Darklove

Part Nine CHAOS

A strong, rock-hard biceps is wrapped around my throat, dragging me back into the shadows behind the Crachan. His familiar scent, burned deep into my memory and sensory, hits me in waves. So much that, for a second, I’m powerless to defend myself. Powerless to escape. It’s tempting to just let him drag me off and do . . . whatever.

At least it’s him. Eligius. And for a split second, we’re together.

Eli goes stone-dead still, turns, and looks down at me. He hesitates. In the half shadows, I see his face. Conflict and confusion war in the depths of his red eyes.

I stretch my hand out to graze his jaw. “Eli—”

Oh no, you don’t, Riley. Fight. Get away from him. He’s not your love right now. He’s your enemy. Run. Now. Or all chances of saving him are gone.

Athios’s words hit me in the gut; it doesn’t take much. I’m not suicidal, or so awash with grief that I don’t want to survive in this chaotic world I live in without Eli. The faces of Seth, my Gullah family, the Duprés, Noah, Rhine—they all flash before me.

I focus, forcing all of my energy to my core, and when it gathers, builds, and then explodes, Eli is thrown back. I don’t turn around, and I don’t stop to wonder where he was thrown to. I run. Haul ass, straight for the back entrance of the Crachan.

I’ve got to get the scatha.

Carrine’s voice catches my ear. “Go after her, imbecile!”

I know what I’ve got to do.

When I reach the door, it’s partially open and I hurry inside. The lights are out, and darkness and shadows stretch and distort my surroundings in a building I’m already not overly familiar with. I’m in the kitchen, and the sounds of the fight outside waft in from several broken windows. I push the thoughts and visions aside and make my way to the staircase.

I’m not alone.

Eli’s right behind me. There’s no use in hiding from him. I know he can sense me, smell me, just like I can him. On my way through the hall, I grab an iron poker from the hearth, leap over the sofa, and dash for the stairs. Just as I reach them, my arm is grabbed.

Eli has a tight grip on my wrist.

Without hesitation, I swing the iron poker and clobber him. His head snaps to the side, and his grip loosens just enough for me to break free. I run. Through the darkness, I take comfort in knowing that, no matter how hideous it sounded and looked, that iron poker didn’t do anything to my fiancé except stun him for a second.

It’s not like I poked him with silver.

I’m running up the corridor to my room when I’m slammed into and I hit the wall. A newling. Female. Face distorted, ragged teeth dropped and snapping at me.

I drop the iron poker, yank a blade from a sheath, and ram it into her heart. As she falls, I leap over her and into my room. Grab my scatha off the bed where Luc left it, and just as I’m slipping the newly packed duffel filled with cartridges over my head, Eli grabs me and yanks me around. His grip is tight. And I’ve dropped my nonsilver weapon.

He starts to drag me now, back toward the door. Eli’s eyes are bloodred, his expression blank. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, and his biceps bulge as he yanks me hard. My heart plummets; confusion webs my brain, and part of me wants to scream, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him, or hit him, until he wakes the fuck up! Recognizes me!

“Eli! Please!” I holler.

For a split second, he hesitates. His grip is still tight, but he stops. Studies me. And confusion flashes in his eyes.

I don’t waste time. Instead, I focus my energy. It’s happening faster now. I’m gaining more control over my Fallen powers. In the next second, Eli is tossed across the room. I’m stunned at the force and exactness of my powers, but I don’t hang around. I head straight for the window and leap out.

At the bottom, I land, crouched, and in the middle of . . . chaos. There’s fighting all around me, Ness boys fighting vampires. Blood. Piles of quivering dead newlings. I catch sight of Noah, and Seth and Rhine are close by.

He turns and sees me, then glances up.

Eli lands behind me, and I take off. I head straight for Rhine, and he doesn’t even look at me as he reaches into his pocket and throws me the key to his bike. I catch it and keep running, and I jump the last few feet and land, straddling his bike, jam the key in, and hit the engine. Just as Eli nears, I peel out down the drive. No time for a helmet. Eli’s on foot, right behind me. So close I can hear his grunts in my ear.

