Afterlight tdic-1

by Elle Jasper

  In the next second, he flipped me, and Eli was on top of me, his weight resting on his forearms, and as he began to move inside of me, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to mine. I wrapped my legs around him and moved with him; his mouth left mine as he buried his face in my neck. I shoved my hands through his hair, and as the orgasm gained strength I cried out Eli’s name, then went breathless as shots of light fired behind my eyes. Eli found his release at the same time, intensifying mine, and it went on and on as our bodies writhed in pleasure. The residue of orgasm began to retract, slowly, and as it did, Eli’s mouth moved to my lips. He kissed me, his hands buried in my hair and cradling my head gently; then he pulled back just enough that our gazes locked.

  “Mine,” he whispered against my mouth. He kissed me again. “You are mine.”

  In the shadows I stared into the eyes of a vampire, grazed his mouth with my finger. “No, you’re mine.”

  Over the next few days I felt rejuvenated. Where I’d felt catatonic before, now I felt ready to kick some ass. It wasn’t so much because of what I’d seen at the warehouse. It’d been gruesome, absolutely. Horrific. And, strangely enough, it wasn’t my amazing relationship with Eli, although I have to admit, it was seriously empowering. But even that wasn’t it. It was the deep responsibility I felt for that man’s life, for all the kids’ lives in that freaking warehouse, Zac the almost marine, the woman in the park — everyone who had been slaughtered just so a couple of satanic undead creatures could revitalize their powers. It pissed me off. Even deeper was a responsibility to end it. To destroy the monsters. I wanted to do something, not sit around on my ass and wait.

  Every day that passed, I missed my brother even more. We were so close; it was like a part of me was missing, like I’d lost a body part. It hurt. My chest actually, physically hurt — especially knowing where he was, what he was doing, and what he was fast becoming. Every time I’d look in his room, my body went numb. Seth was the only blood family I had left. I wanted my baby brother back, dammit.

  Despite Eli’s run to Da Island to get protection against killing me, and the threat that was always present, I wanted him. Desperately. I mean, I hated sounding like some weakling who can’t make it in life without a man, but damn. We’d clicked. I’d felt it. And I wanted it. I wanted him. And he wanted me — he made no effort to hide it. I didn’t care that he was undead, and I didn’t care that he’d outlive me. Yet Gilles’ words rang in my head continuously — almost as though he kept doing it on purpose to keep me from caving in to my desires. Actually, he did put a thought into my head. He literally told me that Eli would have his head better in the game if he wasn’t preoccupied by me. Say what? It was hard — don’t get me wrong. I’ve never experienced so much difficulty keeping my hands off a man in the whole of my life. Worse than that, I had to pretend that it didn’t bother me so much, that I didn’t care. Goddamn, I did care. Too much for my own good. And he affected me. Whoa. Did he ever. And who am I kidding? He knew it. The guy freely dug into my thoughts.

  I did pretty well, keeping my distance those few days, and Eli actually allowed it. I’d made it perfectly clear that we needed to focus on this mission and not get caught up in a lust affair. Eli had made quite an effort, too, at the urging of his papa; he’d stayed away, and Phin continued to be my babysitter.

  The dreams continued.

  I had two more nights at the apartment. I’d agreed to spend the rest of Seth’s quickening at the House of Dupré, mainly to train. If anything, I was a workaholic, and hell yeah, I’d train my ass off if it helped take down the Arcoses. I’d dreamed the two nights before; I’d kept them to myself because of the nature of the dreams. They were highly intense, erotic, at times freakishly kinky, and part of me thought they came over me because of what I went to bed each night thinking of: Eli. The first night, after the warehouse, I found myself back at the Panic Room, in one of the back rooms, completely naked, my limbs spread and roped to the bed — something I’d never been into. I liked control too much, I guess. He was there — always the same beautiful, flawless, freaky guy — and he did nothing more than stare at me. He whispered nasty-bad things in my head, things he wanted to do to me with his tongue, how many different positions he wanted to take me in, and it was like a drug. I wanted to break free and escape the panic rooms, and put as much distance between us as possible; I wanted him inside me first. It was insane. Not once had this dream guy ever physically touched me. Afterward, I felt wicked guilty.

