The Hollow Guest

Chapter 7:

Theo – POV

The walk to my office is silent, but tension rolls off the three detectives like smoke. Frustration. Anger. Desperation. It clings to them.

Once we’re inside and the door shuts behind us, I turn to face them. “So, gentlemen… I’m listening.”

They glance at one another, unsure who should speak. After a long pause, one cracks under the pressure.

“We need an Executioner,” he blurts out. “We can’t catch him. No scent, no fingerprints, no DNA… nothing. He’s always two steps ahead—like he knows exactly when and how to strike.”

I raise a brow. “An Executioner? Why would one of them help us?”

The man straightens his spine. “Executioners exist to serve justice, my King. This… this may fall under their code. But we won’t know unless we ask.”

I nod slowly. “Fine. Initiate contact. Let me know if one agrees.”

They hesitate. Again.

“What now?” I snap.

Another detective clears his throat. “There’s one nearby. Two villages away. He came to collect a rapist.” He meets my eyes. “Should we… invite him here?”

Well. That’s unexpected.

“Do it,” I say, a smirk tugging at my lips. “And call me when he arrives.”

They bow and leave. Parker drops onto the couch with a growl.

“I… AM… SOOO… PISSED RIGHT NOW!” he shouts, punching a cushion. “I’LL RIP THAT MOTHERFUCKER APART LIMB BY LIMB!”

His fury matches mine. My fists clench, desk trembling under my grip. I’m one second away from hurling it through the window when Parker suddenly freezes.

“They’re back,” he says, eyes distant. “And they brought a guest.”

We head back to the kitchen.

The doctor’s still at the body, taking careful notes. The detectives return moments later, bowing. But the man behind them doesn’t.

“Bow to your king,” one of the guards growls.

The stranger lifts his chin. “I bow only to my mother. No one else.”

Interesting.

So this is an Executioner. He’s tall, striking. Raven-black hair cropped short, piercing light blue eyes. Probably used to being the center of attention—but his beauty’s hollow. Cold.

His eyes are dead.

“It’s fine,” I say, waving the guard off. “I didn’t summon him to bow. I need his help.” I turn to the man. “Your name, Executioner?”

He gives a faint smile. “A king who knows how to ask. I’m Mason, Your Highness. And I already know about your little problem.”

He moves toward the counter, gaze sliding over the girl’s body without flinching.

“I’m not allowed to conduct investigations unless guided by prophecy. However…” He studies her face closely. “I may still be of service.”

From inside his jacket, he pulls out a small white card, a single number scrawled across it.

“Call this number. It won’t be cheap—but you’ll get results. If the job is accepted, there’s nowhere your killer can hide.”

He meets my gaze. “You’re a good king. That’s why I’m helping you. Let’s hope we never meet under different circumstances.”

I nod and extend my hand. “Thank you.”

He shakes it—briefly—and then turns and walks out without another word.

Once he’s gone, I turn to Arthur, my doctor. “What do we know about her?”

Arthur sighs, rubbing his eyes as he settles into a chair. “As suspected. Her mate filed for divorce last month—adultery. She slept with a guard while he was away. They reconciled a week ago. He forgave her. They were rebuilding. But someone didn’t think she deserved a second chance.”

He stands and begins packing his things. “I’m done for today, my King. I’ll prepare everything for her return home.”

“Thank you, Arthur. Let’s hope she’s the last.”

I leave him to it. The day’s drained me, and hunger claws at my stomach.

Hey Parker, bring some food and meet me in my office. We need to make that call.

Food’s already on its way. I’ll be up in five—just need to review next week’s guard selection.

As the mind link fades, there’s a knock at the door.

“My King, your dinner is here. May I enter?”

“Come in.”

A kitchen maid walks in, a tray stacked with food in her hands. She bows and heads toward the coffee table.

“You can leave it there,” I gesture.

“Shall I serve it for you?”

“No need. You may leave.”

“Yes, my King.”

She bows once more and exits quietly.

My office is large and functional. My desk sits directly ahead beneath a painting of a moonlit lake. Two laptops rest on its surface. To the left, a coffee table flanked by armchairs. Shelves packed with case files line the wall. To the right, three massive windows let in the moonlight I crave. Between them, paintings by local artists add a hint of color.

I’m studying one of them when Parker walks in.

“Man, I’m starving,” he groans, making a beeline for the food. “Let’s eat first, then make the call.”

He piles his plate high and starts devouring it like he hasn’t eaten in days.

“If you ever die, it’ll be from starvation,” I chuckle, grabbing a plate for myself. “Better eat now or I’ll go hungry tonight.”

“Come on, Theo,” he says with his mouth full of rice. “I’d never do that to you. Not on purpose anyway.” He flashes a cheeky grin.

We eat in silence—each lost in thought. One eye on the food, the other on the killer who still walks free.