Page 24 of Nocturne

23

CALLAHAN

I wake to the taste of blood and perfume.

Consciousness filters back slowly, like light through murky water. First comes awareness of my body—limbs heavy, mouth dry, head pounding with a ferocious hangover unlike any I’ve experienced before. Then sensations: cool sheets against my skin, the distant hum of traffic, the smell of unfamiliar soap.

And Lena.

Her scent is unmistakable even through the lingering miasma of whatever was in my system. I feel her presence like a physical touch.

When I finally force my eyes open, I’m greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling. Cracked plaster, water stains in the corner, a light fixture that’s seen better days. A cheap hotel room.

How the fuck did I get here?

“Welcome back,” Lena’s voice comes from somewhere to my right.

I turn my head to find her sitting in a threadbare armchair by the window, a cigarette burning between her fingers. Light filters through yellowed curtains, casting her in golden silhouette. She’s wearing a man’s shirt—my shirt, I realize—and nothing else. Her red hair tumbles loose around her shoulders, and her face is scrubbed clean of makeup.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,

And sexy as hell.

“Where are we?” My voice comes out as a rasp.

“The Palmetto Hotel. Downtown.” She takes a drag from her cigarette, watching me with dark eyes that reveal nothing. “You don’t remember getting here, do you?”

Fuck. More memories lost? I push myself up against the headboard, wincing as my muscles protest. Fragments flash through my mind—a mansion in the hills, a pool gleaming under moonlight, people watching us with hungry eyes. And Lena…Christ, Lena and those women…

“I remember some things,” I admit, something like shame washing over me. “Not how we left. Not coming here.”

She nods as if this confirms a theory. “They let us go later. I drove us in your car. You were not yourself.”

“What happened?” I ask, though part of me doesn’t want to know. “Was I…did I transform?”

“No,” she says, and I exhale loudly. “Almost, but no.” She stubs out her cigarette and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, careful to maintain distance between us. “What do you remember?”

I close my eyes, trying to sort through the disjointed images floating in my mind. “A woman, this brunette, she seemed familiar somehow. She told me she knew things about Elizabeth Short. She got in my car. We drove to a mansion in the hills. There was a pool party. A blonde. And then you.”

A hot wash of need comes over me as I remember the rest in fuzzy detail. The blonde going down on Lena, the brunette sucking my dick. The way we came, staring into each other’s eyes, the hottest thing I’d ever seen. Then we fucked…with both of them watching, touching, egging us on as if…as if…

“Did you get a name?” I ask, my memories still too sluggish. “Who were they?”

“You don’t know? Katya and Tatiana Ivanov.”

“Ivanov?” The name sends a chill through me. “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be.” She inches back on the bed and pulls her knees to her chest, suddenly looking vulnerable despite the strength I know she possesses. “Their compelling abilities are stronger than anything I’ve encountered. Even now, I can’t remember their faces clearly. But I remember their names.”

I reach for memories that slip away like mist. “They drugged us somehow. Or used some kind of vampire mind control.”

“Both, I think. There was something in the drinks they gave us. And the blonde one—she has power.” Lena’s voice drops to a whisper. “They wanted you for something. Or maybe me. It was hard to tell what they wanted, to be honest.”

The blonde woman’s face swims into focus in my memory—piercing eyes, platinum hair styled like Veronica Lake’s, and one long purple-painted fingernail drawing blood from Lena’s neck. My stomach turns as I remember tasting that blood, the way it had awakened something primal inside me.

“I almost lost control,” I admit slowly. “When I tasted your blood?—”

“I know.” Her eyes meet mine, steady and unflinching. “I felt it happen. Felt you start to change.” She pauses, a flush appearing on her cheeks. “In case you didn’t know, your dick actually gets bigger.”

I swallow down that new piece of information. “But why didn’t I? Complete the transition, I mean.”

“I don’t know. It seemed like you didn’t want to, that you were holding on. Maybe it was willpower. Maybe they gave you something to suppress it. They seemed to be experimenting with you, like they were trying to trigger your vampire side but control when and how it happened.” She hesitates. “Callahan, they know you’re a vampire. That much was clear. Perhaps they’ve always known.”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, discovering I’m wearing only my briefs. The room spins momentarily, then steadies. “If the Ivanovs are the Europeans from Elizabeth’s diary, that means they’re connected to the murders. To the ritual killings.”

