Words, written in blood, covered the shell white walls of the simple two-bedroom apartment. A family of three and their trusted Golden Retriever lay dead throughout the home. It was around one-thirty in the morning when police received several calls mentioning gunshots. Within ten minutes of the calls, the police were on the scene.
     Anthony Hayes, one of the force’s homicide detectives, stood back from the walls. He held his digital camera up once more and took the last photos he needed. Several other officers were busy with the victims and crime scene, but Anthony found greater interest in the blood-scribed words.
     The slaughtered family confused this seasoned detective. If it were merely a demented human crying out for someone to take notice, then the same old scenario will likely follow; seeking him out through forensic science, narrowing down the field of suspects, capturing the killer, and then bring him to trial for his crimes. That was one possibility. Then there was the other. This killer wasn’t human. And from what Anthony could gather from the old language on the walls, the latter was the best possibility.
     Feeling secure that these were all the photos he needed, the detective headed out of the apartment and to his car. Concerned neighbors and curious onlookers stood out on the streets. The lights from the many squad cars and medical vehicles danced on their horrified faces. It was once a quiet neighborhood. Things like this never happened here.
     Anthony got into his car and closed the door in order to gain more privacy. He then opened his laptop that sat in the passenger’s seat, plugged in his camera and immediately dialed a number on his cell phone. A familiar voice picked up.
     “Sir,” Anthony began, “I have something that you might be interested in. I’m sending it to you now.” He turned back to the laptop and typed in a few commands. “I’m sitting in front of the Summer Creek apartments. We found the family inside their home.”
     The voice on the other end asked a few questions about the situation.
     Anthony eyes scanned back up to the windows that belonged to the apartment. “I’m not one hundred percent sure on that, sir. They were disemboweled… No, they didn’t appear to have been fed on, but I don’t know that for sure. Most of the blood was used on the walls.” Anthony paused as the man on the other end began to look upon the photos he just received.
     The man’s voice came clear over the phone, “I’m sending a team your way. They will arrive in sixty minutes.”

Alexander Ingram turned off his phone. Calls like this were a common occurrence to him. The only thing different with this one were the photos that accompanied the call. Scanning over the them, Alex quickly deducted that the bloody message was written in Latin. His practice with the language, however, had become rusty over the years. Deciphering it correctly was the perfect job for his young assistant, David Lucas.
     David wasn’t all that young. At the age of twenty-seven, he presented himself with the maturity of someone twice his age. The knowledge he carried proved many times to be invaluable. He was a great asset to the ongoing cause in which Alex devoted his life.
     Life. What a simple way to describe the birth of something, its span of living, and then its inevitable end. He disliked the thought of saying, “This is my life.” If Alex could have it his way, the “inevitable end” would never come.
     He sat back in his soft leather chair and continued the look over the photos that were on his computer screen. The monitor and the single desk lamp were the only illuminating objects in his large study.
     Two words kept repeating throughout the blood written message; “united, destruction.” But without the rest of the words interpreted, the meaning would have to remain hidden until the morning.

Evonne Ingram stirred within her king-sized bed. Rich rays from the sun passed through her large bay window. Her room lit up with the strong morning light that danced over her many frivolous objects. She had the makings of a spoiled brat, but the stubbornness in her didn’t accept the attributes of the title. At least in her mind it didn’t.
     Her room was quite large, three times larger than the average teenager’s room. She was allowed anything she wanting: CDs, DVDs, money for online shopping, and not to mention the top-of-the-line computer system that catered to her gaming addiction. All in all, she seemed like the normal teen.
     But there was nothing truly normal about her life.
     Evonne was an only child, and ever since she could remember, her father, Alexander, welcomed her into a life of secrets. Honestly, how many people would believe that your father is the head of a secret organization whose main focus is to destroy all the werewolves and vampires in the world? And the alienation from her peers didn’t end there.
     For nineteen years, Evonne lived within the large house. The estate and the people were all she knew. The only friends she had were the workers and assistants to her father’s cause.
     Schooling had been another section of her life affected by her living environment. From an early age, tutors were there to instruct Evonne on all subjects from math, English, art, and even PE—mainly physical training. The training was merely for defensive purposes. Anyone with relations to Alexander Ingram had been known to be prime targets for those against her father’s organization.
     Her life in the manor wasn’t a demanding one and it wasn’t a fulfilling either. She had hoped to one day see the ocean and remember it completely. Just something to erase the dying vision from her childhood memory. The sweet, warm sea-spray was what she wanted to remember, and even the sound of the wind and seagulls.
