by Elle Jasper
“Riley,” a voice said.
I jerked my head toward the voice but saw no one. Adrenaline raced through me; yet my heart pounded slowly. My eyes searched every inch of the ruin, but found nothing.
Then, the whispers began.
Riley, Riley, Riley, Riley . . .
Over and over, my name fell from unseen lips, harsh and intimate at the same time, and I gripped the brick sill of the window and scanned the room. Whispers were everywhere; yet there was no body, no physical voice to connect them. A gnawing sensation of panic crept upon me, and I hated the feeling. I wasn’t scared of anything or anybody, but I’d rather see what was coming at me than cower like some fool by a window. The sense of dread grew, and I knew someone was about to die a horrible death.
Then, suddenly, as if those particular thoughts beckoned, in the time it took me to involuntarily blink my eyes, he was there—Victorian Arcos.
“Riley,” he said, smiling, and I immediately knew the whispering voice I’d heard seconds before did not belong to him. “You came to me.”
“Not a willing participant,” I assured him. “You brought me here.”
“Are you sure?” he said, still smiling.
“Dead positive,” I answered. He moved slowly toward me, and I watched his every step as he seemingly glided over the bracken. His hair, dark and wavy, fell loose to his shoulders, and brown eyes regarded me without blinking. He wore dark jeans and a dark shirt, loosened at the collar. His skin was young and flawless, his lips perfectly shaped, the cut of his jaw that of a vibrant twenty-one-year-old man. A thick vein ran from the side of his neck and disappeared beneath his collar—another sign of youth, vitality. He smiled then, white teeth flashing against an olive complexion, and I knew having me inspect him so thoroughly thrilled him. “Don’t get your hopes up, sunshine,” I offered. “I just like to know my enemies inside and out.”
Victorian squatted beside the bench I sat on and traced my jaw with his forefinger. “I am not your enemy,” he said gently. “I am your destiny. And you will know me inside and out. I promise.”
I flinched. “Sorry,” I said, and shifted so my face wasn’t so easily accessible. “I’m not into younger dudes.” I glanced around, hoping to change the subject. “Where am I and how in hell did I get here?”
“Like it or not, my love, this is your fantasy. Your dream,” he said in a heady Romanian accent, and without my permission, moved closer. I was thrilled and appalled at the same time. “I am honored to be in it. And for the record, you are much, much younger than I.”
“You’re a killer,” I accused. “I saw what you did to that girl, in the parking lot, and the one at the bar,” I said, knowing he wasn’t the killer, but I had to know who was. I darkened my expression. “You make me sick. And don’t kid yourself. You force your way into my dream, just as you force my reactions. I damn sure don’t have them willingly.”
A look of puzzlement crossed his features. “What are you talking about?”
I smiled. “Don’t fuck with me, Victorian. I’m not an idiot. Like you repeatedly say, your venom is inside me forever. I can see, feel your moves, your kills, feeds, how you terrorize innocents.” I glared at him. “You’re a monster.”
His puzzlement grew; his brows furrowed into an expression I’d not witnessed before. It was almost believable.
“I never terrorize, my love,” he said. “And I’m anything but a monster. I adore women. I control my feeds, and my victims live.” He shrugged. “With tendencies, of course.” His eyes penetrated me, intense and sincere. “I have mercy, Riley Poe. I swear it. And of course I force my way into your dreams. You’re a hardheaded mortal.” He smiled. “I like that about you. And the chase gives me a hard-on like no other.”
I ignored his confession and perversion. “The Duprés paint a very different picture of you and your brother, and I tend to believe them. Not you. I mean, seriously. You did try to suck all my blood out at Bonaventure, or did you forget that?”
Victorian’s eyes darkened. “I could not forget if I tried,” he said gently, his voice even, controlled, seductive, and if I wasn’t mistaken, somewhat remorseful. “But you are mistaken. I would never have killed you. I would have turned you, yes, and then you’d be mine forever. I am selfish, but I am nothing like my brother.” His eyes scanned my body, regarding me closely, intensely, like a lover’s caress. “I know what you need, what you want and desire, Riley Poe.”