“Yes.”

“Why did they take us there? Take us both there?”

She shakes her head, trailing her slender fingers over the sheets. “I don’t know. I keep trying to figure it out. Maybe they wanted to find out how much we knew about their involvement. Maybe they tried to do something to influence us to drop the case, compel us to follow another lead. Obviously that didn’t work or we wouldn’t be talking about it.”

“And why make us fuck each other like that?”

I know I don’t mince words with Lena but her cheeks still go pink. “Because they’re vampires. That pool party was probably one big orgy. We’re hyper-sexual beings. Sex is as easy and common as drinking blood. Fucking is our currency.”

I have to admit, even though I saw the Ivanovs all over her, even though the sight turned me on beyond belief, I did feel a pang of jealousy in that I had to share her with them. Now, I’m jealous that Lena has lived a life like that before me.

I clear my throat. “And have you taken part in those…events…before?”

“Me?” she asks, her lips twisting into a smile. “Victor. I’ve never even slept with a vampire before.”

I feel my brows raise. “You haven’t?” I ask, feeling a rush of hope, followed by a deeper need to claim.

“Not until you,” she says.

“But that’s not really fair. I don’t remember screwing you when I was fully vampire.”

She shrugs, my shirt slipping down her shoulder, her bare pale skin singing to me. “Well, you’ll just have to believe me when I say you enjoyed it.”

Heat builds through me and my words come out almost in a growl. “And has any man made you come with just their mouth?”

“Not yet,” she says, her mouth parting, full and pink.

I don’t wait for more of an invitation. My body moves on instinct, the hunger for her too strong to ignore. I push her back on the bed and she lets out a small gasp, her hair spilling across the sheets like a crimson halo.

We’re tangled together before I know it, my lips crashing against hers. She tastes like smoke and something sweeter underneath, and I can feel the heat from her skin through my shirt. The shirt that’s hardly covering anything because as she lays back, I realize she’s not wearing underwear.

The sight of her sprawled out beneath me, her pussy bare while clothed in what’s mine, makes something primal take over. Like I’m still in that mansion but this time it’s just us. Just Lena and me with no one to watch or interfere. I want to lick away every trace of that blonde Ivanov’s lips, until only I remain.

I slide down her body, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the hollow between her breasts where I can taste my own scent on her skin. Her fingers tangle through my hair and she arches toward me, a small moan escaping her lips.

I’m hard as hell but right now all I care about is making sure she knows exactly how much I want this. Want her.

“Victor,” she whispers as I move lower, breathe in the fragrance of soap and sex and Lena. Her legs part for me and everything else disappears—the shitty hotel room, the hangover pounding in my skull, even the fear of what the Ivanovs are planning—and all that’s left is Lena’s body under my mouth.

Her hips buck against me when I finally taste her; it sends a rush of bloodlust surging through me and I wonder if that’s what they were going for last night. If it feels like this…like devouring…I can almost understand how those vampires live only for this part.

Lena’s moans grow louder, needier, until they turn into a breathless cry and she shudders violently beneath me, coming hard. Her fingers clench in my hair and I hold her there, completely at my mercy.

It’s intoxicating, the way she moves, the way she sounds.

But I don’t let up. She’s going to come again.

I’ll make sure of that.

I start licking at her again and she gasps. “Victor, I can’t?—”

“You can,” I murmur between her thighs. “You will.”

I suck and lick and taste, relentless and consuming. I keep devouring her and it’s all I can do to hold on to the one piece of myself that hasn’t fallen completely into this primal void.

She gasps out my name again, desperate and wanting, and the sound makes my restraint slip. My fingers dig into her thighs as I hold her open, the scent and taste of her making me dizzy with need. I wonder if I’ll lose control completely but I don’t care because she’s trembling apart under my mouth, reaching for me without even knowing where she’s going.

I flick my tongue hard against her clit—rapid fire and relentless—feel her pulse there, and the vibrations of her moans echo in my skull. I’m ravenous for everything she has to give me. Her legs close around me like a vise but I don’t let up; I let the beast—the one I can control—take over and do what it wants—what we both want.

Her body bucks again, more violent than before, and this time she screams my name—a raw, unrestrained sound that makes every nerve in my body burn with fierce satisfaction.

