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)
I down my whiskey and stand. “Tell your boss I was just making conversation.”
“Sure.” The giant smirks. “I’ll tell him real nice.”
Outside, the night air is cool against my face. I light a cigarette, mentally recalibrating. The bar was a dead end, but it confirmed one thing—people are nervous about the Winters case.
Which means I’m on the right track.
The same tracks that lead to the Black Dahlia.
I’m halfway to my car when the vertigo hits—sudden, overwhelming. The street tilts beneath my feet, the streetlights blurring into streaks of color. I grab the nearest wall for support, but it’s like trying to catch smoke.
No.
Not now.
Not again.
The darkness rises like a tide, washing over me, pulling me under.
But it isn’t just the darkness this time.
Something else is there, as if waiting in the shadows of my mind.
Something vicious.
Something wild.
Something…hungry.
And then there’s nothing at all.
“Hey, buddy. You alright?”
The voice comes from far away, filtering through layers of fog. I blink, trying to orient myself. I’m sitting on a bench in a park I don’t recognize, my shirt disheveled, my knuckles raw and scraped.
“Mister? You need help?”
The speaker is an elderly man walking his dog, concern etched on his weathered face. I blink at him. It’s daylight—early morning by the angle of the sun.
I’ve lost an entire night.
“I’m fine,” I croak. “What time is it?”
My voice is rough, my throat parched and yet I feel strangely full.
“Just past seven.” He eyes me warily. “You got blood on your face.”
I touch my mouth, fingers coming away red. Blood. But not from a cut—it’s coming from inside my mouth. The taste coats my tongue, as if I’ve bitten it. Yet I feel no pain, no wound.
“Thanks,” I mutter, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe my face. “I’m fine.”
The old man shrugs and continues on his way, his dog casting a nervous glance back at me, ears pricked forward and back. Smart animal. It senses something wrong with me.
Because something is very wrong with me.
I take stock of my situation. I’m in Elysian Park, miles from where I last remember being. My car is nowhere in sight. My clothes are rumpled but intact, no tears or additional bloodstains beyond my hands and mouth. My wallet and gun are still on me, ruling out a mugging.
Yet another blackout. The longest one yet. And this time, I woke up with more than just a strange taste. I woke up with blood in my mouth.
I stagger to my feet, spitting out the remnants of blood, fighting off another wave of dizziness. These episodes are getting worse, more frequent. I need answers.
But first, I need to get back to civilization, back to my car. I stumble toward what I hope is the park exit, trying to piece together what might have happened during my lost hours. Did I get into a fight? Is the blood in my mouth from a split lip I can’t feel?
Or is it something else entirely?
11
LENA
Istand at the window and peer through the curtain in vain, thinking that Callahan might pull up in his car at any minute. Perhaps changing his mind and taking me up on my offer. Maybe just to sit and watch my apartment, to make sure I’m okay.
But he never comes back. It’s possible I did compel him, although if I had completely succeeded, I’d be fucking him right now. Not that I would ever use my compulsion abilities when it comes to sex, that’s low, even for a vampire. Still, I’m surprised he was able to say no to me. The man has balls of steel.
I glance at the hazy golden sun, getting low behind the palms that line the street. So far I don’t feel afraid, even with what happened last night. When the sun goes down, though, it will be a different story. The night, which has comforted me most of my life, even as a pre-vampire child, now feels like it holds more secrets and monsters than it can contain.
I’ve always had a fear of humans—after all, they might not know how to kill me, but there are worse things than dying. A lot worse. I can be restrained. I can be raped, tortured. I can have loved ones taken from me. Humans are unpredictable and full of malice and spite, especially toward those they consider to be an other, towards things they don’t understand, or fit into the tidy little box they say their God created for them.
But, truthfully, I fear other vampires even more. Maybe it’s my youth, my lack of experience with them, combined with the fact that they are either as strong and dangerous as I am, or much worse. And if it’s vampires who are behind Betty’s murder, then I’m in a whole lot of trouble.
Everyone in this town is.
I step away from the window and head to the kitchen, opening the fridge. There’s nothing in there that I want. The glass bottle of “beet juice” that I label “For Women’s Issues,” in case Marco ever goes snooping, is empty, red dregs staining the bottom. I haven’t fed properly in a long time and my stomach gnaws at itself. Maybe that’s part of my problem—I’m blood starved and not thinking properly.