  The following night I found myself alone at an amusement park on the waterfront — sort of like Coney Island, I guess. He pursued me through the park, slowly, never relenting. I ducked into the house of mirrors, only to find him there, watching me. When I looked in all the mirrors, I saw us, naked and entwined. I ran to escape, and ran so hard I woke up with chest pain. Weird. Both very weird. I’d never seen this guy in my life, and all I knew of him was that he was one horny little toad who had some major control over my brain.

  I climbed out of bed and got ready as usual. I had only one client, and then I’d be heading over to the Duprés’ — along with my entourage of Gullah bodyguards. I don’t know why, but I felt safe with them. I know it sounds crazy, but I firmly believed the Duprés were a much different breed of undead than . . . any other undead out there. Besides, Estelle had given me a canister filled with my special brew.

  No sooner did I pull on my jeans, black fishnet long sleeve, and white ripped Inksomnia tank than a harsh banging at the back entrance made me jump. When I stepped into the living room, Phin watched me; I shrugged, and jogged downstairs to see who it was. When I opened the door I was surprised — and repulsed — to see someone I’d hoped never to lay eyes on again.

  “Well, Ms. Poe,” Detective Claude Murray said. His eyes regarded me a little too closely for comfort. As they always had. “All grown-up, I see.”

  I inspected him. “And I see you’re still packed into that suit like a sardine.”

  He grinned — looked like he still chewed tobacco — and shook his head. “Grown-up but still a smart-ass, eh? Figures.” He glanced at his watch. “You need to take a little trip down to the station for some questions, little miss tight pants.”

  “Why?” Phin said from over my shoulder. I could feel his tension rolling off him in waves. Phin might look innocent, but he was anything but. I knew he could rip Claude’s arms off in less than five seconds.

  Claude ignored Phin and stared hard at me. “You’ll find out. Let’s go.”

  I gave a short laugh. “If you think I’m riding anywhere with you, you’ve grown senile in your old age, Murray.” I grabbed my keys off the hook. “Why am I needed for questioning?” I asked, hooking my pack onto my back.

  Claude Murray, a graying man in his midfifties and getting more portly by the second, gave me a hard stare. “Looks like your past is coming back to bite you in that little ass of yours, Poe,” he said quietly. “Your old boyfriend Kelter Phillips just turned up at the city morgue.” His gaze raked over my body, and I literally felt like I needed a bath. “And according to his girlfriend, you were the last to see him alive.”

  Part 9

  Quickening

  I was pretty sure that perv Murray noticed the shock on my face about Kelter, and was even surer he took pleasure in delivering the information. Not that there was any love lost — not by any means. It’s always a shock when someone dies unexpectedly — even a scumbag like Kelter. I was actually surprised he’d lived as long as he had.

  On the way to the police station I gave Phin the skinny on my background with Detective Claude Murray. I stared at a traffic light through my shades and began. “Ol’ Claude had a thing for me back then — yeah, gross, I know. Even though I was just a kid, I could tell he was a freak. I’m sure I wasn’t the only juvy he had a thing for.”

  “What do you mean?” Phin asked, his voice growing dark, like Eli’s did.

  I shrugged. “You know — his touch lingered way too long when cuffing or uncuffing me, an
d whenever we were alone he’d touch my hair, brush against me — sick stuff like that.” I laughed cynically. “I guess because I was a little junkie at the time, he thought he could get away with it. And he had. I’d been privately scared of him back then. Now? I’ll kick his ass, even if it means a night or two in jail.”

  Phin sat quietly in the passenger seat and listened, his face growing angrier by the second, and I knew then that Detective Claude Murray was now on the Duprés’ lifelong shit list.

  “Hey,” I said, and punched him in the arm. “I got it. No worries. I’m a big girl now, not some crazy little druggie teenager. Okay?”