And then she’s limp beneath me, panting for air, her muscles quivering from aftershocks as sweet as anything.

I breathe her in deeply as if to imprint every part of this moment—the scent of us together in this room, the sight of Lena sprawled wrecked and beautiful on the sheets—into a place that no vampire trickery can touch.

When I finally come up for air, she’s watching me through half-lidded eyes, dazed but smiling.

“Victor,” she murmurs when I collapse beside her. She rolls to face me with a languid grace like she’s floating underwater. Her hand touches my cheek possessively. “Goddamn.”

She kisses me like she can’t stand to be unconnected from me for even a second, then comes over me so that I’m on my back.

“Your turn,” she murmurs, tugging my briefs off with one quick motion.

“Jesus, Lena.” I groan as she takes my rigid cock in her hands and her mouth closes over the fat tip. She sucks me in deep, her tongue an expert, her gaze feral as she stares at me through her lashes, continuing to bob up and down on my dick. The sensations send shockwaves through me and when she releases me just before I come, it takes everything I have not to drag her back down. She straddles me instead, taking me inside her in one slow movement that makes my vision blur.

I watch her ride me, my hands gripping her soft, so soft, hips as she moves over me with perfect rhythm, posture straight, wearing my shirt like it’s a ball gown. This is the Lena the Ivanovs didn’t get to see—wild and unrestrained and yet a goddess at the same time—and it makes me want to pin her beneath me and claim her all over again.

But she’s so fucking beautiful that all I can do is watch her fuck me until the pressure becomes too much for both of us. We come, our cries and moans filling the air, before we collapse together in a shaking heap on the bed, the sheets damp with sweat.

We lay there tangled for a long while, breathing in sync. Her head rests on my chest and I trace circles on her bare shoulder. It’s quiet except for cars honking somewhere outside.

“This feels good,” I say, my voice low, as if I’m afraid to disturb the peace. “This feels really good.”

“Mmmm,” she murmurs, almost purring like a cat. My kitten. My Lena.

The truth is, it feels more than good. In a world where I see the rot beneath the shiny veneer—the corrupted officials, the blood money flowing through nightclubs, vampires and serial killers and the hollow smiles of people desperate to forget the war we lived through—I feel as if I’ve finally found something good. Like Lena is something pure and precious and mine.

And I don’t want to lose her.

I can’t.

The thought of it makes my heart feel like it’s been torn to shreds.

Yesterday I could have lost her. The Ivanov girls could have killed either of us, we were that vulnerable, that malleable. And maybe it should relieve me to know that they didn’t, that no matter what they wanted us for, they didn’t kill us or harm us. Just gave us a few orgasms and sent us on our way.

Yet I have a feeling in my gut, one that says that this was just a trial, just a test, and the next time we won’t be so lucky. Luck doesn’t exist anymore.

“What blood type are you?” I ask her.

“Hmmm?” she raises her head to look at me, her hair spilling over one eye. “My blood type? I don’t know. Why?” She frowns, reading my face. “You don’t think…”

“Don’t know what I think anymore, but if you were AB negative…”

“If I was AB negative, they wouldn’t have let me leave the mansion, would they? If they’re behind the killings, they would have kept me.”

She’s right about that. Still, I want her to figure it out. Would make me feel better.

“I should call Norma,” I say, reluctantly getting out from under her. “Check in at the office. Let her know I’m alive.”

I retrieve the telephone from the nightstand and dial the office number, expecting to get Norma’s familiar greeting. Instead, she answers with a frantic, “Victor?”

“It’s me,” I confirm. “Everything alright?”

“Where have you been?” she demands, her voice a mix of relief and irritation. “I’ve been calling everywhere looking for you.”

“Long story. What’s happening?”

“There’s been another murder. A woman found near Echo Park, same M.O. as the others. Throat cut, body drained of blood. Not bisected this time, but Coleman says it’s definitely connected.”

My grip tightens on the receiver. “When?”

“Last night. Body was discovered early this morning by a jogger.”

Last night. While Lena and I were at the Ivanovs’ mansion, drugged and manipulated, another woman was being slaughtered as part of their ritual.

“Coleman’s at the morgue now,” Norma continues. “Said to tell you to meet him there if I heard from you.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Callahan?” Her voice drops, concern evident. “Be careful. Coleman says this is bigger than anyone realizes.”

