Page 13 of Nocturne

12

LENA

T he living room erupts in thunderous applause. Well, as much as it can when you’re performing with another vampire to an audience of three.

“Bravo,” Valtu says from the piano, grinning up at me as he trails his long fingers over the keys with flourish. “You did good, kid.”

“As did you,” I say, taking a little bow. We just finished a simple rendition of “Embraceable You,” which we both pulled off better than I thought. Not that I doubted the Dracula’s musical skills, but because the notes of the song are very low, I wasn’t sure I could make it sound good. But human blood does a wonder on you.

“Here,” Abe says, filling up my glass of red wine and handing it to me. “You deserve to relax after that.”

I take it from him and have a dainty sip. “I should watch myself,” I say, even though it takes an awful lot to get us drunk because of our metabolism. “Need to drive back home.”

“You’re staying the night,” Abe insists, in a way that I know I can’t argue with him. “Please. Now come, sit down. We have a lot to talk about. I know you didn’t just come here to feed.”

He guides me to the couch and sits me down. The fog still wraps around the deck and the floor-to-ceiling windows, making us look enveloped in another world.

Valtu stays where he is on the piano bench, lighting a cigar, while Adonis hands him a Scotch in a squat glass before making his way over to the sectional adjacent to me, where Ezra is already sitting.

Abe perches on the couch beside me, hand on my thigh in an encouraging way, leaning forward with sympathy etched on his fair face. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend,” Abe says. “Elizabeth Short. What a horrible thing that happened to her.”

I sigh, sinking into the couch. My thoughts feel sharper than ever, but unfortunately my emotions do too.

“I’ve been trying to find her killer,” I tell them. “You know. Like I’m in a Raymond Chandler novel or something. But I think…I think I’m in a little over my head.”

“How so?” Ezra asks.

I start by telling them about what Betty said to me the night before she went missing, the diary she left. I talk about the Europeans she mentioned, then meeting Callahan, Marco, the stalker, everything that’s happened since January eighth.

“Callahan,” Valtu muses. “That’s who you were thinking of earlier. The one who has your heart and soul.”

I give Dracula the dirtiest look I can muster, enough that he flinches slightly. “You weren’t meant to hear that thought.”

“Have you slept with him?” Abe asks.

I balk at that, my mouth dropping open. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just want to know how involved with this human you are,” Abe says. “See if there’s a chance to stop you before it’s too late.”

“Stop me?”

He gives me a tired look. “Lena. It’s bad enough that you’re with one of Cohen’s enforcers. Don’t make things more complicated by falling for a PI. You know how it should be. Vampires stay with vampires. Humans are too fallible. Fragile. Mortal. There’s never a happy ending, is there?”

Though Valtu doesn’t say anything, I find myself looking at him, drawn by a change in his energy. It’s like a darkness swirls around him while he stares down into his glass. He lost someone. That’s who he’s been looking for in every face.

“I’m not in love with Callahan,” I say, bringing my attention back to Abe. “Nor Marco for that matter. They are just men. Means to an end. A girl has to have fun too.”

“I agree. But try not to have it with someone who we can’t afford to dig any deeper,” Abe says. “There are enough vampires in this city to go around. Hell, there might even be vampires working for Cohen, if that kind of danger is what you’re looking for. But there’s safety in staying with who we are. It protects our society. It keeps us hidden. And it stops us from having to experience the bite of mortality.”

I fall silent. He’s right, of course. I know he is. I know that Callahan is someone I need to stay away from me, at least in an emotional, physical way. If we want to solve this case together it has to stay professional and nothing else. I have more willpower than that.

“I suppose I’m lucky,” I say between a long swig of wine. “I only got one lecture while here.”

Everyone laughs, even Valtu.

“Well, I was going to remind you to not go so long between feedings, but from the way you took care of dinner, I think you learned your lesson,” Abe says, playfully touching his shoulder against mine.

Valtu puffs on his cigar and jerks his chin at me. “Well, what do you say, kid? Another song?”

“It would be my pleasure,” I say, happy to put this conversation behind me.

I get up, finish the rest of my wine, and take my place at the piano.

I’m bowing to thunderous applause again.

Only I’m not in Dr. Abraham Van Helsing’s house in Malibu. Instead, it’s the next night and I’m back at The Emerald Room, finishing “Body and Soul,” which of course reminds me of what Valtu said about Callahan. That he had me heart, body, and soul.

But Callahan isn’t here tonight. I spent the last two sets performing while scanning the crowd for him, expecting him to pop by. Marco is, of course, sitting in his usual spot with a couple of his pals, drinking and discussing business while I’m singing, as per usual. But Callahan is nowhere to be seen.

I’m a little disappointed. Maybe a lot disappointed. And I shouldn’t be. Abe was absolutely right in that I shouldn’t be getting involved with Callahan, no matter how much my body wants it (not my heart, nor my soul, sorry Valtu). I really have been sheltered from vampires by focusing on my singing career, which naturally puts me around humans all day and night long. Who knows, maybe Valtu is right in that sex with a human is subpar compared to a vampire. Maybe I oughta broaden my horizons a little bit and look beyond Marco.

