Duty Bound with Bite Read online

  Duty Bound: With Bite

  By Lily Harlem, Katie Douglas, Lucy Felthouse and Felicity Brandon

  DUTY BOUND:WITH BITE Text copyright © Lily Harlem, Lucy Felthouse, Katie Douglas & Felicity Brandon 2020

  All Rights Reserved

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the authors.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s written permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Artwork courtesy of Studioenp.

  Table of Contents

  CRAVED BY THEM by Lily Harlem

  THE CORRUPTION OF SISTER MARY IMMACULATE by Katie Douglas

  THE LONG NIGHT by Lucy Felthouse

  EXORCISE ME by Felicity Brandon

  Craved By Them

  By Lily Harlem

  Chapter One

  Detective Inspector Corey Tatum nodded at the tall uniformed sergeant lifting the cordon tape. She ducked under it, entering the scene, then glanced over her shoulder.

  Damn, that officer was handsome, why had she never seen him around before? Silly thought. Scotland Yard was huge, London huger. She couldn’t recognize all of the lower-ranking policemen who worked there. Though this one was particularly memorable and wore his dark uniform with more style and grace than most.

  “Ma’am.” Another officer, pale-skinned, rod-straight nose, and chiselled jawline, handed her a crime scene log to sign.

  “Thanks.” She took it. What was going on today? He was beautiful, too—his eyes an unusual amber with dark-brown streaks stretching from his pupils and his teeth white and perfectly straight.

  She handed the pen back, sucked in a deep breath laced with his delicious peppery aftershave, then turned to the victim.

  This wasn’t the time and place for her to be thinking about men. Though it went to show how long her love-drought had gone on for if she could admire while someone lay in shreds beneath a shrub in Hyde Park.

  Henry Fallon, her superintendent, nodded at her. “It’s another one.”

  She frowned. “Identified yet?”

  “Yes, Mike Jones, thirty-eight from West Hampstead. Accountant.”

  Corey squatted, elbows on her knees, and studied what was left of Mike Jones’s face.

  Like the body of Jimmy Boden found three days previously behind a city center restaurant, Mike Jones’s features appeared to have been clawed, almost scratched off. His nose hung from a thread, his eyeballs gouged and his mouth a slashed wreck.

  “Scenes of crime is on the way,” Henry said. “Shouldn’t be more than another ten minutes.”

  “You got here quick, sir.”

  “Yes, I was…in the area.”

  “The park? Not your usual beat.” She half huffed, half chuckled. Henry hadn’t walked a beat for years. But then again, neither had she. She’d dedicated her career to the force, and now in her early forties, she couldn’t imagine any other job. Keeping the streets of London safe was her calling.

  And boy, she’d seen everything in her time.

  But not this. This was weird.

  Again she frowned. “His clothes, they’re…shredded, for want of a better word. It looks like someone’s used a knife on them, frantically.” She pointed at his abdomen. “And gone right through the skin to his intestines.”

  “Something like a knife,” Henry said.

  “You think it’s something else?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Reminds me of Freddy Krueger,” Corey said, “if you know what I mean. Hands with knives for fingers. Claws.”

  “Claws,” Henry repeated.

  She stood and faced him. He was short, she was tall; they were eyelevel. “You think an animal with claws did this?”

  Before he could answer, the handsome uniformed officer with the scene log stepped up. “SOCO is here, sir.”

  “Ah, good, thank you, Sergeant Hunt.” Henry looked past her. “We should go back to the station and let them get on with their forensic wizardry.”

  “Mmm.” Corey stared at the victim again. His blood, pooled around him, had darkened on the grass. His left leg was at an unnatural angle, as though it had been broken in the attack. “What do you think, Sergeant?” she asked Hunt.

  “Vicious. Whatever did this needs catching, fast.”

  “Whatever?” She was confused. “Not whoever?”

  His smooth jaw tightened, a small muscle flexing near the angle. “Only a monster would kill this way, without meaning, without provocation.”

  “How do you know Mike Jones didn’t provoke his attacker?”

  He kind of shrugged then touched the peak of his dark cap. “Just a hunch.”

  “I’m a fan of hunches,” she said. “Gut feelings are there for a reason, and I can’t be accused of not following mine over the years.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  His words surprised her. She was a senior rank to him, but it sounded like he presumed himself to be more experienced, more worldly wise. Yet he appeared mid-thirties.

  “Detective Inspector,” Henry called.

  “Coming.” She checked out the officer’s badge—Cooper Hunt. “Keep the scene secure.”

  “I intend to.” He held eye contact, again.

  Something flashed in their tawny depths. Was it attraction? Was it respect for her rank? Corey wasn’t sure, but she liked the way he looked at her, it gave her a warm feeling inside. And she’d like to look at him some more, too. He was very easy on the eye. Yes. She’d remember the name Cooper Hunt, and perhaps have a quick search on the database and see where he was stationed. Wouldn’t do any harm to run into him again.

  Once again, the other tall officer lifted the cordon tape for her.