I run over two vamp bodies, and hit another one as he surges toward me; then I skid out into the street and take off. Vehicles are sparse, but still on the road, along with trash cans and plastic recycle bins as I nudge my way through and make it to the bridge. I glance over my shoulder; Eli no longer follows on foot.

But I know he and Carrine will follow me.

It’s me she wants.

And I fucking want her.

I hit the A-9 and let the throttle out. I’m heading for Dingwall, Ivy Cottage, and the standing stones. I’m going into the realm.

And I know Carrine and Eli will follow me.

I squint against the frigid Highland wind pelting into my eyes. In my rearview mirror, I see a single headlight. It’s growing closer. Faster. I look straight ahead and pray Rhine’s bike can outrun the one behind me.

The one carrying Eli and Carrine.

As I fly through Strathpeffer, then Dingwall, I’m pushing the bike to its limit. It’s pretty fast, and I’m relieved I don’t have to take the time to convince a local cop not to chase me down. Luckily, the cars are few and far between, and by the time I’m heading out of Dingwall and up the steep incline next to the car dealership, there are no cars at all. Ducking my head against the wind, I fly toward Ivy Cottage. At the drive’s entrance, I hit the brakes and skid sideways, coming to a stop. Kickstand down, I grab the key, stuff it in my pocket, and take off up the drive on foot. There’s a light in the living room of the crofter’s house, and I’m hoping he didn’t hear or see Rhine’s bike. It’s dark, and clouds obscure most of the moonlight. But I know where I’m going, and I rush past Ivy Cottage at the top of the hill, jump the sheep’s fence by the barn, and tear up the path toward the stones. In the distance behind me, I hear the roar of another motorcycle.

I’m running top speed through dead gorse and heather, the big prickly clumps catching my boots so much that I have to take large leaps to get over them without falling. Higher I climb, and before long, the moon slides out of the clouds, and the silhouettes of the stones rise before me. I stop, looking around me as I reach into my duffel, grab a handful of cartridges, and quickly load the scatha. I snap the lever in place and, without a glance backward, step into the stones.

The air shifts around me; a mist gathers and swirls up, crawling higher and winding around my legs and my torso and obscuring my vision. Then it begins to thin out, before me. Here, time is lost, from the world I just left, and this one. It’s unpredictable, and I might as well not hurry. I’ll fuck up if I hurry, and this is not the time for a fuckup. What I want is coming. Eventually. And I have patience this time. My head is clear. My will is stronger than it has ever been. And I have control.

I’m facing a slight incline: a hill, with a path walked smooth. I follow it, and notice a black iron gate ahead. As I walk, my fingers tighten around the scatha; my pack is slung over one shoulder. My arms are bare in my leather halter top, and yet the cold doesn’t bother me at all. Walking through the gate, I descend stone steps embedded into the cliffside, and at the bottom, a long, barren street. Abandoned cars line the curb on either side, tires flat, windows broken out, doors and trunks open. At the end of the street, another pair of tall black gates. A cemetery. I’m walking down the center of the street, unwilling to get too close to the buildings on either side. Some have doors; others have black, cavernous mouths. No way am I getting close enough to those, so I stay walking straight down the middle of the street. My gaze roves back and forth, up and down, searching. The building has no glass in the windows. No drapes. No lights. The lone click-clack of my black leather heeled boots against the paved street makes echoes in the silence, the solitude.

Only then do I see eyes staring at me from the shadowy windows and doorways.

Dozens and dozens of them. Red. Unblinking.

Then music. I hear it, coming from some back room in the building beside me. I glance over, the top-floor window glassless and dark, and the music grows louder. Billy Idol. “White Wedding.”

Then the eyes disappear, and a rustling, scratching noise begins, growing louder and louder, and then out of the doors and windows pours dozens and dozens—maybe hundreds—of cats. They crawl atop the abandoned cars and line the streets, and their eyes follow me as I walk, as Billy’s voice carries out through the upper window.

Cats? Am I really going to have to blast cats?

They don’t set one paw in the street; they stick to the curb. And as I slowly pass them by, they crack open their mouths and smile, their little cat lips pulling back over complete, perfect sets of human teeth.

They’re not moving toward me, not rushing me. Not attacking me. So I continue on my way to the large iron cemetery arch at the end of the street.