     But there she remained. Far from the ocean and snuggled safe in Appalachian Mountains.
     On Evonne’s left nightstand, a wireless intercom shared it’s space with a Tiffany Lamp. A matching lamp sat on the other nightstand and shared its space with her alarm clock and a copy of War and Peace—a bet to David that she could finish reading it before the end of the year. She had yet to make it past chapter eight.
     The sleek black intercom popped on with a male voice coming through.
     “Evonne,” the voice began, “I know you’re awake. It’s 8:49, and you can’t sleep another day away.”
     Evonne stirred under her covers again. A slender hand moved from the comforting sheets and blindly hit one of the intercom’s buttons.
     In a sleepy voice, she replied, “I’m up, I’m up.” She released the button and settled back into the bed.
     A few seconds later, the voice returned to the speaker. “Evonne… get your lazy ass out of bed.”
     The girl grew angry and hit the button once more. “Listen, David, if you don’t want me come down there and beat you unconscious with your severed arm, then I’d advise you to let me sleep.”
     Silence fell over the intercom before David replied, “Is that a threat or a promise? By the way, your father wishes you a good morning, too.”
     Evonne exhaled deeply as she pulled herself out of bed. There was no defeating David on an intercom battle. One morning he continued to bug her over the span of two hours. It took her weeks to get the cat-food jingle out of her head.
     She ran her fingers through her long, blonde hair and slipped on her navy blue slippers. She then threw on her white cotton robe and exited the room.
     When she was a child, the grand manor held so much mystery and awe to last four childhoods. But there were sections of the house she was still forbidden to go. One of those had been the lower levels where her father’s team of hunters resided.
     The hunters. All of them were skilled in the best combat tactics, martial arts techniques, and weapons training; on the other hand, manners were undoubtedly overlooked in their extensive training. The lower levels had become more of a living structure unto its own and catered to the lives of these brave souls. Once again, this was all normal for Evonne.
     Built in the late 1700s, the estate rested atop the rolling mountains of Greenbrier County, West Virginia. It continued to be the perfect spot for her father’s organization. In a state that is sixty-five percent forest, a lot could go on without the local public too aware. And the nearest town was a half hour away.
     The grand house had been called impressive by some. Though not as extravagant as the well-known Biltmore Estate in North Carolina, the Ingram Estate focused more on function than fashion. Throughout the estate’s long history, the manor had undergone several renovations. The last renovation saw the addition of modern touches; from the elevator to the lower levels, to the upgrades in security. Only the upper section of the house left with its eighteenth century appearance. Evonne’s bedroom, however, was spared the antique look.
     The land on which the estate sat was no less grand, this included her father’s personal helicopter and three cargo helicopters. The gardens and landscaped areas around the manor helped conceal the cold belly of the estate’s main purpose. This also contributed to the unofficial title of the manor; Eden.
     Evonne’s mother, Sharon, would spend most of her time in the colorful gardens that stretched behind the house and up to the inner stone wall. The wall was the second one to be built around the estate. The first stone wall went around the perimeter of the land and stood nearly thirty feet tall, capped off with razor wire. The second wall was half the size and without flashy wire. Only recently did the protecting barriers seem more like prison walls to Evonne.
     And yet in spite of all the heavy protection, no one could stop the inevitable.
     When Evonne was five, a rogue werewolf stormed the manor, killing anyone in his path. The beast was soon killed, only after it took the life of Evonne’s mother. The chaos was what the little girl remembered, all of the other details were blocked from her mind.
     Alexander, Evonne’s father, took Sharon’s death hard. For weeks he locked himself in his bedroom and spoke to no one. The grieving period ended when he orchestrated the destruction of the two biggest werewolf packs on the east coast. From there, things quieted down.
     The house, however, was more like a headquarters. Over the years, other groups fighting for the same cause, joined Alex’s organization. The first was a group of five hunters, back in the early 1800s. The name of the group was called SEVEN, after the initials of the hunters: Victor, Ethan, Nathaniel, Stephen, and Emily. With SEVEN well established, Alex’s organization had the building blocks for a great syndicate. This gave the mission a better stronghold as more bases of operation sprang up throughout the United States and other countries. But this didn’t happen over a span of forty years. Alex had taken the reins from his father, as did he with his own father, and so on. Evonne, on the other hand, was never interested in following the family business.
     With one last yawn, she made her way down the wide, C-shaped grand staircase and headed for the kitchen. Similar to the ones used in a fine restaurant, this kitchen was never quite as busy. Only for the occasional parties and banquets did the kitchen come into its full use.
