like all those cases when I worked beneath Captain Bailey. The department received a gold star for closing the case and the citizens of Clearhelm never even needed to hear about it. The story didn’t even warrant a run in the local newspaper.

Is this why Captain Bailey has been trying so hard to remove me from the scene? Because he already locked up the culprit and another death using the same method would point a finger at him for putting away the wrong person? Two bodies is a spree. A third, and we have a serial killer on our hands.

Politicians hate serial killers. It reeks of department incompetence to the public, never mind how much time and effort goes into investigating each crime.

“Young, give me a liquid evidence vial.” Pen holds her hand out for a clear tube and swab stick before leaning into the car.

Careful not to touch anything else, she runs the stick inside the latch for the seat belt, then slides it into the vial and backs out.

I step closer, eager for confirmation. “What did you find?”

“Something sticky.” She shrugs. “Can’t say for sure until the lab looks at it.”

Another bee buzzes past my ear, and I wave a hand to discourage it. There must be a hive somewhere in the parking garage. Speaking of circling pests… I peer over at Bailey’s team, who hovers just inside the barrier. After the fiasco they caused when a dragon took over Main Street, they’re too close for my comfort.

I turn back to Pen. “Is it human or Other?”

“Hard to tell.” Pen squints at the damaged part of the body, where a blast had blown a hole all the way to the seat beneath. “Have you tested for blast residue? It would be impossible to make a crater like that without leaving something behind.”

“No gunpowder.” I spot Bailey stomping back toward us, another of his officers in tow. “No debris from a bomb, either.”

“No defensive wounds.” Pen’s eyes move to the man’s arms, which are raised, his hands folded behind his head. “Whatever did this, it was fast, and he didn’t see it coming.”

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