Then one solitary cat yawns, and its mouth widens to a disproportionate size: a big black jagged, gaping hole that takes up most of its head.

And it screams.

At once, they all stand on their hind legs, straight up, and join in the screaming. They look like some discombobulated Meerkat Manor of the alternative world, and the minute they launch at me, I take off. I run, hesitating to use my cartridges on a bunch of fucking big-mouthed cats.

The first one latches on to my hip, and those human teeth drop long and sharp and sink into my flesh. With my free hand I grab it by the scruff and fling it off, but it’s soon replaced by another, and another, and now they’re all lunging at me from their curbside perches. It’s the first time Billy Idol has ever, ever annoyed me.

I now have hundreds of vampire cats flying through the air and attacking me.

I focus, zero in on them, envision in my head a room filled with cats, and I release my energy. The shock wave rocks them all back, sends them flying against the buildings. I run top speed to the iron gates in front of me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the cats are dazed, but shaking their heads and watching me. Then they run after me. I hurry.

The moment my feet cross the cemetery’s threshold, the cats disappear. I breathe a quick sigh of relief that A: I didn’t have to blow a cat away. And B: I still have all of my cartridges.

As I glance around, the cemetery shifts, and tall Celtic crosses bend unnaturally to the side and back, and the marble statues, blackened with age, begin to move, walk, drag themselves toward me like stone zombies. Cemetery. Bad choice, Poe.

Only choice. Consecrated ground. Sanctuary. Better than out in the open, with rabid vamp cats throwing themselves at my throat. I hurry.

Just as I think, Where the hell is Carrine? she appears. Slipping from behind a leaning crypt, she emerges. She’s wearing clothes similar—no, almost identical—to mine. Tall black boots, leather low-riders, leather halter. Her hair is down, and her eyes are bloodred. Behind her, Eli stands still, watching me. Silent. Silent, but seething in bloodlust. Bloodlust and . . . confusion. He’s fighting her. I can tell it, sense it, feel it. I can feel it where I stand. But will he be able to withstand the brunt of her power if she enforces it? Jesus, I don’t want to kill my beloved.

“Are you wondering if we just followed you here for the hell of it?” Carrine says to me. She smiles and lifts her hand, pulls Eli’s mouth to hers, and traces his lips with her tongue. She looks at me, slightly shaking her head. “Hardly.”

I don’t speak. I just watch. I know now that Eli is heavily under her spell. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. And that eases the pain somewhat. My forefinger flips the lever on the scatha, and my palm tightens the grip. I wait. I can’t hit Eli with my aim.

Carrine laughs. “You’ll hit nothing with that toy, silly girl.” With a swipe of her hand, she sends my scatha flying. The force of her power knocks me back several feet, and I slide against the gravel and rock, slamming into a gravestone. I shake my head, dazed, but I stand. Carrine slowly walks toward me, taking long, exaggerated runway model steps.

I jump up, face her. She looks at me, first at the ink at my cheek, then at my dragon tails down my arm. Her gaze lifts to mine. “Pity to waste such a . . . unique shell,” she says. “But your blood is much more important. It’s something I must have, you see. To add to mine.” The smile that stretches over her face chills me. “You canna conceive the power your blood and mine combined will produce. It’s almost . . . erotic, the thought of it—”

I swing with my fist and catch her jaw. Her head rocks to the side, and she snaps her gaze back to mine. She smiles, but her face is contorted with hate.

In the next breath, she morphs, and she’s ugly as holy fucking hell. Her face shakes and blurs, then elongates; jaws unhinge, and her teeth drop from her bleeding gums in long jagged shanks. Her mouth resembles the cats’: disproportionate and taking up a lot of her face space.

With as much energy as I can focus, I turn and roundhouse kick her in the mouth. Carrine spins, and when she is righted, her foot is airborne and catches me in the shoulder. I stumble, and she’s lunging toward me, teeth snapping together, coming an inch from my throat. I fall against a crypt and slam her body against it, once, twice. She lets go, and I turn and dive for my scatha. My fingers touch it, but Carrine grabs my ankles and she flings me away from it. I roll, and she hits the ground I just vacated. Leaping up, she faces me. We’re both crouched, eyes trained on each other. Slowly, we circle.

