Page 126 of Nocturne

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CALLAHAN

“There’s only one way we’ll find her in time,” Abe says, his voice tight with urgency. “We need to use your connection to Lena.”

The sun has barely cleared the horizon, casting harsh morning light across Abe’s shattered living room. Glass crunches beneath our feet as we gather in what’s left of his once-immaculate space, the aftermath of Marco’s attack surrounding us like a physical reminder of our failure.

“What connection?” I demand, pacing restlessly. Every second feels like an eternity, every minute another opportunity for Dmitri to hurt Lena. “I’m not an actual bloodhound.”

“But you are,” Valtu interjects, watching me with keen interest. “You tracked her here despite Adonis’ cover. Found her through fog and darkness with nothing but instinct guiding you.”

“That was different,” I argue, though the memory sends a chill through me. “Dmitri was controlling me then. His compulsion drove me to her.”

“Not entirely,” Abe says, stepping into my path to halt my pacing. “Dmitri’s command gave you purpose, but the ability to find her came from within you. From your vampire nature.”

I stare at him, understanding dawning with sickening clarity. “You want me to tap into that side again. Let it take control.”

“Not control,” Ezra corrects, joining us with a leather bag slung over his shoulder. “Integration. The ritual we began was interrupted, but you’d already made progress. You felt it, didn’t you? The merging of your dual aspects.”

Yeah, I had felt it—that brief, perfect moment when the division within me began to heal, when vampire strength and human will existed in harmony rather than opposition. Before Marco’s attack shattered the tenuous connection.

“And if I lose myself to it?” The fear is real, urgent. “If Dmitri’s compulsion takes hold again?”

“That’s why we’ll be with you,” Adonis says. “To ensure you remain yourself.”

“And how exactly do we awaken my vampire side?” I ask, dread coiling in my stomach. “Another meditation? Because we don’t have time for that.”

“No meditation,” Abe says grimly. “Something more direct.” He produces a small vial from his pocket—the same mixture he’d used during our interrupted ritual. “This will help thin the barrier between your conscious mind and your vampire instincts. But it needs a catalyst.”

“Emotion,” Valtu supplies, stepping closer. “Specifically, rage. The primal fury that drives all predators. Your vampire side responds to it like a moth to flame.”

“You want me angry,” I state flatly.

“We need you furious,” Abe corrects. “Think about Lena. What Dmitri is doing to her right now. What he made you do to Elizabeth Short. The murder of your wife. Every violation, everymanipulation, every life he’s destroyed in service to his madness. Think about all the justice that might not ever be served.”

The words strike like matches against dry tinder. Rage bubbles up inside me—not the cold, controlled anger I’ve cultivated in my career, but something dark and terrible. Something that burns through my veins, ignites my senses, turns my vision crimson at the edges.

“That’s it,” Ezra murmurs, watching closely. “Don’t fight it. Direct it.”

I close my eyes, surrendering to the fury—not drowning in it, but riding it like a wave. Images flash through my mind: Elizabeth Short’s mutilated body, Catherine’s gentle smile before I left for war, Lena’s face as Marco carried her into the night. Each memory stokes the fire higher until I’m consumed by it, transformed by it. Dmitri, laughing through it all.

When I open my eyes again, the world has changed. Colors are sharper, scents more distinct, sounds crystalline in their clarity. I can hear the wingbeats of birds outside, smell the salt in the ocean air, feel the vibration of passing cars on the highway far below.

“Fascinating,” Abe says, studying me with clinical interest. “You’ve achieved partial transformation without losing awareness. Remarkable control for one so young.”

I glance at my reflection in a remaining shard of window glass. My eyes glow crimson, fangs fully extended, features sharper and more predatory. Yet my mind remains clear, focused, determined. This isn’t the mindless bloodlust I feared—it’s power, raw and untamed but still mine to command.

“Now, before you begin tracking,” Abe continues, uncorking the vial, “this will help prevent Dmitri from seizing control when we find him. It won’t negate the blood bond entirely, but it should create enough interference to give you freedom of choice.”

He draws a symbol on my forehead with the liquid, which burns cold against my skin, then places three drops under my tongue. The taste is bitter, reminiscent of dirt and pepper.

“Remember,” Ezra adds. “You are not Dmitri’s slave. Blood heritage is powerful, but free will is stronger. Keep that truth at your core, no matter what happens.”

“Now,” Abe commands, “find Lena.”

“How?”

“Ask yourself and you’ll know how.”

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