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)
Our movements find a natural rhythm, neither rushed nor hesitant. His hands map my body with the same methodical thoroughness he brings to his investigations, discovering what makes me gasp, what makes me arch against him. I find myself equally exploratory, learning the topography of muscles that tell the story of his human life before this transformation, old scars that haven’t yet faded but will someday.
Time loses meaning as we lose ourselves in each other. The shabby motel room fades away, leaving only this connection, this moment. The hunger that drives us is more than physical, more than vampiric—it’s a recognition of something rare and precious, a completeness neither of us expected to find.
When release finally comes, it crashes through us both like a wave, my cry mingling with his groan as we cling to each other. For a moment, I swear I can feel his thoughts, his emotions, as if the blood exchange has opened a channel between our minds. Then it passes, leaving a warm afterglow of connection that feels almost tangible.
We lie tangled together afterward, neither speaking nor needing to. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back while I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow. The hunger is sated for now, but my feelings for him are stronger than ever.
Damn it. Maybe I am in love after all.
What a terrifying thought.
“I never understood before,” Callahan says eventually, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Understood what?” I prop myself up on one elbow to see his handsome face.
“Why vampires in stories are always portrayed as sensual.” His fingers continue their idle patterns on my skin. “I thought it was just a literary device, romanticizing predators. But it’s not, is it? Everything is…more. Every sensation, every emotion, amplified.”
“Yes,” I agree. “That’s part of what makes the transition so difficult. Learning to live with that intensity without being overwhelmed by it.”
He considers this, his expression thoughtful. “Is that why you were drawn to singing? A way to channel that intensity?”
The question surprises me with its insight. “I never thought of it that way, but perhaps. When I’m performing, I can let some of that intensity out in a way humans accept, even celebrate.”
“You’re magnificent when you sing,” he says simply. “Like you become something more than yourself, something elemental.”
Gosh, it feels like butterflies are trying to fly out of my chest. He really sees me, doesn’t he?
“What about you?” I ask. “Is that why you became a detective? A way to channel your intensity into something productive?”
“Private investigator,” he corrects with a wry smile. Then he’s quiet for a moment, considering. “Maybe. I’ve always needed to understand things, to make sense of chaos. Now I wonder if that was my vampire nature all along, trying to understand the human world I was thrust into without explanation.”
I trace the line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of stubble beneath my fingertips. “Does it bother you? Learning what you are so late?”
“Yes. No.” He sighs. “I’m angry that I was denied knowledge of myself for so long. But I’m also grateful, in a way. I had a family who loved me, a normal childhood. If I’d known what was coming, would I have lived as fully in those years? Or would I have just been waiting for the change?”
“And now?” I ask. “How do you feel about what you are? About what we are?”
His hand catches mine, bringing my fingers to his lips. “I’m still figuring that out. But I know I don’t want to face it alone.”
The simple honesty of his answer touches something deep within me. For decades, I’ve maintained careful distance from humans, knowing any attachment would eventually lead to loss. With other vampires, I’ve been equally cautious, aware of the politics and power plays that often define our interactions, the fact that I really am so young compared to so many of them, and the feelings I have about the world might not matter to those who have seen it all before.
But with Callahan, those boundaries seem both necessary and impossible. We’re bound together now—by circumstance, by blood, by something I’m not yet ready to name but can no longer deny.
“You’re not alone,” I tell him, the words inadequate for the feeling behind them. “I’m here.”
He pulls me closer, his embrace both protective and seeking protection. We lie together in the quiet darkness, two young predators finding unexpected solace in each other’s arms.
Outside, the world waits with all its dangers. But for now, in this shabby motel room with its flickering neon light filtering through threadbare curtains, we’ve found a moment of peace. A moment that feels, against all odds, like coming home.
26
CALLAHAN
Morning comes on the back of a pale grey dawn, taking its time before the sun makes an appearance, the light coming through the thin motel curtains and painting the dingy room in swatches of gold. Lena is asleep beside me, her red hair spilling across the pillow like liquid fire, her face peaceful in a way it rarely is when she’s awake. I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest, marveling at how someone so powerful can appear so vulnerable in sleep.