“Yeah, I desire for you to stop calling me Riley Poe,” I said sarcastically.
Victorian laughed softly, his eyes trained on mine. “I’ve watched you for far longer than you think, Riley. Since you were a young girl, I’ve known you, desired you.” The muscles in his jaws clenched; then, without warning, a hot, seductive sensation washed over me, uncontrolled, unwanted, insatiable. Victorian didn’t move an inch; yet I felt his hands on me, everywhere, his voice an erotic brush of air against my skin. I wanted to scream in protest. I struggled not to writhe with desire. He easily controlled me with his mind. “You want my hands on your body, tracing every curve and bit of softness you have,” he said, his words drugging me, and at the same time I felt the sensation of his hands trailing my arm, skimming my collarbone, pushing the satin strap aside, letting it fall over my shoulder. “You want my mouth on you, my lips following my fingertips,” he whispered. I felt his lips in the hollow of my neck, then across my collarbone, my jaw. I sat, totally frozen, powerless to move as Victorian awakened every sexual sensation he had no right to awaken. Invisible manacles held me hostage as I sat in the window seat, and although I struggled, I could not break free.
“You want me, Riley,” he said, and though he sat stone-still, my slip eased down my breasts as if invisible fingers grasped the silky material and pulled. “I am only obeying your silent command,” he whispered, and warm breath brushed the sensitive peaks as though teasing with his lips. The slide of silk against my thighs as the hem of the slip rose slowly made my insides rush with excitement. I hated it. I wanted it. I tried squeezing my thighs together, but they wouldn’t budge.
“Don’t fight it, Riley,” Victorian said smoothly. “It is me you desire, me you long for, me you want to feel deep inside you. Open ... for me.” Invisible fingers dragged over my skin as my slip rose above my hips, and sensations of unwanted pleasure darted my body like needle pricks. I gasped as hot breath brushed between my thighs. “Open,” he demanded seductively. “You are so unique, so beautiful.”
“No,” I said, the sound barely above a whisper. I wanted to cry, shout, kick out; I wanted to hurt....
I wanted to come.
Warmth, wet and delicious, delved inside me, again and again; I gasped. I lost my breath. “No!” I sobbed, louder, just before the intensity of climax crashed over me.
“Riley!”
My eyes fluttered open and stared into Eli’s angry, flashing eyes. Confusion webbed my conscious thought, pleasure made my body shudder, and I had to blink several times and look around before I remembered where I was and what was happening. Eli, his arms braced on either side of my hips, stared up from between my thighs. He moved over me, and with his hands he held my head still, forcing me to look at him. We were naked, in his bed, his body covering mine, my senses and nerve endings humming from the sensual caresses from his mouth and his tongue.
A split second before it hadn’t been Eli.
All at once, and so fast I didn’t see him move, Eli pushed off me. Looking at him as he stood beside the bed, his face angered, his body rigid, I had a crazy moment of raw adoration. I thought I’d never seen a more beautiful soul than Eligius Dupré.
I hated that he was angry with me. Shame flooded me; ire built, and at that moment I didn’t think I could hate anyone—rather, anything—more than I hated Victorian Arcos, and I was damn tired of his screwing with me. I pulled the sheet up to cover my naked body.
“I’m not angry with you,” he said quietly, his voice controlled, totally on edge. He knelt down and grasped my chin, then tur
ned my face toward his, almost painfully. A dangerous fierceness took over his features; gently, he grasped the sheet from my fingers and released the sheet. “Never feel shame,” he said. “You are powerless, and he is powerful and obsessed with you; you cannot fight him. You will not win, and you will never rid your mind of him. He won’t let it happen.”
I stared in disbelief. “What?” I said incredulously. I pushed up on my elbows, and, unable to say anything, I gaped. No way was he right. “I don’t believe it.”
Holding my chin, Eli crept closer, covered my lips with his, and kissed me. It was more than a kiss; it was a brand, a memory of possessiveness I was surely meant to carry until death. The firmness of his lips, the drag of his mouth as he claimed mine, the slow tease with his tongue, made my body quiver, my nerve endings fire, my skin flush with heat. Suddenly, he pulled back and regarded me.
