Everdark tdic-2

by Elle Jasper

  “I deploy tomorrow,” he replied, in a heavy smoker’s voice. “I’m always ready, honey.”

  Rangers kicked ass. I gave him a smile and punched his arm. “Hurry home.”

  I transferred the image I’d sketched and printed out from my computer onto his left flank—just about the only place left on his back. It was a wicked-cool skeleton soldier’s head, cigarette clenched between its teeth, wearing a World War II helmet with the words “Fuck Off” across the front of it. Gotta love it. Once the transfer dried, I lined up my ink pots, grasped the needle, and let the Widow’s hum mix with Heart’s lyrics, and together they pulled me into my work. I’d preferred to have stayed there, uninterrupted, in my “Barracuda” zone until the job was done. No such freaking luck. I’d just finished the helmet’s chin strap and was blotting blood when the interruption occurred.

  I fed last night, Riley. I’ve never enjoyed it—not like my brother. But it’s necessary for me to live. I promise—I show mercy, and I feed only when I begin to grow weak, and I take only enough to sustain me. I do not butcher those I take from. I hope you believe me. It hurts to think you believe me a monster.

  I froze, needle poised over skin, and felt my insides grow cold. Victorian’s voice was so . . . inside me, I could almost feel the tenor of his voice reverberating off my bones. Now he was sharing his kills with me? The thought made my blood chill. And, he wanted my sympathy? What kind of freak-vamp was he? Wide-ass awake and his voice was just as strong, just as real as if he were in the room, standing right beside me. I glanced around, just to make sure.

  “What’s wrong?” Nyx said from her station.

  Mentally, I could do nothing but shake it off. I damn sure couldn’t tell Nyx what had happened. I sighed, stretched my back, and cracked my neck. “Nothing. Just a little stiff.” I grinned at her. “I’m fine.”

  Nyx eyed me for a second or two longer, shrugged, and went back to work. For once, I felt sort of glad that Eli wasn’t around. He would have zeroed right in on my thoughts and all hell would’ve broken loose for damn sure. Eli Dupré had a short fuse and would go off like a wild man, had he known Victorian Arcos was tormenting me in my thoughts. Good thing I was a big girl and could take care of myself.

  For the rest of the day, the voices continued. All Victorian’s voice, of course, but just when I’d think he was finished, he’d whisper something else, something unsettling, terrifying, inside my head. It was getting harder and harder to mask it.

  Nyx had just left, my last customer was out the door, and I was on my way up the steps to my apartment to wait for Eli when Victorian interrupted once more.

  Does it bother you to know I think of you when I feed? I feel you must know the truth, for it’s thoughts of you, your body bare and slick with the sweat of our lovemaking, and my cock buried deep inside you, your legs wrapped around me, begging me for more, that keep me merciful. They . . . settle me. Does that make sense? I confess, it’s a unique characteristic I didn’t have before tasting your blood. Before part of you entered me, before we were . . . connected.

  “Leave me alone!” I yelled out loud. “I swear to God—I’ll kill you myself!” My heart, although uncharacteristically slow nowadays, beat hard, loud, and my breath hitched as I took the steps two at a time. Just as I kicked off my thigh-high boots and skirt, I heard the back door slam shut.

  “I’m home!” Seth yelled.

  “Okay,” I answered, not wanting him to know how upset I truly was.

  My mind reeling, I peeled out of the rest of my clothes, grabbed a pair of black yoga pants and a sports bra, stretched, and took my frustrations out on my workout bag. I don’t know how long I was at it, but I never did hear Eli enter the apartment, or my room, and God knows how long he’d been standing there, reading my freaking thoughts.

  “You’ve been dreaming of him again,” Eli said, his eyes hard, his voice low, and uncharacteristically accusing. “Haven’t you?”

  I ignored him, my emotions on edge, extended my leg fully and, with a quick snap, kicked the workout bag hanging in my bedroom. I followed it with three sharp jabs. Anger and a little hurt built inside me, and after a few more kicks and rounds of punches, I broke a decent sweat.

  Eli’s strong hands grasped my shoulders and spun me around. “Don’t ignore me, Riley.” He drew his face close to mine. “Don’t.”

  I frowned, totally pissed. “Then don’t accuse me, Eli.” I shook his hands off. “You know I can’t help those dreams. You know it.”

  Eli stared at me several long seconds, then shoved his fingers through his hair, muttered some French expletive, and walked to the window. He looked at some distant point across the river. “You desire him.”

  Anger flashed inside me, and I crossed my arms over my chest. “How freaking old are you, Eli?” I asked. “Sixteen? Oh, no—that’s right. You’re over two hundred.” I walked up behind him, grabbed him by the arm, and turned him around to face me. Brilliant blue eyes searched mine, and I knew he was reading my thoughts; digging through them like a madman was more like it. “You’re acting like a jealous high school boyfriend,” I said, a little more gently. I grazed his jaw with my index finger. “Seriously, Eli.”

