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“Other vampires,” I repeat, still struggling to accept the reality unfolding before me. “How many of you—of us—are there?”

“Not many, not compared to humans. We’re born, not made. Each generation smaller than the last.” She takes my hands in hers. “But none like you. None who didn’t know what they were until their awakening. It shouldn’t be possible, but if you were adopted…”

I think back to what little I know of my birth parents—adopted at age three, told only that they had some rare medical condition, nothing contagious. Had they known? Had they hidden me among humans for some reason, denied me the knowledge of my true nature? Didn’t they know one day this would happen?

“We need to go somewhere safe,” Lena says, glancing at the street. “The police might be looking for you after what happened at the hotel. And Cohen’s men won’t be far behind.”

I nod, still reeling from revelations that have shattered my understanding of myself, of the world. “Where?”

“I know a place. People who can help you. Help us both.” She squeezes my hands. “Do you trust me?”

I look at her—this woman who has somehow become the center of my existence in just a few short weeks. This woman who has just told me that everything I believed about myself wasa lie. This woman who is, apparently, the same kind of creature that I am.

“Yes,” I say, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. “I trust you.”

Relief washes over her face. “Then let’s go. There’s a lot you need to learn about what you are. And what we’re up against.”

As we step back onto the street, blending with other pedestrians as if we hadn’t just killed two men, hadn’t just upended the foundations of my existence, I realize that nothing will ever be the same.

I am not the man I thought I was.

The world is not what I believed it to be.

I am a predator walking among prey, a creature of night and blood and hunger.

A vampire.

18

CALLAHAN

We find ourselves at a payphone in Mar Vista, having walked an untold number of blocks. Lena calls a number and we spend the next thirty minutes loitering around in the shadows, shrinking back further every time a car with sirens comes screaming down the street.

I killed those men in self-defense. That much I know is true. But right now, the last thing I need is for the police to be looking at me. If they look at me any harder than tonight, they’ll find a lot more than they’ve bargained for.

They’ll find a monster.

“There might still be witnesses,” I say to Lena. She’s standing beside me, her face completely clear. No sign of the acid that was thrown on her face. I keep wanting to reach out and take her hand but something stops me. It’s not what she is. It’s what I am.

There’s so much I don’t know.

A nightmare I can’t seem to wake from.

She doesn’t say anything. I press on. “Maybe I won’t be identified. But you will be. Lena Reid has a memorable face. They’ll remember you were there, that you had acid thrown onyou. What happens when you go to sing at The Emerald Room and your face is as unblemished as ever?”

Her eyes slide to mine, her gaze tired. “There is no more singing at the Emerald Room, Callahan. Not for me. Cohen sent those goons to send a message and that message was that my career is done.”

“You can always explain it away,” I tell her, my heart breaking at the thought of her losing her dreams over this. Over me. “You can say it didn’t get you or you got some miracle cream. No one saw you heal, Lena, no one who is still alive.” At least, I don’t think.

“Maybe,” she says with a sigh. “Hard to find a club that Cohen doesn’t have his fingers in.”

“Then we take care of Cohen.”

Her look is razor-sharp. “No one takes care of Mickey Cohen. You know this.”

She’s right. The man has more lives than a cat and nothing yet has put him away permanently. Helps that most of this whole town is in his pocket. Nothing sticks with him.

“Maybe humans can’t…” I begin. “But vampires?”