CHAPTER 2: The Vampire's Mark

CHAPTER 2: The Vampire's Mark

A soft knock at the door pulled Fénix from his deep sleep. He blinked, disoriented, as the last vestiges of rest vanished. The room surrounding him was spacious and luxurious, decorated with an elegant minimalism: pale gray walls, dark oak furniture, and a large window whose opaque curtains filtered the dawn light. In the center, the huge satin bed seemed like an abandoned oasis.

Fénix sat up and looked at the wall clock: 7:00 AM.

Upon opening the door, he was met by a servant impeccably dressed—black suit, gray vest, and a perfectly knotted tie—holding a suit on a hanger and a letter in his hand. His attitude was cold, but polite.

"Good morning, Mr. Rogers," the man said in a soft voice. "Miss Enid asked me to give you this."

Fénix took the suit—a three-piece set in charcoal black—and the letter, its white envelope bearing a wax seal.

"Thanks, friend," he murmured, closing the door behind the servant.

On the glass table, he opened the letter curiously. Enid's flowing handwriting unfolded before his eyes:

Dear Fénix,
I hope you rested well. The suit is a gift for joining Enid Corp. Wear it for our meeting on the 42nd floor at 7:30 AM. There is much to discuss about your new role.
P.S.: I trust you will adapt. You have unique skills… and I have plans for you.
Enid Drakewood.

Fénix arched an eyebrow as he folded the letter.

"Well, this is promising," he muttered, adjusting the black tie in the mirror. "I hope Miss Sinclair knows what she's getting into."

He tucked the letter into his inner pocket and left the room.

Despite the early hour, the building buzzed with activity: executives with tablets, scientists with folders, and guards with headphones crossed paths in a ballet of efficiency. Fénix navigated the hustle and bustle calmly, heading to the elevator.

"Wow, everyone looks like ants on a mission," he commented aloud. "Good thing I only got injected with poison and not this obsession with productivity."

The elevator doors closed. He pressed the button for the 42nd floor and observed his reflection in the polished metal.

"A meeting with the boss… What could go wrong?"

The place was vast: a polished wood table, leather chairs, and soft light filtering through the large windows. Empty, except for Enid Sinclair, sitting at the end with an enigmatic smile.

"Fénix," she said, pointing to the chair in front of her. "Have a seat."

He obeyed, noting how her gaze assessed him. Enid wore a black dress that accentuated her aristocratic bearing.

"Starting today, you will work with a special team: Lucian and Vanessa, two lycans who will arrive in a few days," she explained, sliding a wooden box toward him. "And this is for you."

Fénix opened the box. Inside, a Matilda M93R pistol with silver bullets glinted under the light.

"Not bad," he admitted, feeling the weapon. "Elegant for a dirty job."

Enid leaned forward, letting a lock of hair fall onto her shoulder.

"I knew you'd like it," she whispered, in a tone that bordered on flirtatious. "You and I will do great things, Fénix."

He held back a snort but couldn't stop the heat from rising up his neck.

"I just hope you're not selling me more problems than I already have."

"That," she replied, smiling, "depends on you."

Before he could retort, Enid slid a folder across the table.

"Your first target: a vampire on Oranienburger Strasse. Three disappearances in three months. Neutralize it."

Fénix read the report quickly.

"Ah, of course. Nothing like a walk in the rain to hunt bloodsuckers," he quipped, closing the folder. "Anything else?"

"Marcus will accompany you," Enid added. "And Fénix…" her voice dropped to a whisper, "I'll be watching you."

He stood up, stowing the weapon inside his jacket.

"I don't doubt it, boss."

Outside, the rain lashed the streets. Fénix banged on Marcus's door with his fist.

"Get up, lazybones! We have work!"

Marcus opened the door, his hair disheveled and eyes bloodshot with sleep.

"Seriously, at seven in the morning?" he grumbled.

"The boss doesn't negotiate," Fénix replied, throwing the report at him. "Vampires, blood, and possible death. Your favorite combo."

Marcus cursed but got dressed in seconds.

"Oranienburger Strasse?" he asked, adjusting his coat. "Could be worse. They could have sent us to a dump."

Fénix smiled, opening the umbrella.

"It's still early."

The antique shop was cordoned off. Police officers, camera flashes, and the shopkeeper's body on the floor, a clean wound in his abdomen.

"Precise attack," Fénix murmured, crouching down. "There was no struggle."

Marcus sniffed the air.

"No trace of bites. This vampire didn't want to feed… it was looking for something."

Fénix nodded, examining a drop of spilled wax near the counter.

"Or someone."

A shadow crossed his mind: Why here? Why now?

"Let's go," he said, standing up. "This vamp isn't going to hunt itself."

Marcus adjusted his weapon under his coat.

"After you, boss."

The rain kept falling. Somewhere in Berlin, a pale figure watched them from the shadows.