And beyond Callahan.

The fact that he’s not here makes it easier. Yes, I felt close to him last night, yes I was forward with him over breakfast (must be the vampire in me), yes I feel there’s a connection with him I’ve never felt with anyone else before.

But going forward, all of that must remain in the past.

I must stay focused on finding Betty’s killer.

I must keep Callahan at arm’s length, for the sake of everything.

With this new resolve, I gather up the roses at my feet and make my way backstage, accepting compliments as I go.

Once I’m in my dressing room, I feel I can finally breathe. I close the door, place the roses on the dresser, and reach behind me to try and unzip my gown. I’ve just got my fingernails on the pull when suddenly the door swings open.

For a moment I think it’s Marco, being pushy as always, but instead it’s Callahan who stands in the doorway. He’s dressed in a spiffy black suit, his hair perfectly combed, but there’s a wildness in his eyes that can’t be contained and he’s breathing hard, like he just ran here.

“Callahan?” I say, my nerves dancing. “What are you doing here?”

He comes inside, slamming the door shut behind him, his head low and his blue gaze locked on mine like a predator.

“Why are you with him?” he says in a low, strained voice.

I swallow hard, unsure what’s happening. “With Marco?”

“Leave him, now,” he says, grinding out the words as he comes over to me, grabbing both my arms with bruising strength. “Leave him for me.”

His words are both demanding and desperate and I would be lying if they didn’t make my heart skip several beats. Still, I look him over carefully, trying to figure him out. Is he drunk? I’ve never seen him so uncomposed before.

“What’s gotten into you?” I ask.

He gives me a caustic laugh, the kind that borders on insane. “That’s the thing,” he says with a shake of his head. “That’s the thing, kitten. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I just know that you don’t belong with a thug like that.”

“And so I belong with you?”

“Yeah. You belong with me. All of you.”

Heart, body, and soul…

But there’s a part of me that still wants to rebel, that doesn’t like being told what to do. “It doesn’t work like that. You can’t just demand me.”

“I’m not demanding,” he growls. “I’m taking.”

My heart is now hammering against my ribs, heat pooling between my thighs. “You can’t just take me.”

“You were offering it up the other day.”

“And maybe I had a change of heart. Maybe I realized fucking you would be a mistake,” I say, though my words sound harsher than I meant.

“And fucking him isn’t?”

I narrow my eyes at him, anger and desire swirling together until I’m burning up all over.

“You know why I’m with Marco? He’s good in bed and has a big dick. That answer satisfy you? Did you think, maybe hope, I was more complicated than that? Sorry to disappoint you, sorry that?—”

Before I can finish my sentence, I’m cut off by his lips. He closes the gap between us and grabs me by the back of the head, strong fingers sliding into my hair, his mouth fierce and demanding. It’s our first kiss and it takes my breath away like a punch to the gut. I’m surging with heat and need as his tongue sweeps against mine, my knees growing weak as he devours.

Then he grabs my hand, presses it against the rock-hard bulge in his pants, and growls, “Is he bigger than this?”

Goodness.

Callahan is enormous.

He reads the desire on my face, the corner of his mouth twisting up into a wanton smirk before he kisses me again, rougher this time, a threat of potential violence. We’re making out in a building frenzy, his hands everywhere, his mouth relentless.

It’s everything I’ve needed.

He shoves me back a few steps, and I’m stumbling until I’m pushed against the wall, pinning me there as he kisses down my neck. My strapless dress is no match for him—he pulls it down, freeing my breasts, all while I’m weakly pushing against him in some futile show of resistance.

But my body betrays me. It always does. I moan as his lips find my nipple, sucking hard into his mouth, biting down until I cry out. It hurts but it hurts so good and god, do I want more. More of him, more of everything.

My hands slip under his jacket, desperate to undress him. He shrugs it off with one quick motion, sending it flying across the room and knocking over a vase of old flowers on the table.

“Callahan—” I gasp but he’s devouring me again, lifting me up by my thighs until I’m wrapped around him tight.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he says into my skin between bites.

I can’t. I’m writhing against him, lost in a frenzy of lust that burns hotter than anything I’ve ever known.

“What’s the use in lying?” I manage to pant out with what little breath I have left.

He grins at me wickedly before his mouth closes over my nipple again and I let out a sharp cry, fingers digging into his hair and pulling hard.

This is crazed and reckless and everything that Abe warned me about. It’s like the rest of the world has blurred away and there’s only Callahan left standing in stark focus before me. And god help me, but I want him so bad I think I might die if he stops now.

He moves me off the wall with a grunt and we tumble over onto the dressing couch, a tangle of limbs and clothes being pushed aside just enough so we can get closer, closer.

He pins my wrists above my head with one strong hand while the other slips between my legs.

“Do you remember when you said fucking me would be a mistake?” His voice is dark velvet and dangerous.

“Yes,” I breathe as his fingers discover I’m not wearing undergarments.

And I’m already soaked.

