Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“Most of our kind rely on our natural abilities,” Abe says. “But some bloodlines—particularly the older Russian families—maintained connections to pre-Christian magical practices. Many of them are part vampire, part witch. I knew one such vampire who was also a witch and a priest.” He stares off with a dreamy look I rarely see on his face. “He was even a pirate.”
Valtu’s eyes seek the ceiling and he sighs. “Always with the pirate,” he mutters under his breath. Obviously there’s some story there.
“Do you know who might be using these symbols in Los Angeles?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer.
“The Ivanovs,” Adonis says, his accented voice resonant in the quiet room, the sound of their name hitting me deep. “A Russian family that settled in Burbank after the Revolution. They keep to themselves mostly, but there have been rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“Disappearances,” Abe says grimly. “Young women with specific blood types. Rituals requiring blood sacrifice. You know your friend’s blood type was reported as AB negative. That’s rare. That could be what the Ivanovs were looking for.”
My stomach turns.
Abe continues, “If the Ivanovs are behind Elizabeth’s murder, they’re likely planning something bigger. Something that requires multiple sacrifices.”
“So there will be more victims,” I whisper.
“Most likely,” Adonis says quietly. “Unless they’re stopped.”
“But why now? Why here?” I ask, setting aside my empty glass.
Abe shakes his head. “That, I don’t know. But I suspect it may have something to do with Cohen and his organization. The Ivanovs need protection, resources, access to potential victims. Information is everything in this new world.”
“When Elizabeth was making deliveries for Cohen,” I say slowly, “to these Europeans, she saw something at a warehouse—someone strapped to a table. She couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but it scared her.”
“An earlier sacrifice, perhaps,” Ezra suggests.
“And Marco works for Cohen,” I continue. “Could the Ivanovs have taken him? Used him as their next sacrifice?”
“Possible,” Abe concedes. “Though from what you’ve described, Marco doesn’t seem like their usual type of victim.”
No, he doesn’t. Which brings me back to Callahan, to the violence I saw in him, to the possessive fury in his eyes when he said I was his.
“What about Callahan?” I ask quietly. “Could he be…like us?”
The three vampires exchange glances. It sounds silly now that I’ve said it out loud, but it’s something that’s been nagging me.
“Unlikely,” Abe says finally. “You would know it. We can sense it.”
“Unless he’s found a way to mask it,” Adonis says. “Perhaps his own compelling abilities can bypass ours. Especially if there’s magic involved. Glamours.”
I’d never thought about that. But even so, everything else about him seems so human. He eats a lot, drinks a lot. Strong, but not in an unbelievable way. No sign of fangs. Dick was huge, but not in a monstrous way. He does seem to have preternatural senses but it’s kind of hard to tell with humans sometimes.
“Get some rest,” Abe says gently. “Stay here for a few days, at least until we learn more about what the Ivanovs are planning. And Lena—” his voice takes on a warning tone “I hate to sound cliché, but you truly need to stay away from Callahan. Whether he killed Marco or not, he’s dangerous to you now. And if he’s dangerous to you, he’s dangerous to all of us.”
I nod, but as I follow Adonis to the guest rooms, I can’t help but think of Callahan—of the heat of his hands, the intensity of his gaze, the way he made me feel both protected and desired.
Human or vampire, killer or protector, he’s become entangled in my fate.
And I in his.
Whether either of us wants it or not.
16
LENA
There’s a full moon tonight, bright and silvery outside my window. On nights like this I find it hard to sleep, and this is no exception. What slumber I’ve had came in fitful bursts, my mind too crowded with thoughts of Callahan, of Marco’s disappearance, of Mickey Cohen’s veiled threats. Despite Abe’s pleading yesterday to stay at the colony for the weekend, I’d returned to perform at The Emerald Room tonight. I couldn’t hide forever, and my absence would only fuel Cohen’s suspicions.
The club had been subdued, the crowd sparse. Still no sign of Marco. No sign of Callahan either, despite my calls to his office. Norma had promised to have him contact me, her voice tense with worry. “He hasn’t been in for days,” she’d confided. “Not like him at all.”
Now, as I drift between wakefulness and uneasy dreams, a chill crawls up my spine with icy, spindly fingers that makes my heart drop.
The air in my bedroom has changed, grown heavy with an electric presence that wasn’t there moments ago.
My breath feels cold.
I’m not alone.
My eyes snap open, body frozen in instinctive terror as I make out a silhouette standing at the foot of my bed. There stands a dark, looming figure, unnaturally still.