Page 22 of Nocturne

21

CALLAHAN

T he Oldsmobile grumbles beneath us as we wind up the curving roads into the Burbank hills, smog hanging above us like a cloak. I grip the steering wheel tightly, following the woman’s directions without question. There’s a fog in my mind I can’t shake—not the usual haze of a blackout, but something different. More directed.

“Left at the fork,” she says, her voice carrying that subtle European accent. This brunette, who approached me outside the station with promises of information about Elizabeth Short, sits beside me like she belongs there.

“How much further?” I ask, my own voice sounding distant to my ears.

“Not far. Just beyond those trees.” She gestures toward a dense copse of eucalyptus and oak ahead, silhouetted against the brown sky. “You’re doing well, Victor. Very well.”

I should be suspicious. Should question why I’m driving a stranger up into isolated hills, especially when there’s a serial killer on the loose. But each time doubt surfaces, it dissolves like mist under morning sun, replaced by a strange compulsion to continue.

To not ask too many questions.

We pass through wrought iron gates standing open like hungry jaws, drive up a long gravel driveway lined with ancient oaks that seem to watch our approach. The mansion that appears ahead is massive—Mediterranean style, with warm lights glowing from dozens of windows, an estate that would make William Randolph Hearst give it the thumbs up.

“Welcome to our humble home,” the brunette says, a predatory smile playing at the corners of her sly mouth.

I kill the engine and stare at the house. Music drifts through the evening air—something classical I can’t identify, underscored by laughter and the splash of water.

“You seem confused,” she observes, laying an ice-cold hand on my arm. “Don’t worry. Everything will make sense soon enough.”

She guides me up the marble steps to massive double doors that open before we reach them. A man in formal attire bows slightly, his eyes never quite meeting mine.

“Ms. Tatiana,” he murmurs. “Your sister has been expecting you.”

“Is our other guest comfortable?” Tatiana asks.

“Quite,” the man replies with a thin smile. “She and Ms. Katya are upstairs.”

Tatiana leads me through a grand foyer into what appears to be a party in full swing. Elegant men and women in evening wear mingle around a sprawling living area that opens onto a massive backyard. Beyond tall glass doors, a swimming pool gleams turquoise, surrounded by lounging figures.

But something’s off about the guests. They move with too much precision, their laughter too calculated. And their eyes—they follow me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. Hungry eyes.

Vampires?

“Drink?” Tatiana offers, plucking a crystal glass from a passing server.

I take it automatically, sipping the amber liquid without thought. It burns pleasantly going down, leaves a metallic aftertaste.

“Good, isn’t it?” she purrs. “A special blend. Family recipe.”

As we move through the crowd, I notice things I shouldn’t be able to see in the dim lighting—the pulse at a woman’s throat, the dilation of a man’s pupils as he stares at a passing waitress, the nearly imperceptible movement of insects and creatures lurking in the garden’s shadows.

And other things—couples entwined in dark corners, on divans partially hidden by potted palms. Some wear ornate masks that conceal half their faces, their motions clearly sexual beneath silk and satin clothing.

It’s like stepping into some strange, decadent dream.

“My sister’s guests appreciate…physical pleasures,” she explains, following my gaze to where a masked, topless woman straddles a man on a chaise, fucking him with abandon, her head thrown back in ecstasy. “Being immortal can lead to certain…appetites.”

Immortal . The word echoes in my addled brain.

So they are vampires.

This can’t be good.

And yet I can’t seem to do anything about it.

She steers me toward a grand staircase, her hand at the small of my back like a brand. “Dmitri wanted to meet you of course, but he has…plans for tonight. You’ll have to forgive his absence.”

We ascend the stairs, passing more couples in various states of undress, their faces contorted in pleasure or something darker. A man glances up as we pass, blood visible on his lips, the woman beneath him smiling dreamily despite a thin red line dripping from her neck.