“I know. Thanks, Norma.”

I hang up and look at Lena, who’s watching me with worried eyes. “Another murder,” I tell her. “Last night. Same M.O.”

“While we were at the mansion,” she says softly.

“I need to go to the morgue. Meet Coleman.”

“I understand.”

“I need you to come with me.”

“To the morgue? That’s quite the date, Callahan.”

“I’d be a fool to leave you alone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, but I’m not taking any chances.”

Separating now would be foolish. Dangerous. And despite everything rational in me saying I should keep her at arm’s length—for her safety as much as my sanity—I can’t deny the selfish relief I feel at not having to let her out of my sight.

“Don’t make me compel you,” I add in a mock threat.

“The only thing that compels me is your dick,” she says, making me laugh.

We dress quickly. I’m grateful for the clean clothes I find folded on a chair—Lena must have brought a bag from my apartment. As I button my shirt, I catch her watching me in the mirror, her expression unreadable.

“What?” I ask.

She shakes her head slightly. “Just…trying to reconcile all the different versions of you I’ve seen. The detective. The man. The vampire.”

“Yeah? And which one do you prefer?”

Her eyes meet mine in the reflection. “They’re all you, Callahan. All parts of the same whole. And I don’t want just one piece. I want it all.”

Something shifts between us in that moment—an acknowledgment of the bond that’s been forming since the night we met. Despite the danger, despite the complications, despite the monster inside me I’m still learning to control, she sees me.

All of me.

And inexplicably, impossibly, she’s still here.

She turns away to put on her shoes, but I close the distance between us in two strides. My hand catches her arm, gently turning her to face me. Questions flutter in her eyes, but I don’t have answers, only the overwhelming need to connect, to affirm that something real exists beneath the horror and manipulation.

I kiss her, not with the ferocious hunger of our first time, not with the drugged abandon of last night, or the possession of a few moments ago, but with deliberate tenderness. For a moment she’s still, surprised, then her arms wind around my neck, drawing me closer. The kiss deepens and I fall deeper.

When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I confess. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again. But, somehow, you fill the gaps inside me, Lena. You put me back together. This—you—it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

She touches my face, her fingertips tracing the line of my jaw, her thumb sliding over my mouth. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

“Together,” I repeat, the word feeling like solid ground in a world that’s crumbling beneath our feet.

The morgue is housed in the basement of the county hospital, a sterile maze of tile and fluorescent lighting that does nothing to mask the pervasive smell of formaldehyde and death, the scents stronger than they’ve ever been to my sensitive nose. As Lena and I navigate the corridor, I find myself hyperaware of her presence beside me—the slight rhythm of her breathing, the subtle shift of her weight with each step. Even in this clinical setting, surrounded by the aftermath of violence, she infiltrates my mind like a virus I’d gladly succumb to.

Coleman is waiting for us outside the autopsy room, leaning against the wall with a cigarette burning between his fingers despite the prominent NO SMOKING signs. His eyebrows lift fractionally when he sees Lena.

“Ms. Reid,” he acknowledges with a nod before turning to me. “Didn’t realize you were bringing company, Victor.”

“Lena is helping with my investigation,” I tell him.

Coleman studies us both, his detective’s eyes missing nothing—the way Lena stays close to my side, the protective angle of my body toward hers. “Must be some help,” he observes dryly.

“What’ve we got?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Jeanne French. Forty-five. Army nurse.” Coleman pushes away from the wall, leading us toward the autopsy room. “Found in a vacant lot off South Norton Avenue early this morning. Everyone’s calling it the ‘Lipstick Murder’ because the killer wrote on her body.”

“Wrote what?” Lena asks, her heels clicking as we walk.

“ Fuck You P.D. in her own lipstick,” Coleman says grimly. “Press got word, thinks it said B.D. for the Black Dahlia. They’re having a field day with that theory.”

“But is it the same killer as Elizabeth Short?” I press.

Coleman’s mouth tightens. “Different method, similar ritual elements. She was beaten to death, not cut in half, but her body was nearly drained of blood. And there are other markings—symbols carved into her torso that match what we found on Winters and Short.”

Inside the autopsy room, the body lies on a stainless-steel table, a sheet drawn up to her chin. The medical examiner, a balding man with thick glasses, looks up from his clipboard as we enter.