  Another handful of seconds dragged by before his face went emotionless, his eyes dulled, those beautiful full lips that worked magic against my body thinned. “You don’t deny it, do you Riley?” His voice held an edge, tinged with a heavier-than-usual bit of French. I’d learned fast that the heavier the accent, the more pissed off Eli Dupré was.

  “Victorian forces the dreams on me,” I said harshly. “Just as he forces the emotions within them.” I stepped closer. “I. Can’t. Help. It.”

  Anger pulled his features tighter. “Do you think this is some game? He is deadly, Riley. Do you think he has feelings for you? Other than obsession? He will drain every ounce of your blood in seconds. Regrets might 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. Soon, it would be pitch-black outside—everdark (the Gullah pronounced it evah-dock). It meant, pretty much, everlasting darkness. That was what it felt like, too—an endless night. Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead against the cool pane. Eli wasn’t right, not by far. I did not enjoy the dreams; rather, the internal conversations I’d reluctantly had with the younger Arcos. Nor did I desire Victorian. In the dreams, I wanted two things: to continue the turn-on, then nothing more than for him to stop, to leave me the hell alone; he never did. He returned to me, time after time, with the most erotic, out-of-control dreams that make me respond to him in ways that mortified me. I loathed him. He made me excited. Yet I got a rush when his voice sounded inside my head.

  Worse still, Victorian had begun speaking to me during my waking hours. Somehow, he’d gotten inside my head outside of the dreams. The only cause I could assume to be the reason for this was that we shared the strigoi DNA. 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? You okay?”

  I turned and met Seth’s concerned 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. “It’s nothing, Bro. Seriously. 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 wig
gled his brows at me.

  Seth Poe was definitely enjoying his vampiric tendencies. The kid had serious free-running talent. I’d been watching him closely, just to see if anything else, possibly weird, popped up. So far, it hadn’t. I grinned. “Gotcha. I’ll catch ya later.”

  Those fathomless green eyes stared at me for a moment; then Seth pulled me into a tight hug. “Love ya, Sis.” Then he disappeared out the door.

  I shook my head, yanked on my sneakers, and headed out into the early-September night 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 long stride. I could go faster—much faster—but that would seriously draw attention. I mean, I can haul ass. Instead, though, I kept it to a typical human’s pace, crossed Bay behind a group of ghost walkers, and headed up Bryan Street. Finally, I found myself alone. Full darkness had fallen, and I increased my speed, stretching my legs. Long shadows fell from the 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 flat on my back. I’d barely felt the sidewalk beneath me before I leapt up, adrenaline rushing, body rigid, poised, crouched, and ready to fight. I stared hard into the shadows.

  I knew who awaited me before he emerged.

  “My apologies for using such 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.” I met his gaze with a hard one. “Maybe I’ll kill you.”

  Victorian stepped fully into the lamplight, and again I was stunned by his beauty. He looked older than twenty-one. Gone was the eighteenth-century clothing from before. Although he still kept his sleek black hair long and pulled into a queue, he was now dressed in a loose white button-down shirt hanging untucked from a pair of worn jeans and scuffed boots. It was difficult to believe he was so young. Well, that plus several hundred years. Apparently, my death threat fazed him nada.

  He closed his eyes and drew in a lungful of air, then looked at me. “I can barely smell your blood,” he said, stepping closer and inhaling deeply again. “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, intensely. “I’m glad. 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, damp 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 at least six feet tall, moved slowly, crowding me and forcing me to back up. I stopped when the brick pressed into my back. I felt completely powerless, as though I possessed zero control of my actions, my thoughts, my new tendencies—almost as if I’d had a stroke. The younger Arcos took full advantage.

  He stared down at me, desire radiating off his body in heady 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—“and of what I want to do to you.” His soft lips grazed the skin at my neck, where he lingered, and a flash of fear mixed with an uncontrolled shiver rushed through me. “Of what I dream of you doing to me,” he said at my ear. “It causes me physical pain to stay away, Riley Poe.” His mouth moved to my jaw, dragging his lips to my chin, close to my mouth. “I want you now,” he whispered. “I want to keep you forever.”

  I was shaking, my mind numb, my limbs paralyzed, and sensations tingled across the skin where his lips moved so erotically. I didn’t want this, or his touch. I couldn’t help but crave it. I breathed, squeezed my eyes shut, opened them, gathered my strength—God only knew where it came from—lifted my hands to his chest and pushed. Hard. Victorian flew backward and landed on his back several feet away. He lay there, staring at me and smiling.

  When next I blinked, he stood in front of me, close, crowding me once more, his hands grasping my wrists and grating my knuckles against the brick wall at my back. He lowered his head, his lips whispering against mine.

