Page 16 of The Dragon King’s Claw (The Dragons of Serai #17)

The Brujai—whose name was Wuten—owned a home similar to the Chelli's. Except that for Brujai, it was a modest house. It was also dark. Not that I expected otherwise. The woman wouldn't be there. She'd be with Hallaxgral. Hopefully.

With the King dogging my heels, I went to the front door. It was open. Again, I wasn't surprised. Neither did the disarray I found inside alarm me. Someone had abducted Wuten’s wife, and he’d been too distraught to clean up. Perfectly natural.

I pulled out my light tube.

Behind me, the knights sighed.

“Feel free to leave anytime you wish,” I called over my shoulder. “I never said this would be stimulating.”

“Oh, I find it very stimulating,” the King drawled. “Especially when you get on your knees.”

I glanced over my shoulder to see him leaning in the doorway again, arms crossed with a wicked smile on his face.

There wasn't time to deal with his behavior.

I had to process the house as quickly as possible.

So instead of getting onto my knees to inspect the floor (and give him what he wanted), I did slow sweeping passes with my light and prayed that I didn't miss anything.

The debris was thick. Glass, shards of wood, and overturned furniture.

I had to inspect things before I moved them out of my way.

Brujai scales abounded, but that didn't help me.

If Hallaxgral was a Brujai, I wouldn't confirm it there.

I moved on, the signs of a struggle becoming less evident.

So, the abductors had broken in. The wife came to see what the commotion was, and they took her in the entry.

Soon, the damage disappeared completely, and I was left in a clean, Brujai home.

Desert tapestries hung on the walls, carved wooden statues decorated side tables, and the upholstery was a bright fabric with geometric designs.

The kitchen was less clean, with signs of recent feeding.

I say feeding because the state of the kitchen in comparison to the rest of the home told me the husband was only fueling himself to get through the day.

The poor man. He would never see his wife again. Not in this life.

I glanced back. King Tor'rien had followed, but he wasn't watching me anymore.

He was searching the house. I was both surprised and appreciative of that.

Continuing my inspection, I moved out of the kitchen and went upstairs.

I knew my best hope of locating the woman would be to find evidence in the entry hall, but there had been nothing.

So, I'd search upstairs and then return to the entry if I continued to be unsuccessful.

That was the plan. Until plans failed me.

“Bastard,” I whispered. “That fucking bastard.”

There she was. Waiting for her husband. No.

She was waiting for me. Hallaxgral had killed Wuten and that meant his wife was useless.

And Hallaxgral was not the type to leave witnesses.

That was obvious now. He had murdered Wuten in front of me, murdered his wife, and then brought her body here to be found. We must have just missed the transport.

Wuten and his wife would be reunited faster than I thought.

I hoped they were already together again.

Her sightless eyes and soft expression said she had hoped it too, in her last moments.

No, it didn't convince me that love was real.

But I conceded that there was a bond between these two that was strong enough to make a man murder and make a woman happy to die.

Foolish. I found it very sad. Especially since I felt partially responsible.

I turned away from the bed, bracing myself in the doorway, and hung my head. Breathing deeply, I sought calm.

“Tekhan.” The King's hand squeezed my shoulder. “She's in there?”

“Yes.” I straightened my shoulders and met his stare. “I wasted too much time at the shop. This is my fault.”

“No.” His hand swept down my arm to take my hand. “She was already dead. As soon as her husband took his last breath, she was lost as well.”

“Perhaps.” I slipped my hand out of his grip and turned back to the body. “I need to process the body. This will take a while. And I'll need a Talon team to take the body back to the Hall.”

“I'll send someone to fetch them.”

“Thank you.” That was all I could offer him.

The rest of the night had to be for the woman I had failed. The least I could do for her and her husband would be to solve their murders and find the man called Hallaxgral. Her husband had died to give me that name. I would damn well make use of it.

First, I forced myself to look at the entire room. Nothing was disturbed. Nothing on the floor. I employed my trace glasses and found no blood or other fluids. My nose had already told me this, but I wanted to confirm it. Then I moved on to the body.

She was fully clothed, shoes included, and laid out as if she were in a coffin with one exception—her right hand was lifted to her mouth as if she were wiping her lips.

It was not a shushing gesture. No, it was a wipe in progress, featuring a flat hand with fingers extended.

Odd. I already knew Hallaxgral had murdered her somewhere else and then brought her home, but the scene confirmed it.

Someone took the time to pose her. Why bother?

If I were a murderous criminal, I don't think I'd even take the time to bring the body home. I would have dumped it in an alley.

So, why was she there?

There was only one reasonable answer—Hallaxgral wanted her to be found.

Correction; he wanted me to find her. As a claw, I couldn't ignore any information pertinent to a case.

The dying words of a suspect were pertinent.

He'd given me a name and a target. I was that target, just not in the usual way.

This is all to say that I had to consider that everything done had been directed at me.

Intended for my discovery. I wouldn't rule out other options, but I had to consider this one.

Hallaxgral had left her for me in that precise pose.

What did it mean? A hand wiping her lips.

Wiping away something? Blowing a kiss? No, couldn't be that.

Unless this Hallaxgral had a dark sense of humor.

Damn, maybe she was blowing me a kiss on behalf of her murderer.

I leaned over the body and smelled her. No chemical odors.

No trace of foam or spittle on her lips.

All confirmed by the glasses. How had she died?

There. Her collar and hand had hidden the evidence.

Someone had broken her neck. It looked professional, so it would have been quick.

At least there was that. Still, it made my lip curl.

She had been dealt with like an animal sent to slaughter—just business.

Then I looked down her body and noticed a slip of paper held in her other hand. I inspected that hand, even beneath her claws (which were clean), before I opened it. Just a scrap of paper, but cut clean and folded precisely. On it was a note. To me.

“Fuck,” I whispered. It confirmed what the Brujai said. It was about me. Or at least, directed at me.

“What is that?”

Oh, good. The King had returned.

Grimacing, I passed him the note.

He took it and read aloud, “Claw Shinkai.” He looked up at me.

I inclined my head. “Keep reading, Your Majesty.”

“Bad luck on this one. You almost figured it out in time. Unfortunately, you were late to dinner. Maybe you'll be faster tomorrow.” The King cursed.

“Yes,” I said. “This is only the beginning.”

I looked down at the body, so peaceful in death, and knew there was nothing I could do to stop Hallaxgral from adding to the death count. By the same time the next night, I'd be processing another corpse.

Unless this one could give me something.

“Late to dinner,” I murmured. “Yet another reference to eating. What has this got to do with food?” I looked back toward the hallway. Maybe it wasn't the corpse that could help me. “I need to search the kitchen.”

I headed for the kitchen, hoping Hallaxgral had left me another clue.