  “Thanks,” she said. Wow, he had the same color eyes as Cooper Hunt. An unusual orangey-brown. What were the chances of that?

  “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

  “You too.” Was that an American twang in his accent? If it was, it was barely there; he’d obviously been in the UK for a long time. She liked it, though, it suited him somehow. Elijah Benham. That had been the name on his badge. Didn’t really give away his origin.

  Back at Scotland Yard, Corey headed straight to her office with the intention of studying the forensic report from the first ‘shredded’ victim, Jimmy Boden. Poor bugger. The report was due back any minute, and she was hoping there’d be something that would give her team a lead.

  But as soon as she sat at her desk, her phone rang. She answered it.

  “Detective Inspector, I need you up in my office, now.”

  “Yes, sir.” She put the phone down. Henry must have raced across the city and got straight to the forensic report. This was excellent news. Perhaps he’d found something concrete. They had to stop this killer—one brutal murder was horrific, two doubly sickening.

  Climbing the flight of stairs to his top-floor office, she couldn’t help thinking it unusual that Henry, being a superintendent, was getting as involved as he was in a case. And to be at a scene himself, that was practically unheard of.

  Had he really just been passing the park?

  She knocked on the heavy oak door.

  “Come in.”

  She pressed down on the brass handle and stepped inside. For a moment she he
sitated—Henry wasn’t alone as she’d expected—then she closed the door with a click.

  He sat behind his wide desk, hands steepled in front of his stern face. A mug of tea steamed at his side.

  Beside the window, vertical blinds half drawn to block out most of the day, stood four uniformed officers. Two of whom she recognized.

  Sergeant Cooper Hunt and Sergeant Elijah Benham.

  Next to them, also standing tall, arms behind their backs, and chins tilted, were two equally handsome, broad-shouldered policemen. It was summer, so their uniforms consisted of short-sleeved black shirts—tight around wide biceps—with diamond lapels, and black trousers. Hunt and Benham had removed the stab vests they’d been wearing when she’d seen them earlier. They all had thick belts, complete with cuffs, Tasers, and phones. Boots were solid and big, their cap peaks shiny.

  All four men studied her with curiosity, interest, as if she were a novelty.

  Surely they’ve seen a female DI before.

  She nodded curtly and shoved her hands into her trouser pockets. “Sergeants.”

  They were silent.

  Henry stood, his chair scraping on the hard flooring. “DI Tatum, thank you for coming up so quickly.”

  “No problem, sir. Have you found something in the forensic report from the first case?”

  “The answer to that question is yes and no.”

  She frowned.

  “What I mean is,” he went on, “I know something about the first case now, but not from forensics.”

  “What? Where from?”

  He gestured to the four men. “Sergeants Hunt, Benham, Grant, and McWilliams have come to me with information.”

  “And?” she asked, impatience growing.

  “Sensitive information.” Henry’s frown deepened.

  “I have signed the Official Secrets Act, sir.”

  “I know, which is why you are perfect for this case.”

  “I don’t understand, why would I need to have signed the Official Secrets Act for a run-of-the-mill murder?”

  “This is anything but run-of-the-mill.” Henry paced left and right, his hands clasped behind his back the same as the four sergeants. “This is going to explode everything you thought you knew about the police force, criminals, hell, humanity itself.”

  She swallowed, her throat tight. Henry wasn’t known for his sense of humor or practical jokes. His deadly serious tone was too deadly serious for her liking.

  “I think you should explain, sir.” She cast a glance at the officers. They were stock still, their attention fixed on her. There were no smiles now from Cooper Hunt or Elijah Benham. Though again she got the feeling she was being heavily scrutinized, they were waiting for her next move, her reaction to whatever Henry was about to reveal—whatever they had told him.

  “Sir, please just say it. I can handle the worst the streets of London throw my way, I’ve proven that over the years.”

  “You have.” Henry stopped pacing and pointed to the officers. “And you need to know I respect that, and if this isn’t something you can handle then—”

  “Sir.” Irritation swarmed over her. “Please.”

  “The attacks,” Cooper Hunt said, his voice low and deep and seeming to rumble off the wood-paneled walls. “Are of an unusual and deeply disturbing nature.”

  “I wouldn’t dispute that.” She rocked back on her heels and raised her eyebrows. When were they going to tell her something she didn’t know?

  “And we believe,” Elijah Benham said, “they were perpetrated by something other than a human being.” Yes, a definite American twang going on.

  “An animal.” She nodded. “The shredded skin and the mangled faces, could be claws and teeth, yes I’d of thought that. I was half hoping forensics would throw up some canine DNA.”

  “Not quite canine,” Cooper said, “more like wolf.”

  “Wolf!” She bobbed her head slowly. “Okay, makes sense. Bigger than a dog, vicious, could be a pet that’s escaped.” She turned to Henry. “Have we checked with the dangerous animal register? Has one escaped? Zoo? Privately owned?”

  “It didn’t escape because it was never captive,” one of the other officers said. He pressed his hand on his chest, and a slight smile tugged the right side of his mouth. “Sergeant Ben Grant, ma’am.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” She nodded curtly. “Explain yourself, Ben.”

