Tainted Souls (Carved From Divine #1)

PROLOGUE

PENN CITY IS RARELY in mayhem.

When it is, there’s always a bloodsucker involved. Flashing lights and wailing sirens cut through the endless buzz. Crime scene technicians converge on the corpse, their cameras strobing in rhythmic bursts.

The victim lies sprawled against a dumpster, his limbs contorted at unnatural angles, wearing what was once an expensive suit now soaked through with blood.

Helene approaches slowly, careful not to disturb their work.

The streetlights catch on her umber skin as she ducks under the yellow tape, casting shadows that accentuate her high cheekbones.

Tightly coiled locs fall in neat rows, cascading past narrow shoulders like a curtain of midnight, each strand meticulously maintained.

She surveys the body with practical detachment, noting every detail: male, mid-thirties, his throat a ruined mess—not the clean punctures of a controlled feeding, but a savage tear that nearly decapitated him.

The flesh around the wound is discolored, purplish veins spreading outward like poisonous roots. His eyes remain open, clouded but still reflecting terror.

A silver watch glints on his wrist, still ticking. His wallet lies nearby, contents untouched. This was obviously not a robbery. Whoever did this was either inexperienced, or they wanted him to suffer.

“Copy,” Officer Monroe answers into her earpiece before switching it off.

She steps over to Helene’s side, the digital interface illuminating her angular face.

“The suspect has been identified, Chief. Her name is Kyla Rogues, approximately fifty years old based on Redmoore’s intelligence.

Immigrated nine years ago, and maintained a clean record until tonight. ”

Unable to help herself, Helene glances at Kyla in the back of the car, internally judging the vivid streaks of violet in her hair.

It is a bold choice. Beautiful, too.

Unfortunately, boldness has a habit of crossing into criminality.

“Not all vampires, but always a vampire.” Helene lets out a sigh of apathetic verdict before turning to address the other cops. “Evacuate the area before starting the investigation.”

Another dead body isn’t what shocks her. She’s seen countless dead bodies throughout the course of her decade-long career. What shocks her is that some of these vampires think they can get away with it, as if there’s some sort of thrill in disobeying the law.

What’s even more shocking is how their victims will defend them.

They are so addicted to the bite that the real risk of ending up in a morgue drawer doesn’t even scare them anymore—playing with death at its finest.

“There’s no need to make a fuss,” Officer Nox says as he handcuffs the man that was nearly Kyla’s next victim. “You’ll get off with a fine.”

“Please, just listen to me,” the man pleads, his eyes darting to Kyla in the back of the police car.

By the looks of it, he’s somewhere in his early twenties.

Old enough to be hanging with the crowd around this district, young and impressionable enough to treat danger like a dare.

“It wasn’t her! She was with me the whole time. ”

That’s what they’d all say, and Officer Nox knows it. Even if what he’s saying is true, Kyla still brought an innocent human dangerously close to dying. Feeding from the vein, even for a mere taste, is enough to tip them toward death itself.

All it takes is a pinch of greed.

Officer Nox rolls his eyes and pushes him into the car. “Believe it or not, this is for your own good. You were about to be next.”

Helene pinches the bridge of her nose. Junkies are a nuisance, but it’s her duty to protect them. To protect the human race.

“Chief?”

Helene’s radio crackles to life, the harsh static cutting through her thoughts.

The voice on the other end is frantic. “Chief! Do you copy?”

Dispatch never sounds this panicked.

She grabs the radio in hand, a cold dread settling in her gut. “I copy. What’s going on?”

“The perimeter sensors at the eastern gate have been compromised. I’m only getting this to you now because the security team was found unconscious. All of them. I-I think some are dead.”

“What?” Helene stiffens. “How many breaches?”

“Multiple signatures. At least three, maybe more.” The dispatcher briefly pauses to catch his breath. “They weren’t Pennians, Chief. They were wild ones. We’re under attack.”

Wild vampires. In Penn City. The words echo in her head.

Wild vampires don’t care about coexistence, don’t follow rules or regulations. They kill without remorse.

“Lock down the eastern district. I want all available units redirected there now,” Helene orders to anyone within earshot, already moving toward her vehicle. “And get the emergency broadcast system running. Instruct citizens to shelter in place.”