  He glanced at me, and although I couldn’t see his eyes through his shades, I knew he was scowling. “Right.”

  I parked the Jeep and popped some quarters in the meter, and Phin walked into the station with me. He stood against the wall and waited, arms folded over his chest, and I was led into the back. When I glanced back, he had his cell phone out, and I knew he was calling Eli. Oh, boy. Phin shrugged, and I continued down the hall.

  I knew the way, of course, and saw that things really hadn’t changed in ten years. Claude was waiting farther up the hall — the inside of the station reminded me a lot of junior high, with dingy white concrete walls and tile floors, wooden doors with little brown nameplates screwed onto them. And . . . it smelled funny. Weird-funny, and it brought back old, unwanted memories. Claude smiled at me as the police officer escorted me to the interrogation room, and I went quietly in and sat down.

  “So you’re hanging out with old friends, Ms. Poe?” Claude asked.

  “No. Just went by for a few drinks.”

  Claude leaned over my shoulder. “I have a witness that says she watched you enter the back rooms with Kelter Phillips after making nicey with him at the bar. And you know we know what goes on back there.”

  I gave him a glare. “Get to the point, Detective. Yes, I saw him that night, but so did hundreds of others. When I left, he was very much alive.”

  “Alibi?” he asked.

  “Sure. Why don’t you ask the doorman, Zetty? He watched me leave.”

  “Were you with anyone?” He walked around to face me. “Oh — let me clarify that. Were you with someone whose last name you knew?”

  Prick. “Yes.”

  Claude blinked and waited. “Well, are you going to give me a name?”

  I looked him in the eye, although I hated bringing Eli into this. “Eligius Dupré, and I was with him all night.”

  “We’ll need to speak with him.”

  I didn’t even blink. “No problem. Can I go now? I have an appointment.”

  Claude’s slow, thin-lipped grin stretched over tobacco-stained teeth. “I bet you do.” He inclined his head. “You’re free to go. But we may need to drop by and have a look around.”

  I stood and shrugged. “Be my guest. I have nothing to hide.” I gave him a look that I hope mirrored my revulsion. “Later, Claude. Much, much later.”

  I walked out and let the door slam behind me. When I reached the waiting area, Eli stood next to Phin and Luc, an infuriated look on his face. I walked up to him. “I’m sorry — but he wanted to know if I’d been with anyone at the time we left the Panic Room.” I felt awful. “He wants to talk to you.” I lowered my voice. “Did you kill him? Kelter?”

  Eli said nothing, and I guessed that meant no. He walked to the counter and spoke to the clerk, and within seconds another officer escorted him down to interrogation.

  I glanced at Phin. “Did you tell him?”

  “Yep.”

  “Everything?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he confirmed.

  I let out a sigh. I’d known he would, but no way would Eli be able to hide his anger at Murray. Surprisingly, within minutes, Eli strode from the back, his eyes glued to mine. Still furious. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  The afternoon went by relatively quickly, and I heard nothing else from Murray; Eli and the guys disappeared while Nyx and I wrapped up appointments. I always dressed the part on workdays — clients had come to expect it of me. It was as much a part of my reputation as my artwork. So I wore a kick-ass outfit: a burgundy leather minidress, sleeveless and laced from the waist up, and a pair of over-the-knee black leather boots. A plain black velvet choker and matching velvet wrist cuffs completed my attire. The clients were more than satisfied. Nyx had decided to take the next day off and take care of some family business with her parents on Wilmington Island; she finished up just before I did; it was almost seven. As she grabbed her skull-and-crossbones shoulder bag, she came over and gave me a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you,” she said, and looked at me with those big, round, always-wide-open blue eyes. “Don’t worry about a thing. If the police come by to check the place out, I’ll make sure I’m here.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and rubbed her arms. “I’ll be around until late tomorrow afternoon anyway. And I really appreciate your help, Nyx. Call me on my cell if anything comes up.”

