Nocturne

by Karina Halle

For all the femme fatales out there

The papers are calling her the “Black Dahlia,” making her sound like everything from a party girl to a prostitute. Typical. A woman can’t even get murdered in this town without having her reputation slaughtered alongside her.

Her voice is like aged bourbon—smooth, rich, with a burning finish that lingers long after the note ends. She doesn’t perform so much as confess, each lyric delivered like a secret shared only with you, despite the room full of listeners.

“I’m going to fuck him out of you, dollface,” he rasps, and as I stare up at his eyes, I swear his pupils flash red for a moment, a solar flare against piercing blue. “You’ll never be the same again.”

I am a predator walking among prey, a creature of night and blood and hunger. A vampire.

But I don’t let up. She’s going to come again. I’ll make sure of that. I start licking at her again and she gasps. “Victor, I can’t⁠—” “You can,” I murmur between her thighs. “You will.”

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “So fucking beautiful. So very much mine.” He pauses, staring into my eyes. “You’re mine, aren’t you, kitten?” “Never a doubt, detective.”

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.

“Because I know the man beneath the monster,” I say simply. “And that man is worth fighting for.”