Warm Blood Cold Case - Part 4

Casie felt something crack inside her chest, a carefully constructed wall she'd spent ten years building. "That doesn't change anything. I made my choice the night I was humiliated in front of 16 packs. They made theirs when they let it happen."

"You think we had a choice?" Elias's voice carried a frustration she remembered from their childhood arguments. "You think any of us wanted to watch our sister be rejected by some arrogant Alpha's son who wasn't worthy to breathe the same air as you?"

"Then why didn't anyone stop it?" The question tore from her throat before she could contain it. "Why did you all just stand there and watch?"

"Because pack law—"

"Don't give me pack law." She stepped closer, ten years of suppressed anger finally finding its voice. "You could have challenged it. Father could have intervened. Instead, you all watched me be declared unworthy and then acted surprised when I left."

Elias ran a hand through his dark hair, looking suddenly older than his 29 years. "We were wrong. All of us. But walking away didn't just hurt you, Casie. It broke something in our family that we've never been able to fix."

A cold wind rustled through the cemetery, carrying the scent of approaching rain. Casie forced herself to breathe, to push the family drama back into its carefully locked compartment. "This isn't why I called you."

"Isn't it?" Elias closed the portfolio, his expression becoming serious again. "Someone is using ancient magic to kill humans in your territory. Someone who knows our family's history, our weaknesses. The timing isn't coincidental."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that whoever is doing this wants to draw you back into our world. The question is why."

Casie's phone buzzed with a text from Rick. *Another body. Warehouse district. How fast can you get here?*

Her blood went cold. "Four days," she whispered, then looked up at Elias. "You said we had four days."

"If they were following the traditional cycle, yes. But if they're accelerating the timeline..."

Casie was already moving toward her car. "I have to go. Keep researching. Find out who else would know these rituals."

"Casie, wait." Elias caught up to her as she reached the cemetery path. "If this is connected to our family, you can't handle it alone. Let me help officially."

"How?"

"Bring me in as a consultant. I have credentials in historical research, religious symbology. Your captain would buy it."

She paused, keys in hand. The idea of Elias in her precinct, her carefully separated worlds colliding, made her stomach clench. But another victim was already waiting, and she was running out of time.

"Fine. But you follow my lead. In my world, I'm Detective Blackwood. Nothing more."

"Understood." Elias paused before continuing, “just promise me that you’ll be careful, and at least think about what I said about at least coming home to let everyone know that your safe and a live.”

"I'll consider it," Casie replied, her voice tight. "After we stop whoever's doing this."

The drive to the warehouse district was tense, her mind racing between the case and Elias's revelations. Her family missed her. The thought was like a foreign object she couldn't quite process after a decade of carefully constructed independence.

She pulled up behind Rick's unmarked sedan and spotted him waiting outside an abandoned textile factory. His expression was grim.

"That was fast," he said as she approached.

"I was already headed back." She glanced at the building. "What have we got?"

"Male victim, mid-forties. Security guard found him during morning rounds." Rick lowered his voice. "It's worse than the others, Casie."

The warehouse interior was cavernous, morning light filtering through grimy windows. Crime scene technicians were already setting up, their movements careful around the body positioned in the center of the floor.

Casie's enhanced senses caught the scent immediately—blood, fear, and that same ancient predatory essence that had lingered at the previous scene. But stronger now. More deliberate.

The victim lay spread-eagled on his back, arms and legs extended. Unlike the others, his throat hadn't been torn—it had been sliced with surgical precision. The blood had been carefully channeled into grooves carved into the concrete floor, forming an intricate pattern around the body.

"Jesus," Rick muttered beside her.

The symbols on the victim's palms were deeper this time, carved through flesh to bone. But it was the message written across the man's bare chest that made Casie's blood run cold.

*The Blackwood Heir Returns.*

Rick followed her gaze. "Blackwood? Like you? That can't be coincidence."

"No," she managed, her voice carefully controlled. "It's not."

"You want to tell me what's going on?" Rick's tone was measured, but she could hear the hurt beneath it. "First these ritual killings, then your mysterious contact, now this? What aren't you telling me, Casie?"

She met his gaze, weighing her options. Rick was a good cop, a good partner. He deserved more than the half-truths she'd been feeding him. But the truth would put him in danger—not just from the killer, but from the supernatural world that operated in shadows alongside his own.

"I think the killer knows me," she said finally. "Or knows of me. My family... has expertise in historical artifacts. The symbols could be connected to collections we've handled."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it was closer than she'd ever come to sharing her real past with him.

Rick studied her face, clearly sensing there was more. "And your contact at the cemetery? Another family expert?"

"My brother." The admission felt strange after years of never mentioning her family. "Elias. He's coming in as a consultant."

Rick's eyebrows rose. "You have a brother?”

“I’m the middle child of seven, well at least was unless my parents had more children after I left home at 18. Elias is my third eldest brother, lets just say family politics got in the way.” Casie said looking off into the distance.