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)
We fall silent as the car winds along the coastal highway, fog rolling in from the ocean to shroud the road in ghostly white. The mist seems fitting, feeling as clouded as my brain.
“Do you ever miss it?” I ask Lena suddenly.
“Miss what?”
“Being human.”
She considers the question, her face thoughtful in the dim passing lights. “I was never human, Callahan. None of us were. We’re born this way, even if our abilities don’t fully manifest until maturity. But I do miss the simplicity sometimes. When you’re young, you get used to the idea that life begins at a set point and ends at a set point. Mortality forces you to live in the moment. And there was a luxury of ignorance about what moves in the darkness, though I suppose that can be said for all children. You don’t know what devils the world holds until you grow older and your eyes open.”
“Well, I was more than happy in my ignorance.”
“Were you?” She studies me, those dark eyes seeming to peer directly into my soul. “You’ve been searching for something your entire life. You became a detective because you needed answers, needed to make sense of the world around you. But you were a stranger to yourself the whole time, living half a life.”
Her words strike with unexpected force, resonating with a truth I’ve always known but never acknowledged. The constant feeling of being an outsider, of not belonging—even in my marriage to Catherine, even in the ordered world of law and justice I’d built for myself.
I remember being ten years old, standing frozen in the schoolyard while the other boys played baseball, overwhelmed by sounds no one else seemed to hear—the whispered conversation between teachers a hundred yards away, the scuttle of insects beneath the grass, the bright sun that agitated me. My father had found me there, eyes pinched shut, hands pressed against my ears, and assumed it was just sensitivity, the way that some kids have sensory issues. “You feel things deeper than most, Victor,” he’d said. “You’ll grow out of it.”
But I never did.
Then there was that night in France during the war, when our unit was ambushed in pitch darkness. While the other men stumbled blindly, I’d navigated with perfect clarity, somehow leading twelve soldiers to safety. They’d called it a miracle, credited my boxer’s instincts. Now I understood it was something else entirely—vampire senses that had always been there, dormant but present, waiting for the right moment to emerge.
All these years thinking I was broken in some fundamental way, when really, I was simply different by design. I can’t help but stare at Lena, my heart pressing against my ribs. And when she stepped into my life with her secrets and wanton smile, it’s as if finally belonged somewhere.
With her.
“Here we are,” Adonis announces as we turn off the highway onto a private drive that leads to a modernist structure perched on the cliffside between the highway and the beach. The house emerges from the mist like a fortress of glass and concrete, dramatic against the night sky.
As we approach, I can make out three figures standing on the front steps, waiting. One is tall and thin with red hair, another shorter with dark stubble, and the third dressed all in black, his dark gaze seeming to know all.
“Victor Callahan,” Lena says, gesturing to me, then them. “May I introduce you to Dr. Abraham Van Helsing, Ezra, and Valtu Aminoff, otherwise known as Dracula.”
I stare at her, wide-eyed. “Dracula?”
She gives me a small, sympathetic smile. “Welcome to your new reality, Callahan. Things are about to get a lot stranger.”
19
LENA
The fog rolls in from the ocean, spreading cloudy fingers into the air, seeming to wrap around the house like a ghostly embrace. From the expansive balcony, I can barely make out where the sea ends and the sky begins, both merged into a canvas of infinite gray. The crashing waves below are more sound than sight, a rhythmic heartbeat in the darkness.
I’ve been standing here for nearly an hour, sipping blood wine and letting the cool mist caress my skin while the men inside discuss what it means to be vampire, their voices carrying. Abe’s has been patiently explaining our history, our abilities, our limitations. The things we can do. The things we must never do. The responsibilities that come with immortality.
Callahan has said little, mostly listening, occasionally asking questions that a detective would ask, albeit one that’s investigating his own life.
The sliding glass door opens behind me, and I know without turning who it is. The smell of sandalwood and tobacco wafts past, calling to something primal within me. A scent that makes me register Callahan as mine, even though he’s not.
“Mind some company?” Callahan asks, his voice rough with fatigue.
I turn to face him. “Please. I was hoping they’d release you soon.”