“You won’t survive me, Riley Poe. I thought I’d never escape that hell Valerian entombed me in.” She laughs, but her gaze is locked solid on to mine. “Much to my surprise, he set me free. Thought his power over me was enough to make me obey his commands.” She laughs again. “What a foolish, selfish little prick he is.”

“What do you know? We finally agree on something,” I say.

I stare at Carrine, her lips pulled back into some weird catlike gaping-hole-of-a-mouth specter as an unfamiliar language pours from her lips. A curse? Black magic? I don’t know, and I honestly don’t give a damn. Forcing all of my energy to the center of my body, I draw a deep breath, pulling the energy from my core to my fingertips. I . . . throw it at her.

And her arms rise, too, and her energy is thrown right the hell back at me.

Together we stand, our energy forces colliding in an electric punch, and I can feel her severe witchpireness. It’s strong. Tough as shit.

But she doesn’t have a fiancé. A life. A family.

Somewhere deep inside me, it all collides together, and like a tornado it rips from my body. Carrine is flung back, far, and her body crashes against a contorted Celtic cross.

I dive toward the scathe, palm it, and roll to my back. Carrine is in the air, almost upon me.

I fire. Direct hit, right in the heart.

Carrine’s scream pierces the air as her body bursts into shards, and by the time the pieces hit the cemetery ground, they’ve turned to dust. It’s like a volcanic ash fallout.

My body is thrown to the ground, and my head hits hard. Stunned and shaken, I take a second or two to realize Eli has moved. He stares down at me now, has me trapped.

For some reason, I’m only worried about Carrine. Not once does it occur to me that Eli would be a danger, regardless of whether he knows what he’s doing.

I know it now.

I’ve misjudged him.

Eligius Dupré, my love, my fiancé, may not be under Carrine’s control any longer, but he’s in full-blown bloodlust, and he hovers over me now, fully morphed, his face contorted and disjointed. His red gaze focuses on the pulse at my throat. I dive left, and his hand encircles my ankle and yanks me down, my head slamming into the ground. I feel his hand go around my throat, squeezing, lifting me off the ground. For a split second, I’m eye level with him. His bloodlust ones stare hard into my human ones. He doesn’t see me, Riley Poe. He sees what he craves, what surges within my still-human veins, and his body is propelled by the desire to have it. My blood. Yet he cocks his head to the side, studying me. Again, hesitating.

Dread fills my insides, even as I slide my hand to the back of my pants and grip the hilt of a silver blade. I ease it out. Without changing expression, Eli’s fingers tighten around my throat, and my eyes bulge from the pressure. His other hand covers mine holding the blade, and he squeezes until the pain is too much and I drop it.

He’s going to lunge. Sink his teeth into me. Drain me of blood until I’m an empty shell, then throw me aside. I can’t move. I’m paralyzed. With fear, dread, and an overwhelming broken heart. My brother’s face flashes before me, Preacher’s and Estelle’s, Nyx’s, even my dog Chaz’s. I’ll never see my loved ones again. . . .

My eyes close. I’m powerless to move him.

I’m going to die by Eli’s hands. . . .

Then, unbelievably, he loosens his grip, and I’m free. . . .

My eyes snap open, just in time to see Eli smash into a tree.

Standing before me, Valerian Arcos stares down at me. His face is unmorphed, aristocratic, and beautiful. Perfect. He smiles at me, reaches a hand toward me. “Come to me, my love. At last.”

My feet begin to move. Toward him. His full lips pull over perfect white teeth in a victorious smile. “That’s right,” he croons. “Come here, Riley.”

I focus. Concentrate. Imagine my core a fireball of energy.

Valerian merely smiles at me wider. “Stop that, Riley. ’Tis a waste of time. You should know me well enough by now. When I desire something, I get it. Just like I desired Carrine’s power to coerce you into killing Dupré,” he sighs. “Although I didn’t count on him fighting her control so much. Nor her being so rebellious.”

I glance at Eli, who is standing now. Shaking off his injury.