A young man’s face pales, clearly a rookie on the force. “That bad?”

“Wild vampires don’t breach our security for a social call,” Helene says, checking her sidearm and ejecting the magazine, confirming what she already knows: basic, wooden rounds, designed for your everyday vampire threat—not the monsters that are about to tear through the city.

This pistol would be as useful as spitting at those creatures.

Without wasting another second, the chief throws herself into the driver’s seat of her cruiser, every nerve screaming for speed.

As she races toward the eastern district, sirens blaring, she wonders whether peace between humans and vampires is just a lie they tell themselves to avoid facing the horror that comes with the truth.

She tightens her grip on the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white, the streets blurring past her window.

The Redmoore insignia still hangs in her childhood home—a stylized sword pointed diagonally downward, a crossbow arcing behind it in perfect symmetry, together forming an ‘X’ that speaks to their philosophy: power through force and strategy, strength and distance.

Five generations of her family have worn it proudly.

Her great-grandfather was one of their acclaimed slayers, credited with over two hundred confirmed vampire kills. Her grandmother, a brilliant researcher, helped design the tracking systems still in use today.

To most, it’s just a logo.

To those who have seen what that mark precedes, it’s a warning.

A legacy of blood.

That’s what her mother called it the night she announced she was leaving her slayer ways behind, believing the endless cycle of killing will never bring true safety. She would argue that for every vampire slain, five more are created in desperation and vengeance.

Helene was only seven, but she remembers the raucous shouting, her grandfather’s face red with rage.

“You’re betraying everything we stand for, Harriet!” he bellowed.

Her mother stood tall, unflinching. “I’m building something better. Something that will last.”

But a city isn’t built by a single visionary, no matter how noble their intent. It takes money, infrastructure, and power—the kind that bends governments and rewrites maps.

And as long as vampires ruled the night, Redmoore had all three. It was their funding that turned blueprints into foundations. Without them, Harriet’s brainchild would have remained a manifesto scribbled on the back of a research file.

In the fall of 1998, Penn City rose from the bones of a conquered coastal stretch, glowing like a promise, the object of universal attention.

What began as a radical experiment many predicted would fail within months, now stands as the only place where humans and vampires live side by side without constant bloodshed.

But in this world, there’s always someone out for blood.

How many lives will be snuffed out because they believe vampires can be something other than monsters?

Kyla and her violation seem laughable now; she might be innocent. If she is, those wild vampires were closer than we thought—too close. They are the real threat, the reason why Redmoore exists and why her family aligned with them for generations.

Despite the extreme lengths they may go to, they are the standard-bearers of human resistance for a reason. An organization no vampire dares underestimate, and no city in Northcross could rise without.

“Chief Penn,” her radio crackles again. “The mayor is requesting your presence for an emergency meeting.”

“Negative. I’m heading to the attack site.”

“But—”

“Tell the mayor I’ll be there when the threat is neutralized,” she says, cutting in sharply. “And get me General Lee on the line.”

“Yes, Chief.”

Rong Lee is a legend among the Pennian forces and the reason why this city works at all. The police are great at what they do, though their skill sets lack the intrinsic vampire knowledge needed to maintain order between two species who share the same streets but live by very different rules.

Where the police focus on protecting humans from the usual grime of city life—violence, theft, muggings, substance abuse—the keepers deal with the kind of disputes that don’t end with handcuffs but with body bags, handling the darker, more esoteric dangers that only they are trained to recognize and fight.

Like slayers, keepers are armed with specialized weapons designed to combat vampires.

But unlike slayers, their focus is on incapacitation rather than killing, on containment rather than annihilation.

Some of them were former Redmoore cadets deemed unfit to become slayers, while others simply preferred the complex politics of Penn City to the black-and-white morality of Redmoore’s crusade.

Either way, they all underwent the same rigorous baseline training and now form the single most effective peacekeeping force on the continent of Aevrane.

“Chief Penn.” Rong’s voice comes through crisp and formal on the line. No panic, no urgency, just the same measured tone he always uses, whether discussing the weather or a full-scale invasion. “I’ve mobilized my special forces. They’re en route to the eastern district.”