  “Your tendencies do nothing more than fascinate me”—his mouth moved against mine—“and excite me even more.” He pulled back and looked at me. “What other tricks do you possess that I might enjoy?” His alluring scent surrounded me as his mouth covered mine—

  “Riley?” A hand grasped my shoulder and shook—hard. “Riley, wake up, dammit.”

  I gasped; my eyes fluttered open and I stared, confused, into Eli’s questioning gaze. Behind him, early-morning sun streamed in through my bedroom window, casting a hazy glow on his face. He frowned. “You’ve been dreaming of him again,” he said, his eyes hard and accusing. “Haven’t you?”

  I glanced down. I still wore the same black yoga pants and sports bra I’d gone for a run in the night before. I’d encountered Victorian on that run. Hadn’t I? Or had it all really been a dream? I looked at my knuckles; the skin across them was scraped raw.

  Inside my head,Victorian’s seductive laugh resonated.

  Now, either that little fucker was messing with me, or I was losing my goddamn mind.

  Part Three

  Terrors

  “Death is when the monsters get you.”

  —Stephen King, Salem’s Lot

  “I’ve started having . . . visions. Night terrors.

  Day terrors. And they’re not of Victorian. It’s

  something—or someone—else; I get the sick

  feeling they’re weirdly familiar. I’m seeing in-

  nocents die horrible deaths at the hands of a

  vicious monster; watching it happen through

  my own eyes as though it’s me doing the kill-

  ing; as if I’m the monster. I even feel what the

  monster is experiencing, and it’s . . . disgusting.

  I’m not kidding—something’s gotta give be-

  cause I can’t freaking take it anymore.”

  —Riley Poe

  By the time I’d closed Inksomnia’s doors a few nights later, I’d realized with complete lucidity that our lives—all of our lives—would never be the same again. There were no rose-colored glasses here. Nope. My goggles were scratch free and squeaky-clean, and, to be honest, I suppose I’d rather it be that way. Better to know what’s coming than to ignorantly stand around with your thumb up your butt, waiting for junk to happen.

  For instance, Preacher and Estelle no longer had to what the Gullah referred to as “fix” me. Let’s face it. My DNA was royally screwed up, so I no longer needed that particular concoction of God-Knows-What from Preacher’s special behind-the-haint-blue-curtain herb collection. I still had to have something—I mean, I was still human after all—but not such a heavy dose, and my Gullah grandparents no longer had to trick me daily into drinking my protective tea. I willingly did so and kept a mammoth canister of it on my kitchen counter. Gilles said that because I had the venom of two strigoi vampires’ mixed with my DNA, my blood would slowly start morphing into something unique, and soon I wouldn’t even need the tea. I’m not sure if I should have been happy or freaked about that. Lucky for my brother, he had the venom of only one strigoi mixed with his DNA. We’re both pretty messed up, though, I guess you could say. Messed up, but not stupid.

  Another thing I’ve noticed, and this just since getting back home, is my senses. They’re changing. I mean, I’d known about the whole werewolf/Arcos bit, but damn—I didn’t realize it’d get so intense. Or that it’d continue to alter as it has. My hearing is ridiculously acute. I’m s
tarting to hear the most insane sounds, like the nuns over at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist (aka Cinderella’s Castle by Seth and me), and that’s all the way over on East Harris Street. I can literally hear them praying. At first, it was nothing more than a cluster of hushed murmuring whispers; but, by the second day, the whispers were totally clear and I could understand every word being muttered—every single word. It made me feel like some freaky eavesdropping voyeur or something. Weird. Even weirder was that I could now pick up heartbeats, and only God knew how far away they were. I heard them everywhere, and after a while it began to seriously grate on the nerves. Thump thump thump thump thump thump. Thump freaking thump. Eli promised to teach me how to channel it, tune it out, or make use of it. I was looking forward to learning those tricks and hopefully soon, because I felt as if I’ were constantly holed up in a crowded bar with some drunken idiot banging a set of drums. The softer the sound, the louder it was inside my head. It was driving me frickin’ nuts.

  And my sense of smell was almost just as crazy. I could detect everything from a joint being toked three blocks away in an upstairs apartment, to some nasty drunk dude farting batter-fried onion rings in the corner booth at Spanky’s.

  I was standing in my kitchen, steeping strong Gullah tea, when the first terror-vision hit me. I wished to God it was my last. It wasn’t. I remember glancing at the time on my Kit-Cat Klock—8:44 a.m.

  A paralyzing grip suddenly snatched control of my body; I dropped the spoon I was using to stir sugar into my tea, and it clattered against the granite countertop, then hit the floor. I couldn’t feel my fingers or toes, and, at first, I couldn’t breathe. The insides of my eyes, behind the sockets, turned boiling hot, then frigidly cold. A loud ringing in my ears drowned out any and all noises, including the ones I heard blocks away. Then everything went pitch-black. I tried to speak, but my vocal cords were paralyzed, too. Panic, mixed with anger, seized me.