     A few cooks sat around a table, chit-chatting about whatever interested them. Surprised to see Evonne up this early, they quickly said “good morning” and continued on with their conversation.
     Evonne returned the greeting, then headed for the tray of croissant rolls, grabbing two before she left.
     The heavy, hardwood doors to her father’s office were left practically open. She slowly entered the room and found her father sitting at his desk with David sitting near him. Both were quietly talking amongst themselves while looking at the computer monitor.
     The office itself was large in scale and held six tall bookcases built, three on each side of the room and built into the wall. The only other pieces of furniture were her father’s main desk, two soft chairs sitting before the desk, and one medium sized table and chairs off to the right. The table usually held stacks of paperwork and other things that held no interest with Evonne. But on this day, the table was remarkably clean.
     Her father had two well-trusted assistants. The oldest was Marie Codwell. She was a slender woman in her mid-thirties, with smooth, medium brown hair, reaching past her shoulders, and rich brown eyes the shape of two perfect almonds. When she would flash her warm smile, her eyes would squint in their own welcoming way.
     Alex’s second assistant was David Lucas. He could have easily passed as Alex’s son based on appearance alone. But he didn’t share the hard exterior or worried expressions that her father did. Even as he looked up at Evonne, his dark brown eyes meeting her, she could see many attributes that proved he could never be Alex’s son.
     If Evonne had met David on the streets, she would have labeled him as a “goody-goody.” He was always seen in a simple buttoned-up shirt, black pants, and nice shoes. Only once did she see him dress casual, and that was when he taught her to ride a motorcycle. The sight of seeing him in blue jeans, a tee-shirt, and his black hair a mess from the helmet, told her that he was full of surprises, even if they were trivial ones.
     Evonne crossed the room and threw one of the croissant rolls at David. He caught it with ease. She was half-hoping the roll would have hit him. Nevertheless, she decided not to mention that she dropped it on the way to the study. That’s what you get for waking me up this early, she wanted to say.
     “So,” Evonne began as she took a seat in a chair facing her father’s desk, “what’s going on in the fast paced world of monsters?”
     Alex tapped his pen on one of his legal pads. He paused as though he tried to shelter his daughter from anything too graphic. Her father was in his mid-forties: short, dark brown hair, clean shaven, and hazel eyes riddled with confidence. And the confidence didn’t end there. Everything about him shown that he never second guessed himself.
     “A family was killed last night,” he said. “We were trying to figure out if it involves us or not.”
     “And?” she asked, taking a small bite from her roll.
     David answered. “It does.”
     Evonne decided to change the subject. “I was thinking, since it’s such a nice sunny day, I thought about heading into town for a couple of hours.”
     “Not alone, you’re not,” her father forcefully made clear.
     She sighed in protest. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I’m nineteen years old. It’s not like I’m twelve.” This wasn’t the first time this argument had played out, and hearing it begin again was painful.
     “I can have my driver take you there and Jonathan can accompany you,” he offered.
     Jonathan was one of her father’s instructors for his teams as well as Evonne’s bodyguard when ever they were away from the estate. He was a nice guy and all, but Evonne wanted time to herself.
     “Let me think about it,” she sarcastically set up. “Uh, no.”
     “Well then, how are you expecting to get there?”
     She smiled and answered, “My bike.” Not just any bike. It was her Harley Davidson Dyna Low Rider—a gift to herself when she turned eighteen.
     “Those things are dangerous on the open road,” he tried to argue further.
     “I’ll wear my helmet. I always do.” She took another bite from her croissant roll.
     “Always?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “How many times have you gone out?” He knew that she secretly left the manor on her quick rides through the countryside, but he liked to give her the sense of freedom, even if she wasn’t aware that he knew. A part of Alex was beginning to hate that he allowed her to have the motorcycle in the first place. But he couldn’t very well ban her from leaving or could he?
     Evonne ignored the question. “I’m going to get ready.” Standing up, she left the room before her father could think up another plan of attack.
     Alex sighed as he turned to his assistant. “If you ever want to have children, just remember these moments.”
     David gave an understanding smile, then returned to their business at hand. “Are you worried about the ‘gutting poet’?”
     His boss looked at the monitor once more. “We can’t be sure if it was the work of a werewolf or vampire.”
     “That’s true. But how many werewolves are fluent in Latin?” David suggested.
     “You have a point. However, who’s to say the author memorized the words?”
     David sat the uneaten roll on the corner of the desk. “Are you worried about your daughter?”
     Alex kept his eyes on the screen. “With as many enemies as I have, how can I afford not to.”