by Elle Jasper
“Victorian forces the dreams on me,” I said harshly. “Just like he forces the emotions within them.” I stepped closer. “I. Can’t. Help. It.”
Anger pulled his features tight. “Do you think this is some game? He is deadly, Riley. He will drain every ounce of your blood. Regrets will come after it’s too late.” His eyes grew somber. “I think you enjoy the dreams a little too much,” he said, moving past me. At the door, he stopped, staring straight ahead. “You could have come to me.”
“What would you have done, Eli?” I said. “You can’t go into my subconscious and change anything. You can’t make him stop.”
“You don’t know what I can do,” he said angrily. “You didn’t give me a fucking chance.”
He moved so fast, I didn’t see him actually turn and leave. Only the sound of the back door closing alerted me to his absence.
I walked to the window overlooking River Street, propped a hip against the ledge, and stared out into the growing darkness. Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead against the cool pane. He wasn’t right, not by far. I did not enjoy the dreams, nor did I desire Victorian. In the dreams, I want him to stop, to leave me the hell alone, but he never does. He returns to me, time after time, with the most erotic, out-of-control dreams that make me respond to him in ways that mortify me.
Worse, Victorian had begun speaking to me during my waking hours. Somehow, he’d gotten inside my head outside of the dreams. I thought I could handle it. I wanted the bastard dead; I was the only one who could get close enough to do it. Dammit.
“What was that all about?”
I turned and met Seth’s gaze. I was a balled-up bundle of hot electrical wires, and I needed to burn off a little energy. It was either that or bang my head against a brick wall. “Nothing, Bro. You wanna go for a run?”
My brother gave me a crooked grin. “I’ll pass. I’m meeting Josie for a little roof jumping.” He wiggled his brows at me.
Seth Poe was definitely enjoying his vampiric tendencies. The kid had serious free-running talent. I grinned. “Gotcha. I’ll catch ya later.” I yanked on my sneakers and headed out into the early-September air, crossed the merchant’s drive, climbed the metal steps to Bay Street, and took off.
Savannah in September was still warm and humid, and the brine from the river clung heavily to the air. I drew it in fully as I ran, the muscles in my legs stretching with each stride. I could go faster—much faster—but that would draw serious attention. Instead, I kept it to a mortal’s pace, crossed Bay behind a group of late-night ghost walkers, and headed up Bryan Street. Finally, I found myself alone, and I increased my speed, stretched my legs. Long shadows fell from lampposts, parking meters, and the massive oaks that lined nearly every side street in the historic district. Everything looked distorted. I turned the corner and glanced over my shoulder.
An arm shot out of the shadows, clotheslined me, and knocked me onto my back. I’d barely felt the sidewalk beneath me before I leapt up, adrenaline rushing, body rigid, poised and ready to fight, and stared into the shadows.
I knew who awaited me before he emerged.
“My apologies for using force to stop you,” Victorian Arcos said in a low, seductive voice. “But you’re amazingly fast.”
“Thanks to you and your brother,” I answered. “What are you doing here? They’ll kill you if they find you.”
Victorian stepped fully into the lamplight, and again, I was stunned by his beauty. Gone was the eighteenth-century clothing from before. Although he still kept his sleek black hair long and pulled in a queue, he was now dressed in a loose white button-down shirt hanging un-tucked from a pair of worn jeans and scuffed boots. It was difficult to believe he was only twenty-one years old. Well, that plus several hundred years.
“I can barely smell your blood,” he said, ignoring my threat, stepping closer, inhaling deeply. “Your dark brothers must have changed the drugs they use to mask your scent.” Light reflected in his deep brown eyes, and they studied me closely. “I had to see you.”
A car turned up the street, and the headlights flashed toward us. In the blink of an eye, Victorian stepped in front of me, pushing me backward through the thick grass and into the shadows of an aged-brick historic house that dominated nearly an entire block. The car passed. The headlight beams swept above our heads, and then left us in total darkness. Victorian, who stood six feet tall, moved slowly, crowding me, forcing me to back up. I stopped when brick touched my back. I felt completely powerless, as though I possessed zero control of my actions, my thoughts, and the younger Arcos brother took full advantage.
He stared down at me, desire radiating off his body in waves. “You torture me, Riley,” he said, his Romanian accent making his words seductive, erotic. “I think of nothing else but you”—he leaned close, his mouth brushing my jaw—“of what I want to do to you.” His soft lips grazed the skin at my neck and made me shiver. “It causes me physical pain to stay away.” His mouth moved to my jaw, dragging his lips to my chin, close to my own mouth. “I want you now,” he whispered. “I want to keep you forever.”
I was shaking, my mind numb, sensations tingling across the skin where his lips moved so erotically. I gathered my strength—God only knows where it came from—lifted my hands to his chest and pushed. Victorian flew backward and landed on his back several feet away. He lay there, staring at me. Smiling.
When I blinked, he’d risen, crowding me once more, his hands grasping my wrists and pinning them to the brick wall at my back. He lowered his head, his lips whispering against mine.
“Your tendencies do nothing but excite me even more,” he said. “What other tricks do you possess that I can enjoy?” His alluring scent surrounded me as his mouth covered mine . . .
“Riley? Wake up.”
My eyes fluttered open, and I stared into Eli’s questioning gaze. He frowned. “You were dreaming.”
Inside my head, Victorian’s seductive laugh echoed . . .