“Oh, wait,” Valerian says. “You took care of her rather well, my darling. You have quite the power within in. But trust me. I have full Strigoi in my veins. You’ve got . . . simply a dusting of it. And by the way, your little message to my idiot brother? He always was a weak one. He didn’t have the balls to tell my father.” He shrugs. “Just so you know.”

I stare at him. Hatred pools inside me. Not a feeling I relish, but I can’t help it.

“Let’s see here. Ah yes. Let me finish this . . . distraction.” He glances at Eli. “Shall you do the honors?” Valerian asks me. He grins. “Yes. I think you should. I can’t very well be the cause of a vampiric war, can I?”

“Won’t work this time, Valerian,” I challenge. I grin.

“We shall see.” His expression hardens. “Go to him. To Eli. And take your silver and plunge it into his heart. Do it now.”

My fireball core is boiling hot. I stand, staring at Valerian. Again, I grin. And I don’t move.

“Go now!” he commands.

I feel his will, his strength, trying to penetrate my core; it doesn’t. I smile at him. “Go fuck yourself, Arcos.”

Valerian’s brow pulls into a hideous frown. “Very well. I’ll risk a war—”

Everything happens so fast after that.

Valerian’s features morph into that of the hideous Strigoi bloodsucker that he is. He lunges at Eli, and I throw my cored energy into my legs and leap at them both. Valerian and Eli are entangled, fighting, jaws snapping, and I wedge between the two and, with all the power I can control, throw Eli as far as I can. His body sails, knocking over tombstone after tombstone like dominoes as he crashes. Only then, once I see Eli on the ground, do I feel the piercing of skin, ripping of artery, and fiery intrusion of Valerian’s poisoned toxic fang as it enters me. I turn and look at him, my hand flying to my throat. He snaps back, his face confused, contorted. Filled with agony. I stumble backward, something warm and sticky trickling between my fingers at my throat. Already, my vision begins to blur.

A rumble rises, roars, and vibrates within me as a body flies past and rocks into Valerian. I shake my head to clear my vision. Shock steals my breath.

Victorian Arcos, in one fierce twist, takes the head of his very own brother.

Another roar pulls my attention back to Eli. I’m falling now, stumbling like I’ve had too much tequila, and I see another figure fighting him. They tangle, twist, and the other figure throws his head back, dreads pulled into a queue, and Noah sinks his jagged fangs into Eli’s throat.

I stumble back, horrified, dizzy, and I hit the ground on my backside. My energy is spent. My scatha—I’ve been clutching it the whole time—drops from my hands. I fall back on the cold cemetery ground and stare skyward. No stars. Just blackness. Oh yeah, I’m in an alternative world. Nothing’s real here anyway except the creatures and souls within. . . .

Victorian’s flawless face and warm brown eyes stare down at me. His mouth is moving furiously, and he is shouting my name. I can’t hear him. But it’s my name. He grips my shoulders and shakes me, and he falls to his knees and scoops me up. He must be running with me . . . somewhere. My body begins to convulse, my breath quickens, stops in my lungs, and I can’t breathe. I’m clawing at Victorian’s shirt, his hair, but he’s running fast, his head turned yelling at someone over his shoulder. I can’t hear who. His face is drawn tight in fury and concern, but he doesn’t look down at me again. I think I see tears streaming down his face. Fear pits my stomach, but I can only stare. Only straight ahead. I grow weak fast, and now my arms fall helpless. I feel like I’m floating again. Where’s Noah? Please, God, please at least let Noah get out. A black curtain is pulled over my eyes, wrapped around my head until I can’t breathe, and I see nothing, hear nothing . . .

Nausea. Ears drumming. Voices. I don’t know where I am. I try to get up, can’t move my arms. My legs. I can’t even turn my head. Eyes won’t open. Pain. My flesh is ripping apart!

“She’s moving around too much,” a voice says.

“She won’t break out of that.”

“You said that the last time she broke out of it.”

“Shut up and just tighten them.”

“You tighten them.”

I try to speak. My mouth is frozen, stuck in place, like my lips are sewn together

Finally, I give up. . . .