“Here we are,” Tatiana says, stopping before a set of double doors at the end of a long hallway. She pushes them open without knocking.

The bedroom beyond is spacious, dominated by a massive four-poster bed draped in crimson silk. The lighting is dim, candles flickering in ornate holders, casting long shadows across Persian rugs and antique furniture.

Across the room, near a set of French doors leading to a balcony, a blonde woman in a silver evening gown bends over a velvet chaise lounge. She’s kissing someone, her platinum hair cascading over her shoulders, obscuring my view.

“Oh, Katya,” Tatiana calls. “Look who I’ve brought.”

The blonde straightens, turning with liquid grace. Her smile is dazzling, predatory. “Victor Callahan. We’ve been waiting for you.”

As she moves aside, I see who lies on the chaise behind her, and my blood turns to ice.

Lena.

She’s stretched out on the deep blue velvet, her red hair spilling like fire across the cushions. She’s wearing only a silk slip, her legs bare, her skin gleaming pale in the candlelight. Her eyes are half-closed, unfocused, her lips parted as if in dream.

“What have you done to her?” The question escapes before I can stop it, my first clear thought since meeting the brunette outside the station.

“Nothing she didn’t invite,” Katya says, trailing a finger down Lena’s cheek. “Nothing she doesn’t want. Don’t you know anything about her? About her appetites? Her nature? She’s simply…willing. As you are.”

Lena’s dark eyes drift toward me, recognition dawning slowly. “Victor?” Her voice is slurred, distant. “You’re here.”

“I told you he would come,” Katya murmurs to her. “He belongs here. With us. With you.”

Something fierce and protective rises through the fog in my mind. I take a step forward, but Tatiana’s hand on my chest stops me.

“Patience,” she says. “The night is young, and we have much to celebrate.” She takes my glass, refilling it from a crystal decanter. “Drink. Join us.”

My hand shakes as I accept the glass. Every instinct screams danger, but I can’t seem to resist the compulsion to obey. The liquid burns going down, the metallic taste stronger now.

“That’s it,” Tatiana whispers. “Let go of your doubts. Your questions. You’re among your own kind now.”

My own kind.

As I drain the glass, the world shifts subtly around me. Sounds become sharper, smells more intense. I can hear Lena’s heartbeat from across the room, can smell the jasmine of her perfume mingled with something else—fear.

“Now,” Katya says, beckoning me forward. “Come join us. The real party is just beginning, isn’t it Lena?”

Lena’s lips part as if to answer, but they close again on a sigh as Katya slips the thin strap of her slip off one shoulder, then the other. The fabric falls away, pooling about her waist. Candlelight plays over her breasts, throwing soft shadows across her skin. The blonde woman trails her fingers down Lena’s throat, leans in to circle a pink nipple with her tongue.

And I just stand there and watch, unable to turn away, growing harder by the second.

Tatiana steps behind me, her hands sliding up from my waist to undo my tie with practiced ease. She kisses the back of my neck as she works it free, moves around to face me and begins unbuttoning my shirt. Lena’s eyes never leave mine—they’re like chocolate flames burning through the haze in my head.

“Relax,” Tatiana says softly, pushing the shirt from my shoulders. “Enjoy.”

She kisses me then, deeply, and I taste that metallic tang on her tongue as she pulls away just long enough to remove my undershirt. Her hands are cold against my bare chest.

I can’t stop shaking.

On the chaise lounge, Katya’s hands move lower now, teasing at the hem of Lena’s slip before pulling it slowly down her body. Lena arches into it, murmurs something I can’t hear as her eyes flutter closed again. She’s completely naked now, utterly exposed. I should be rushing to her side; instead I stand frozen while Tatiana sinks to her knees in front of me, unbuckling my belt with deft fingers.

Her lips travel down my abdomen as she pulls me free of my trousers and shorts in one swift motion—a motion so fluid it seems rehearsed. She stands again and draws me toward the bed, while Lena lies on the chaise lounge beneath Katya’s ministrations, twisting under hands that roam everywhere, searching, coaxing.

