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)
Tatiana’s shriek of pain rises above the chaos. Valtu doesn’t pause, driving his fist through her chest with enough force that his hand emerges from her back, clutching her still-beating heart.
“Send my regards to hell,” he says coolly, before crushing the organ in his grip.
Tatiana’s body crumples, already beginning to desiccate as death claims her. True death—not the half-life we vampires lead, but the final end that awaits even our kind when our hearts are fully destroyed.
Damn.
Katya’s scream of rage and grief shakes the foundations of the building. “Sister!” she wails, her face contorted with anguish. She lunges toward Valtu, but Konstantin intervenes, grabbing her arm.
“Not now,” he hisses. “We need to retreat. The gateway—”
Whatever else he might have said is lost as Adonis joins the fray, his massive form colliding with Konstantin’s with enough force to shatter concrete. They roll across the floor, locked in combat too vicious and fast to follow.
The tide of battle has shifted. With Tatiana’s death, the Ivanovs’ forces falter, uncertainty replacing their earlier confidence. There’s no doubt that Shanghai Red is aware of the scuffle down here, and the cops will be on the way.
“Lena!” Abe calls. “We need to go. Now!”
I turn to Callahan, reaching for his hand. “Come on!”
But where he stood a moment ago, there’s only empty space.
“Callahan?” I spin in place, scanning the chaos for any sign of him. “Victor!”
Nothing. He’s vanished amidst the melee.
Panic surges through me—cold, sharp, and all-consuming. “Callahan!” I shout again, pushing through the thinning crowd of combatants. “Where are you?”
Valtu appears at my side, his hand closing around my arm. “We need to leave,” he says urgently. “The building’s compromised.”
Only now do I notice the smoke filling the upper reaches of the club, the crackle of flames from somewhere above. In the chaos, someone has set fire to Shanghai Red upstairs, and it’s spreading rapidly.
“I can’t find Callahan,” I tell him, still searching desperately. “He was here, just a moment ago—”
“No time,” Valtu insists, already pulling me toward the exit. “The fire will reach the gas lines soon and the police are on the way. We can’t afford to get caught, do you understand?”
I resist, digging in my heels. “I’m not leaving without him!”
Valtu’s expression hardens. “He’s gone, Lena. The Ivanovs have him.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “How do you know?”
“I saw two men take him during the fight. They had the blade of mordernes. There was nothing I could do, I couldn’t reach him in time.”
Cold dread settles in my stomach. “We have to go after him. Now.”
“And we will,” Valtu promises, his grip on my arm unyielding. “But not like this. Not outnumbered and unprepared.”
Logic wars with emotion as smoke thickens around us. If the Ivanovs have Callahan, charging blindly after them won’t help him, especially if we don’t know where they’re going. But leaving him in their hands, even for hours…
“Lena,” Valtu says, his voice gentler now. “He’s stronger than you think. And they won’t kill him—they need him.”
Before I can ask what he means, a section of the ceiling collapses nearby, sending burning debris crashing to the floor. The decision is made for me—stay and burn, or retreat and plan a rescue.
With a final desperate glance around the burning club, I allow Valtu to lead me toward the exit. The others are already outside, Adonis carrying two unconscious humans under his arms, Ezra and Abe guiding the rest toward waiting vehicles.
The night air hits my face, cool and sharp after the smoke-filled club. Flames are now visible from the upper floors of Shanghai Red, orange fingers clawing at the night sky. Sirens wail in the distance—fire engines and police, both too late to matter.
I scan the street frantically, hoping against hope to see Callahan emerging from another exit. But the only figures moving in the darkness belong to our own group and the disoriented humans we’ve rescued before they burned to death.
“Get in,” Abe orders, holding open the door of a black Packard. I obey mechanically, still searching the shadows as we pull away from the burning building, the other cars following in a somber procession.
The drive passes in a blur, my mind replaying the fight in endless loops, searching for the moment I lost track of Callahan, for any clue to where they might have taken him. Each scenario I imagine is worse than the last—Callahan tortured, drained, killed for interfering with the Ivanovs’ plans.
Or worse—used somehow in their ritual. Another sacrifice to open their precious gateway.
“The Ivanovs won’t harm him immediately,” Abe says. “They’ll want to know what he knows, who he’s told. They’re hand over fist with Cohen, they’ll be looking to protect those interests.”
“They’ll torture him,” I say, the words tasting bitter.
Abe’s silence is confirmation enough.
The drive along the coast, shrouded in the marine layer and the thick darkness, feels like it takes forever. My relief is palpable when the Malibu colony rises into view. The other cars pull in behind us—Ezra and Adonis in one, Valtu in another. The rescued humans were dropped off at the hospital, Abe explains as we exit the vehicle.