Pain roars through me, skidding along every nerve and pathway inside my body, and I scream so hard my insides quiver. I still can’t see—something’s tied around my eyes. I force my core energy to my arms, my legs, and I push so hard with my mind that whatever’s holding them down flies off. Curses, shouts, as whatever I’m in rocks back and forth, jolting me forward. I catch myself, and just as my fingers fly to my eyes to remove the blind, a body hits me. We crash to the floor.

Suddenly, I’m overcome by a powerful sense of . . . sexuality. Erotica. Deep-core horniness that makes me scream and grope at the body pinning me down.

“Someone better fucking hurry up over here,” the voice on top of me says. “If she gets loose, someone’s in trouble.”

His breath brushes my lips as he speaks. I reach, wriggle beneath him. Gotta have him . . .

“Hold her still,” a voice says.

“I might like her kind of trouble,” a new voice comments. Accent . . . funny. Hard to understand. Familiar.

“This is as still as she gets,” the voices says on top of me. “Hurry.”

A pinprick, and as soon as the sensation has begun to claw at the body hovering over me, it disappears. I settle, ease, and the pain leaves me as I drift into a weightless black cloud of nothingness. . . .

The ebb and flow of waves against the shore pull me out of my deep slumber. The heavy brine of salt and sea life wash over me, and I inhale. Familiar.

“Hey,” a voice says gently. “You’re back.”

I’m on my back, a thick softness below me, and a chilly breeze lifts my hair. I open my eyes and blink rapidly as the light pours in. Finally, my eyes can tolerate the sudden change and I focus on the figure kneeling beside me. His face grows closer, and he reaches out and strokes my cheek. I lift my hand and thread my fingers through his.

“Noah,” I say, and my voice comes out croaky and broken. My throat feels as if someone has dragged a handful of thorns across it.

“Shh,” he says, and covers my lips with his finger. He leans closer, mercury eyes searching my face. “How ya feeling?”

I look at him. “My whole body aches.” My gaze goes beyond Noah’s figure, to the lean-to palm roof I’m lying under. Several feet away, the edges of the sea wash up onto the shore. It’s late afternoon, and a low sun falls somewhere behind us. “I’m at Da Island?”

Noah nods. “Yeah, darlin’, you are.”

I stare up at the palms covering my head. Fear chokes me into a panic, and my breath hitches in my throat, quickens. “Noah?” I don’t even know what to ask, or what to say. I don’t know what’s happened.

“What do you remember?” he asks. His hand squeezes mine.

I concentrate. “The realm. Victorian.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Jesus Christ, he killed his brother,” I say. Then my eyes flash open and I force myself to sit up. “You,” I say on a painful whisper. “Eli—you bit him. Noah, Christ—”

“He’s alive,” Noah says with a smile. “Fine, no, not yet. Far from it. He’s in deep detox. Deeper than you, Riley. Couldn’t even keep him on the same island as you. I’m surprised even on the same continent. He’s not out of the woods yet. He’s . . . in it bad.”

I sit back and my brain hurts from trying to sort things out. I push my fingertips to my temples, massaging, trying to force the memories out. “I don’t remember anything.”

Noah chuckles, and another biting breeze whips through. “Yeah, I guess you don’t. Another hell of a plane ride. Had to take two jets. You on one, Eli on the other.”

I stare up at the fading sun peeking through the makeshift roof made of scrub palms and pine limbs. I’m not as settled as I should be, hearing that Eli made it out of the realm. “Tell me everything, Noah,” I say. Tears choke my throat and claw behind my eyes, and finally, they escape. “Where’s my brother? Preacher? Victorian? Rhine?”

Noah reaches over with a finger and wipes my cheeks. “It’s just you and me here, darlin’. We have the island to ourselves. Rhine and the Ness boys are fine. Had to make that young pup return to Inverness. He wanted to come here, watch over you, insisted on flying back with us. He left a couple of weeks ago, and he calls or texts me every day, asking about you. And yes, everyone else is . . . alive.” He narrows his eyes. “You sure you’re up to this?”

With a gusty sigh, I nod. “Might as well be.” Relief washes over me. Rhine and the boys are safe. Everyone is alive.

Noah scoots close, pulls me up in his arms, and settles me against his chest. He pulls the patchwork quilt—one I recognize is made by my Gullah grandma, Estelle—over my legs and waist. “This is going to take all night.”