“You’re mine, Riley Poe,” he said, his voice dark, determined. “And while you may not be able to stop Victorian, I can.” His eyes searched mine. “I don’t share. Remember? He has’ to be stopped.”
Eli moved so fast, my vision saw nothing more than a hazy streak. I leapt from the bed, allowing the sheet to fall to the floor. “Eli, wait!” I cried, and I knew panic was close. “What are you going to do?”
At the door, Eli stopped, and I noticed he’d already changed. Dressed exactly as he had been the first day I saw him through Inksomnia’s storefront window, in worn jeans, a white tee and boots, with a shouldered backpack, he looked like any average badass guy on the street; mysterious, dangerous, not to be messed with. I knew he was all that and much, much more. I also knew his answer before it left his mouth.
With a look of longing that will haunt me for the rest of my days, I watched Eli’s face change from loving to one of pure determined hatred. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” He turned and moved through the double doors, then stopped. His back remained to me, his posture unyielding, still as death. “Wait for me,” he requested quietly.
Then, he was gone. Within minutes, the rumble of his silverback sounded, idled, and then roared up the street. I stood and listened until the motor faded completely away.
Eli was going after Victorian. Just like that, up and gone. Really? How would he even know where to look for him? I wanted to beat the hell out of Eli, and it was a helluva lot easier to stay pissed than it was to mope about his leaving. I didn’t have time for that, so pissed seemed the better route for me. After climbing in and out of the shower, I pulled on the dress Eli had so sexily discarded hours before, then grabbed my purse and pumps. At the double doors I paused and glanced over my shoulder at the rumpled bed. The clock read 4:58 a.m. With what seemed an involuntary muscular action, I drew in a deep, long breath, taking in Eli’s scent to litter my lungs, my taste buds, my memory. I knew what he did, he did for me. I also knew, somehow, he wouldn’t find Victorian. Not easily, anyway. The other invading my mind? How could Eli find him if we didn’t even know who he was? Eli had an explosive character. His emotions ran high in everything he did. When he was pissed, he was pissed. When he was happy, he was elated. And when he loved, man, he seriously loved. So it really didn’t surprise me that he’d taken off in an angry cloud of dust to find the two things causing me misery. It didn’t console or take away the edge I already felt inside. Within my rib cage, my heart ached—my fucking heart—and a hole had begun to tear, ragged inside my chest. Who knew what would happen? I hated that it all mattered enough to me that I felt pain. Angry, I closed my eyes briefly, breathed, then shut the doors and started down the corridor.
Philippe Moreau, the Duprés’ butler, stood in the kitchen, a white cup and saucer in his hand, and a kettle on the stovetop. Dressed in a long navy robe and slippers, he turned at my entrance. Aged eyes regarded the dragons inked into my arms, the angel wing at the corner of my eye, and then, met my gaze full on. “Will you have tea, Ms. Poe?” he asked, in a very proper and French manner.
“No, thanks, Philippe,” I answered, and headed to the door, where I paused. “Eli’s gone,” I said, not really knowing why I did.
“He will return,” Philippe said comfortingly, as though he knew.
I nodded. “My brother?” I asked.
“He is in the game room with the others,” Philippe answered. “Shall I call for him?”
I shook my head. “That’s all right. I’ll call later.” No sense in dragging Seth home on a Sunday morning and making him suffer my badass mood. I had supplies to order for Inksomnia, some designs to go over with Nyx later, and a few things to pick up from the store—a typical Sunday. Seth might as well stay with Josie and the guys and have a little fun. “Later, Philippe,” I said, then pushed out of the kitchen’s screen door and into Savannah’s early morning.
The sun wasn’t up yet, but a dim, hazy glow hung in the air as I made my way to the Jeep. Thick fog wafted over Monterey Square and slipped through the live oaks, swallowing the black iron streetlamps along the walkway. Barefoot, I tossed my pumps and purse into the passenger side of the Jeep.
And into the lap of a body that wasn’t there a half breath ago.
“Where ya goin’?”
I jumped and sucked in a breath. Luc grinned, and I glared at him. “Don’t do that, Dupré. God. You’re gonna give me a freaking heart attack.” I slipped behind the wheel.