  He stepped forward and removed his peaked hat, ran his hand over his glossy dark hair, then set it back into place. It was a very informal action considering he was with senior ranks, but she’d let it slip for now. Besides, he was a seriously handsome man, disarmingly so.

  “You see,” he said, “there are wolves who pass through London, but they’re only wolves some of the time.”

  “And what are they the rest of the time?” She cocked her head.

  “Human.” He studied her with the same orange-hued eyes as his colleagues.

  “Human.” She snorted. “What, like werewolves? Change at full moon? Howl and shit like that?”

  “No, ma’am, not like werewolves, like shifters.”

  “Shifters,” she repeated, the word sounding ridiculous coming from her mouth. She turned away. He was too damn good-looking. It was distracting.

  Shifters. She’d heard of shifters, of course she had, but only in books and films. They weren’t real. They were made up, like goblins and dragons, trolls and fairies.

  “It has been brought to my attention,” Henry said, “this shifter has a rogue genetic makeup, one that gives him the taste for human blood and a passion for witnessing human death.”

  “A bloodlust,” Ben said. “He or she can’t control themself.”

  Corey took her hands from her pockets, and held her palms up. “Sir, really? You’re acting like they’re real. Shifters are not a thing.” She paused. “This is not an actual line of investigation.”

  “Sadly, it is, and they are real,” Cooper said, turning and gesturing to the window. “And they’re out there, not usually for any length of time in London, admittedly, because it’s where we are based, but a rogue one, a mutant, wouldn’t care about us.”

  “And you think this shifter, this half-person, half-wolf being is responsible for the two murders on my caseload?” Her head was spinning. It didn’t make sense. Why was her superintendent, a well-respected, sensible, down-to-earth bloke going along with this? She snatched her phone from her pocket. Checked the date. No, it wasn’t April the first.

  “That’s exactly what we think.” Elijah folded his arms, his fingers digging into his bulging biceps. “I’ve seen it before.”

  “You have?” Now that surprised her. Maybe she’d get some evidence to back up these crazy claims. “Where?”

  “Here, in the city.”

  “In London?

  “Yes, a long time ago.”

  “So we need to get the case files, study them.” She nodded at Henry. “I’ll get onto it. There must be a better, more plausible explanation.”

  “Than what?” Henry asked.

  “Shifters.” She frowned. “A better explanation than shifters, for goodness sake.”

  “You can dig about,” Ben said. “But you won’t find the files.”

  “Why not?” This was getting stranger by the second.

  “It was too long ago,” Elijah said. “Centuries.”

  She rubbed her temple. “But you said—”

  “I think you should take a seat,” Henry said, pointing to a straight-backed chair.

  “I don’t want a seat, I want to find out who is going around killing innocent Londoners in such a horrific way, and I won’t find that out, excuse my French, sitting on my bloody arse.” She cast her gaze over the four A-list handsome officers. “And I want people to stop talking gibberish.”

  “It’s not gibberish, I can assure you,” Cooper said. “We have knowledge and experience of these shifters. We want to help. We will help.”

  “Okay.” She sat, needing to stop thinking about st
anding and set all her concentration on fathoming out what the heck had just happened to her day. “Tell me how you are going to find this shifter and, if it’s so dangerous and bloodthirsty, how you will place it under arrest.”

  Cooper and Elijah shared a look.

  “What?” Bloody hell, how much patience did these men think she had?

  “It’s just that we have no intention of arresting this beast,” Elijah said.

  “So what is your intention?” she asked.

  “We’ll kill it.” Elijah drew a line over his throat, just above his shirt collar. “We’ll slit its throat, drain its disgusting, dirty blood, then burn it to cinders.”

  “That should do it.” Cooper nodded.

  So did Ben and the other police officer who so far had been silent.

  “What?” She stood and jabbed her finger at him. “It’s outrageous to even say such a thing. Have you forgotten, Sergeant, that we have a justice system here in the UK? You can’t go taking the law into your own hands, no matter what the crime, how hideous. There might be vigilantes where you come from, but not here in London.”

  “I understand that, ma’am, but this is our justice, this is the only way to keep the people of London safe, and I have taken a solemn vow before Her Majesty and an oath to Master Benedict to preserve human life at all costs, no matter the cost or course of action.”

  Her mouth fell open as she stared at Elijah. Not usually lost for words, Corey couldn’t find even one.

  “Detective Inspector,” Henry said. “Forgive me, but I have no choice but to draw you into this matter. You’re the only one readily available and qualified for the task.” He steered her to the chair again. “Sit.”

  She did as he’d asked. Sat with a bump. “Who is Master Benedict?”

  “He is the great leader,” Cooper said. He squatted so he was level with her and rested his forearms on his knees, hands dangling. “He is the great leader of our world.”

  Again she studied his eyes—ethereal, intoxicating, seductive. “What world?” The question came out as a whisper, as if her throat wasn’t sure it wanted to utter the syllables, her brain not wanting to hear the answer.