Page 65 of Nocturne

“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.

I gasp, sucking in air.

For a heartbeat, I think it’s the same presence from the night my apartment was invaded, the shadow that stole Elizabeth’s diary.

Back to kill me, finish the job.

All it would take is him taking off my head, or dousing me in gasoline and throwing a match to the bed.

But then the person moves and moonlight catches on the planes of a face I know too well.

Callahan.

Relief floods through me, followed immediately by confusion.

How did he get in?

Why is he standing there, silent and watchful?

I open my mouth to speak, to ask these questions, when he moves again—a blur of motion too fast for human capability. Before I can draw breath to scream, his hand clamps over my mouth, his body suddenly looming over mine, pinning me to the bed.

“Don’t scream,” he says, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable.

I stare up at him in shock, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. This close, I can see him clearly despite the darkness. Blood spatters his face and neck, stains the collar of his shirt. His eyes—those piercing blue eyes that have haunted my dreams—are different now.

Wilder.

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