  We said good-bye, Gene cawing sharply as Nyx left out the front door. I locked up — earlier than usual, but I’d canceled all my appointments and still needed to handle a few loose ends for the business. I flipped the sign to CLOSED, pulled the blinds, and cranked up some Linkin Park. I was at the computer, printing out some of my latest designs on transfer paper for Nyx, when I felt Eli’s presence and glanced up. He stood leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest, watching me.

  “Hey,” I said, casual, as I’d tried to keep it since his return. I continued my work. Eli pushed off the frame and walked up front, plopping down on the sofa. He picked up a design album and started thumbing through the pages.

  “I wanted to kill that detective today.”

  I glanced up. “Yeah, I’ve had that same thought myself before,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. I gathered the transfers and hung them on the backlights — similar to what doctors use when viewing X-rays. I stood there, inspecting for imperfections, and suddenly felt Eli directly behind me.

  “No,” he said quietly. “You don’t understand. I wanted to kill him.”

  I turned around and met his enraged gaze. “Why?” And it was then I saw that anger had been brewing in Eli all day.

  “Because of how he treated you as a kid,” he said. “And for his thoughts today.” His eyes bored into mine. “It would have been so easy.”

  I placed a hand on Eli’s chest. “I appreciate your chivalry. Really. But he’s just a stupid mortal. I can handle him.” I smiled. “Trust me.”

  The air around us stilled; Eli’s gaze grew dark. “What do you feel when you touch me?” he asked, and slid my hand over his heart. “Anything?”

  It was something I’d been avoiding; it hadn’t been easy. The thing between us was palpable, dangerous, and I’d known it went deeper than sex the moment we’d met. He’d told me quite seriously that I was his. I’d told him the same, yet the subject hadn’t been approached again. What did mine actually mean? I lowered my hand and moved away. “I don’t know, Eli.”

  Silence gripped the interior of Inksomnia for several moments before Eli surprised me with a request. “I want you to ink me.”

  I looked at him, gauged him. “Tats are for life — and with yours that’s a long damn time.” I cocked my head. “Do you know what you want?”

  Eli kept his gaze on mine. “Yes.” He lifted the medallion from his neck. “This. It’s our family crest.”

  Bending my head over the medallion, I inspected the design and detailing. I’d not noticed it before, and I now found it fascinating. A griffin clutching a pair of daggers sat in the center of a fleur-de-lis, encased by a thorny vine. At the bottom, the name Dupré. I looked at him. “That’s pretty wicked.”

  “Can you do it?” he asked.

  I grinned, grasped him by the hand, and shoved him in the chair. “Sit.” I grabbed a pencil and sketch pad and within minutes had the entire design on paper — it was roughly the size of an orange. I showed it to Eli, an
d he nodded.

  “Perfect,” he said.

  I scanned the design, then printed out a transfer and walked back to Eli, whose gaze remained locked onto mine. “Where?” I asked.

  “Between my shoulder blades,” he returned. “Black ink.”

  My heart beat faster, and I nodded. “Off with the shirt, and let’s get going.”

  Eli pulled his shirt over his head and turned onto his stomach on the inking table. I slowly wiped his skin with antiseptic and let it air dry, then laid the transfer print-side down, directly between his shoulder blades. I started the Widow, pulled on my gloves, loaded the ink, and bent over to Eli’s ear. “This might sting a little.” I settled into my chair.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, okay.”

  “No laughing,” I warned. I peeled the transfer off and began. Eli didn’t even flinch. “Nice,” I said, and concentrated on my design. I admit, it was a pretty cool design and would make a sick tat. With a steady hand I inked the Dupré crest over the muscular back of the eldest son. Tattooing Eli under such intimate conditions was beyond erotic — my breathing increased; my heart quickened. My breasts brushed his side as I bent over him, and even through gloves the contact of my skin against his aroused me. His scent radiated off of him in waves, and I drew it into my lungs, and that aroused me, too. It took about an hour and forty minutes to complete, and swear to God, I didn’t want it to end. Finally, it was finished, and it looked badass.