He grinned wider. “I know CPR. I’d save you. So? Where?”
I looked straight ahead. “Home. I got a business to run, you know.”
“At five a.m.?”
I jammed the keys into the ignition, but before I could start the Jeep, Luc’s hand stilled mine. I sighed. “He left.” I glanced at him.
A slight breeze caught his crazy hair and tossed it across his forehead. He pushed it back and met my gaze in the dim light. “Yeah,” he said gently. “I know. He asked me to ride along.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t need a babysitter anymore.” I turned the Jeep’s engine over. “I’m not a helpless mortal, Luc. I can take care of myself.”
Luc grinned. “He said you’d say that.”
“Well,” I answered, glancing at him, “Seth will be with me this time. And as far as we can tell, there is no threat close by, right? The newlings have moved on.”
“Seth is here. And the newlings have moved on. For now.”
I frowned. “Preacher is right next door. I’ll be fine.” I pointed. “Get out.”
Luc didn’t budge.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?” I asked, knowing full well he did not. “Seriously dude—you’ve gotta move out of your parents’ house, or no decent chick will have anything to do with you.”
He grinned. “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Nyx. Is she involved?”
I put the Jeep in reverse. “No way, Dupré. I wouldn’t want her mixed up in all of this.”
Luc leapt out and was at my door before I could blink. He met my gaze with a sincere one. “Would you have held back from Eli, had you known what you know now?”
“No.” I didn’t even have to think about it.
Luc smiled and pushed off the door. The yard lamp cast a yellow glow down on him, and I studied the severe similarities between Luc and Eli. Other than the dark blond, crazy hair, they looked very much alike—same disturbing eyes, same cut of jaw, same mouth. Well, almost the same mouth. “Your mind, then, is open game for me. That way I’ll know if you’re in trouble,” he said, grinning, and gave a confident nod. “Yeah. I think I like this plan better, anyway.”
I shook my head and glanced over my shoulder to back out. “I hate this plan. I think this plan sucks.”
Luc laughed. “It’s either this plan, or the one where I come babysit you full-time.”
I scowled. “Fine.”
“Excellent,” he said, grinning. I’ll drop by later. And don’t worry about Seth. He’s cool. And Riley,” he said, his face serious. “He’ll be back. Soon.”
Turning the Jeep, I rounded the graveled circle drive by the kitch
en entrance and pulled up next to Luc. “I know he will. And seriously, thanks. I mean it.”
“No prob.” He leaned over and tapped my temple with a forefinger. “I’ll be right here.”
“That’s such a comfort,” I said, gave a half-forced grin, and pulled out into the square. Deciding to get myself together and grab a coffee, I headed to Skidaway to the original Krispy Kreme, where I got in a fairly short line of die-hard Kremers who wanted that first, fresh, hot batch of doughnuts of the morning. Being the JFJ (junk food junkie) that I am, I ordered a dozen regular glazed (they melt in your mouth) and a large coffee with cream and sugar, then headed back home. I listened to the relative silence of early Sunday morning in Savannah as I made my way back to Inksomnia. Eli had started teaching me how to concentrate, to filter out all the extra sounds I could now hear, and hone in on just my immediate surroundings by focusing on one single sound. I wasn’t totally good at it yet, but at least now I wasn’t going nuts. When he first taught me, I had to close my eyes, breathe deeply, and concentrate so hard that my brain hurt. It was like being in a large convention room with two thousand people, all of them droning. Finally, I did it, and it was a relief. It wasn’t easy to turn on and off, and sometimes it took me a few minutes to achieve control, but I was getting better, and I could now do it without squeezing my eyes shut. I mean, Jesus. It was kinda funny at first, but I quickly grew sick of hearing people humping and moaning all the friggin’ time. God, they were having sex everywhere. I felt trapped in a porn dream. So this morning, after I shut out the other unwanted noises, I found everything was pretty calm, as it used to be before I had two strigoi bloodsuckers try to drain my life force. Light traffic; somewhere, a dog barking its head off, and, in the distance, a semitruck grinding its gears and chugging along the bypass—these were normal sounds.