Page 123 of Nocturne

“She’s awake,” a woman’s voice says from somewhere beyond the circle of light.

I squint into the darkness, trying to locate the speaker. Three figures emerge from the shadows, each draped in flowing redrobes with deep hoods. Their faces are obscured by ornate masks—a silver wolf, a golden sun, and a bone-white skull.

The skull mask steps forward, tilting its head as it studies me. Even without seeing the face behind it, I know immediately who it is.

“Lovely to finally meet your acquaintance, Ms. Reid,” Dmitri Ivanov says, his voice smooth and cultured despite the macabre disguise. “Not so sure you can say the same.”

I test my restraints, vampire strength surging through my muscles. The chains tighten but don’t break.

“Those are reinforced with blue silver from the Nördlinger RiesCrater,” Dmitri explains, circling me slowly. “Ancient metallurgy passed down through generations of our kind. Quite effective for containing even the strongest of us.”

“What do you want?” I demand, forcing strength into my voice despite the growing dread in my stomach.

The sun mask—Katya, I assume from her slender build—laughs, the sound echoing unnaturally in the cavernous space. “Isn’t it obvious? We want your blood.”

“AB negative,” Dmitri continues, completing the circle around me. “The rarest of human blood types, rarer still in a vampire. The final key to open the gateway to the Red Realm.”

The wolf mask—silent until now—steps forward, carrying a wooden box inlaid with silver. The figure is larger than the others, broad-shouldered and heavy-set.

“Dr. Goldman will be preparing you for the ritual,” Dmitri says, gesturing toward the wolf mask. “He’s quite skilled with the blade. A surgeon in his human life, before he joined our family. His scientific mind has been invaluable in perfecting our methods.”

Dr. Goldman sets the box on a small table that I hadn’t noticed before, just at the edge of the candlelight. He opens it with deliberate precision, removing objects one by one andarranging them in a neat row. The metallic gleam of surgical tools catches the candlelight, sending a chill through me.

“You’re insane,” I say, glaring at Dmitri. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it won’t work. Abe and the others will find me.”

“Dr. Van Helsing and Count Aminoff?” Dmitri chuckles, the sound hollow behind his skull mask. “I’m counting on it. By sunset, they’ll be here—too late to save you, but just in time to witness the opening of the gateway.”

“And what happens then?” I ask, trying to buy time, to gather information, anything that might help me survive this nightmare.

Dmitri spreads his arms wide, his red robe billowing around him like wings. “Then we return to the realm where our kind first walked. Where we need not hide, need not pretend to be less than we are.” He steps closer, the skull mask inches from my face. “This world is dying, Ms. Reid. Surely you’ve seen it. Humans destroying themselves with ever more ingenious methods. The war was just the beginning. The bombs they dropped on Japan? Child’s play compared to what’s coming.”

“So you’re leaving? Good riddance.”

He reaches up, hand striking faster than even my vampire senses can track, fingers closing around my throat. “Your insolence does you no credit,” he hisses. “You should be honored. Your sacrifice will save our species from extinction.”

“You keep saying ‘our species’ like we’re the same,” I manage through his grip. “We’re nothing alike.”

He releases me with a dismissive gesture. “All vampires are of one blood, regardless of which branches we claim. Even your precious Victor carries the same heritage in his veins.”

At the mention of Callahan, rage bubbles up inside me. “You manipulated him. Used him. Your own son.”

“I gave him life,” Dmitri corrects. “And I gave him purpose. More than the humans ever could with their petty moralityand fleeting concerns.” He turns to Dr. Goldman. “Begin the preparations. We have limited time before sunset.”

Goldman nods silently, lifting the first item from his array of tools—a knife with a curved blade that glows with an unnatural blue light. The blade of mordernes, stolen from witches in the Old World. I have to wonder if it’s made from the same blue silver as the cuffs.

Katya moves to a phonograph I hadn’t noticed in the corner, setting a record on the turntable. Classical music fills the warehouse—Wagner, I think. My father listened to classical a lot. The bombastic orchestral piece forms a surreal backdrop to the horror unfolding before me.

“The ritual requires preparation,” Dmitri explains conversationally, as if discussing dinner plans rather than my impending mutilation. “The blood must be…activated, we’ve found. Pain is the catalyst. Fear is the accelerant.”

Goldman approaches, blue blade gleaming in his gloved hand. He pauses, waiting for further instruction.

“Begin with the traditional markings,” Dmitri orders. “She should bear the same signs as the others.”

The knife moves toward me with dreadful precision, biting into my flesh with a searing arc. The mordernes slices through my shirt and the skin beneath, leaving a trail of agony and blood in its wake. I swallow down my scream, the sound staying in my throat, choking me.

Goldman works methodically, his hand steady and unhurried. He carves a symbol into my chest—a circle with intricate patterns radiating from its center. The pain is blinding, each cut sending shockwaves through my body, but he continues with merciless efficiency. My blood flows freely now, pooling on the concrete below and staining it a rich crimson.

I gasp for air, struggling to stay conscious as his blade etches more symbols across my arms and stomach. Theyshimmer an angry red against my pale skin, throbbing in time with the pounding in my head. Goldman’s expression remains hidden behind his mask, but I can feel his focus, his detached concentration as he creates his gruesome masterpiece.

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