“And yet you’re not wearing underwear,” he says, growling now, a vibration that rattles in his chest like a warning. “Was that for him? Or for me?”

I don’t answer.

He wouldn’t like the answer.

He lets out an animal-like sound at my silence, nostrils flaring.

“I’m going to fuck him out of you, dollface,” he rasps, and as I stare up at his eyes, I swear his pupils flash red for a moment, a solar flare against piercing blue. “You’ll never be the same again.”

He slides his fingers inside me, thrusting in rhythm with his filthy words. I’m lost, completely lost, as a moan tears from my throat. I arch against him, frantic and helpless and not even caring anymore. I want more, more, so much more. He moves his fingers—two, three, four, practically fisting me—faster, deeper, relentless until I shatter around him with a strangled cry. My eyes roll back in my head, my limbs convulse, and the world explodes into a vision of white.

“You look like heaven when you come,” he says into my ear, breath hot. “I want you to see it.”

He hauls me off the couch and over to the vanity, dragging me along breathless and still trembling. He pushes me up against it, bending me over so I’m staring at my own reflection. His hand closes around my throat, holding tight.

“Look at yourself,” he commands, a brutal whisper.

With the other hand he bunches up my dress, lifting it until it’s around my waist. He frees himself from his pants, hard and thick and ready for me, then thrusts inside in one vicious motion that pulls a gasp from my lips.

“Look at us both,” he growls.

I open my eyes, dazed and wanting and utterly taken by him. The mirror shows everything: how wild we are together, how utterly consumed I am by what’s happening. My hair is a red mess, my breasts hanging free, my lipstick smeared clear across my face. His eyes are blue fire as he meets mine in the reflection, seeming to hypnotize me as his cock drives deeper, deeper, until I it feels like the air is being expelled from my lungs.

Then he pulls out and pumps into me feverishly, the edge of the vanity digging into my hips with every forceful thrust. The whole world has narrowed down to this moment—Callahan fucking me like I’ve never been fucked before.

His grip tightens on my neck as I watch myself unravel in the mirror. It’s raw and obscene and exactly what I’ve been craving since the moment he walked into my life.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he says through gritted teeth. “Ruin you for anyone else.”

I can barely breathe but everything is clear now, clearer than it’s ever been. Maybe this was inevitable all along: Callahan claiming me as his own. And maybe that’s why it feels so good—because here, with him, is exactly where I belong.

“You’re mine, you know that,” he rasps. “Mine, not his.”

His possessive words seem to claim me like the rest of his body is.

“Say it,” he growls.

It’s a demand and a plea, and I’m gasping as he pushes me closer to the edge.

“Yes,” I say, voice breaking with the intensity of everything. “Yes, I’m yours.”

He slams into me again, harder, pulling another strangled moan from my lips, and then his rhythm shifts, rough and desperate. He’s lost in me, lost in claiming me as much as I’m lost in him taking everything I have.

“Fuck,” he groans, low and ragged. “I can feel you?—”

I come again with a broken sob, his name tearing from my lips like a prayer or maybe a curse or maybe both.

“Callahan!”

I see it all in the mirror just like he wanted: how completely he possesses me and how much I love being possessed by him.

Then Callahan follows with a growl that shakes through his entire body. With one hand he pushes my shoulder blades so I’m flat on the table, with the other he pulls his cock out from me and finishes himself off with his fist. Thick spurts of cum land on my back and onto my dress, hot and sticky, taking me by surprise.

Then, with a ragged breath, he puts his hand on my back and rubs his seed onto my skin, down over the back of my dress.

You’ll ruin it , I want to tell him, but I can barely breathe, let alone speak.

Besides, he just told me he was going to ruin me.

“There,” he says thickly, leaning back. “Now when you go back out there, they’ll know you’re mine. I’ve marked you.”

I lift my head, glancing at him in the mirror. “What are you, an animal?”

He meets my eyes and yet doesn’t smile. “Yeah. I think I might be.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “You got a problem with that, kitten?”

I can’t help but give him a sated grin. “Not at all.”

Then he tucks his cock away and helps me straighten up. The heat starts to dissipate from his eyes, clarity taking over. He even looks a little sheepish as he nods at my face. “Sorry about your makeup. You might want to reapply.”

The return of the Callahan I know feels like a splash of cold water. I nod, putting my breasts back inside the dress and smoothing it down, then patting my hands over my head. Suddenly I feel sheepish too, as if we’d both been drugged so we’d fuck ourselves in a frenzy.

“You better get going,” I tell him, fear returning. “If Marco catches you here…”

“I’m gone,” he says, leaning in to give me a sweet kiss on the cheek before striding toward the door. He picks up his jacket, swinging over his shoulder, then looks at me with his hand on the knob.

“So?” he says, a slight curving smile in his serious facade. “Was I bigger and better?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Get out of here, Callahan.”

But from the way he nods, a hint of satisfaction in his gaze, I think he knows the answer.

Yes. He was. In every way that counts.

He leaves and closes the door behind him and I nearly collapse back against the vanity, trying to make sense of everything that just happened.

So much for keeping him at arm’s length.