“Detective Coleman,” he acknowledges. “Mr. Callahan. And…” He looks questioningly at Lena.

“A consultant,” Coleman says before I can speak. “It’s fine, Doc. What can you tell us?”

The medical examiner pulls back the sheet, revealing a middle-aged woman with dark hair. Her face is badly beaten, almost unrecognizable, with severe bruising and fractures across her facial bones. Unlike Elizabeth Short’s almost theatrical presentation, Jeanne French’s death appears brutally direct—rage rather than ceremony.

Or at least, that’s what it's designed to look like.

“Cause of death is blunt force trauma to the head and chest,” the examiner explains clinically. “Multiple broken ribs, one of which punctured the right lung. But as with the Short case, there’s a nearly complete absence of blood in the body—much more than would naturally drain from the external wounds.”

“They collected it,” Lena murmurs.

Coleman and the examiner both look at her sharply.

“It’s a logical conclusion,” she says quickly. “If this is a ritual killing, blood collection would be consistent with certain occult practices.”

I step closer to the body, my enhanced vision picking up details I might have missed before my transformation. Beneath the obvious trauma, there are precise incisions on her torso—strange symbols carved post-mortem, similar to what I’d glimpsed in the warehouse with Lena.

“These markings,” I say, pointing to the symbols partially obscured by bruising. “They seem deliberate.”

“Yes,” the examiner agrees with a raised brow. “At first glance, they appeared to be random injuries from the beating. But under closer examination, they’re too precise, too patterned. Someone carved these after death.”

“And the lipstick message?” I ask, noticing the smeared red letters on her chest and abdomen. I can see how one might think the P is a B.

“Certainly done by the killer, but it feels performative,” the examiner says. “Like a distraction from these other markings. Or it’s a message for us. For you.”

“Fuck you Police Department,” Lena says under her breath.

“A cover,” Coleman says, following my train of thought. “Make it look like a domestic dispute gone wrong. Her ex-husband has a history of violence. He was investigated before by the police. Make it sound like he’s sending a message to the cops. Perfect scapegoat.”

“Unless it is a message for the cops,” I say, to which Coleman shrugs.

“Maybe. But get this. She was a nurse so we already had her blood type on file. AB negative,” Coleman says.

I feel Lena tense beside me.

“Time of death?” I press.

“Between ten p.m. and midnight last night,” the examiner says. “Based on body temperature and lividity.”

Exactly when Lena and I were at the Ivanov mansion, drugged and manipulated. A perfect alibi—if we needed one.

Coleman pulls me aside as the examiner covers the body. “There’s something else,” he says quietly. “The French murder scene was less than a mile from where they found Short. We found traces of a powerful sedative in all three victims’ systems. Some compound the lab boys can’t identify. Like they drugged them before they killed them.”

Just as they’d drugged Lena and me.

“You’re onto something, aren’t you?” Coleman studies my face. “Something you’re not telling me.”

“It’s complicated,” I hedge.

“Complicated enough to get you killed?” His voice drops further. “Word on the street is Cohen is blaming you for Marco’s disappearance. You’re in a lot of danger.”

If he only knew how dangerous—vampires, rituals, blood magic. Things that would get me committed if I tried to explain them.

“I can handle Cohen,” I say instead.

Coleman snorts. “No one handles Cohen. Be careful, that’s all I’m saying.” He glances at Lena, who pretends not to be listening. “Both of you.”

After Coleman leaves, Lena and I linger in the corridor outside the autopsy room. She’s pale, paler than usual, her eyes distant.

“You’re thinking about your blood type,” I say quietly.

She nods. “If I’m AB negative…”

“We’ll find out,” I promise. “And if you are, I’ll protect you.”

Or die trying.

She takes my hand, her fingers intertwining with mine. A simple gesture that feels more intimate than anything we did under the Ivanovs’ manipulation.

“Then I’ll protect you too,” she says. “From them. And from yourself, if necessary.”

As we leave the morgue, stepping from the sterile brightness into the muted sunlight of an overcast day, I’m struck by the strange path that’s led us here. Less than a month ago, I was a man with blackouts, investigating a gruesome murder. Now I’m a vampire, falling in love with another vampire, caught in a serial killer’s crosshairs.

And somehow, impossibly, I’m not afraid. Not when Lena’s hand is in mine. Not when we face the darkness together.

Not when she can save me from myself.