I should care more than this.

The thought is fleeting and weak.

Tatiana pushes me down onto the bed, climbs onto my lap and kisses me again as she grinds against me through the silky fabric of her dress. The room spins around us—a blur of candlelight and shadows—and I feel like I’m falling forward into some dark unknown.

“See?” Her breath is hot on my ear. “Isn’t letting go easier?”

She nips sharply at my neck, and I gasp despite myself.

On the velvet chaise, Katya’s mouth moves lower still until Lena gasps too—a sound more animal than human—her back arching off the cushions like a bowstring pulled taut.

Lena’s eyes open wide then, focusing on mine and holding there with an intensity that cuts through everything else around us—the noise of Tatiana’s laughter behind me; the murmur of voices drifting up from below; even the burning in my own veins as desire runs riot through body and mind alike.

“Victor,” she whispers again; this time it’s not a question but something closer to a command—a lifeline thrown across dark waters for both of us to clutch at desperately before we drown without knowing how or why it happened so fast or so completely.

And somehow that single word—my name from her lips—is enough for my first clear thought since arriving here tonight:

I have to get us out of this place before it swallows us whole.

But I can’t.

Or is it, that deep down, I don’t want to.

I want to see where this leads.

Katya moves down Lena’s body, her mouth tracing delicate paths across her milky skin. She pauses at the curve of a hip, kisses the inside of a thigh, and Lena writhes beneath her touch, moaning. Her fingers wind through Katya’s hair, pulling her closer, breath coming in ragged gasps as the blonde woman pushes her legs further apart.

I watch without blinking, the scene before me unfolding like some kind of fevered hallucination that only nudie parlors can dream up.

Tatiana slides off my lap and onto the floor, pulling my hips toward the edge of the bed with surprising strength. Her dress falls away; she’s naked beneath it, all alabaster skin and long limbs. I should be trying to stop this—but instead I feel myself harden. It’s not because of her, though. As perfect as her body seems, there’s still a hint of something sour underneath, the taste of her bitter.

No, I’m hard as a rock because of Lena. She’s the one I can’t look away from.

Even as Tatiana lowers her mouth to me with calculated slowness, a triumphant smile playing at the corners of lips that are warm now against impossibly hot flesh. My entire world narrows to that single point of contact—the unbearable pleasure and the building pressure as she plays my body like an instrument she’s mastered over centuries. All while I pretend it’s Lena.

Across from me, Katya’s head moves in a rhythm that matches Tatiana’s perfectly. Lena’s hands flutter helplessly at her sides as groans become wilder now, faster—her eyes locked on mine while we’re both undone by these vampire women who seem to know every secret place inside us.

“Tell me,” Tatiana purrs, staring up at me with a wet mouth. “If I dropped the compulsion now, if I let you have free will, would you stop this? Or would you have me continue? Go on. Ask yourself.”

I try to think, try to push back the haze. The truth is, I want to watch Lena as she comes. I want to come while she does it.

But more than that, I just want her.

I just want her.

The room blurs again; sound and light merge into one dizzying crescendo until time collapses entirely…

Until there is nothing but Lena and me, eyes locked, mouths open as we plunge into a shared release so intense it leaves me gasping for air—gasping for reason—grasping at anything solid enough to hold onto once it finally passes through us.

Tatiana pulls away first, wiping her mouth with languid satisfaction before standing and drawing me up with her. “See?” she whispers again as if nothing else needs saying—like this was always inevitable.

But I shake my head, that fierce protectiveness surging back for an instant of clarity before she claims my lips once more.

On the chaise lounge Lena lies motionless except for her heaving chest. Her eyes stay on mine even as Katya stands and adjusts her gown so it clings perfectly to every curve.

“Now,” Katya says, pointing at me with her sharp fingernail. “Time for you to fuck her.”