Eventide

Part Four Unhinged

Everything’s changed. Me. Them. All that’s around me. Complete chaos. And I don’t even think they can see it. At least, they don’t see what I see.

And that’s fine by me.

They all look at me funny, and that’s something I don’t like. I’m trying not to make a big deal about it, but it’s starting to grate on my last everfucking nerve. I don’t know how much more I can stand. Always watching. Always talking. Planning shit behind my back. Someone’s always with me. Acting like I don’t have a fucking brain in my head to make decisions with.

And Eli’s eyes are constantly locked on to me.

Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind.

I’ve gotten good at hiding it though, and trust me when I say that’s a plus. If they all knew what really went on inside my head they’d lock me away. But I didn’t make it through drug rehab and vamp rehab to break down now. No, hell-sir no. I got it. I’m cool.

I’m blankly staring at images as I sift through the pile of sketches Nyx handed me an hour ago. Dragons. Japanese symbols. Japanese symbols with dragons. Japanese symbols with flowers. Skull with a Ranger’s beret.

“Hey, Riley,” Nyx says from her station.

I glance at her and she’s smiling ear to ear. It irritates me. “Yeah?” I answer.

“Your ten-thirty appointment just called. They’re running a few minutes late.”

Damn. I hadn’t even heard the phone ring. “Thanks,” I say.

Just then the front door opens, and that raven above the jamb caws loudly. Swear to God, I’m going to yankthat fucker off the wall and throw it in the river next time I get the chance.

“Riley? This guy wants to talk to you,” Nyx says. She gives me another smile, all bright and cheery. Like nothing’s wrong with the world.

I set the sketches aside and walk over to the man waiting for me. He’s young, military, and gives me a nod and a wide smile. “Ma’am,” he offers politely as a greeting. “I was told I could get inked by no one other than you.”

Thump, thump.

The soldier’s young, vibrant heartbeat echoed inside my head.

I smile up at him. “You got something in mind?”

It’s warm enough inside the shop that I’m wearing a black Inksomnia tank, a pair of jeans and combat boots. The soldier checks out the dragons inked on my arms and smiles. “Sweet,” he says, continuing to admire the work. Or me. “I was thinking of a snake wrapped around my arm,” he says, “from here to here.” He points at his shoulder and elbow. “With my infantry number in the body.”

I nod. “I’m booked today, but check out the album over there”—I nod toward the image album on the coffee table—“and see if there’s anything in there you like. I’ll do a fast mock sketch and see what you think. Then we’ll set you up with an appointment.”

Soldier nods. “Cool.” He turns, finds the album, and plants himself on the sofa and begins his search.

I return to my station and pick up the sketches. In the back, I notice Eli leaning against the wall. Watching.

I ignore him and continue on with my meaningless task. I can’t believe I sit around and draw such stupid shit. God, the things people think they want inked forever into their skin. They are fucking clueless. Then, I’m interrupted.

Vic: It’s getting worse for you, isn’t it, love?

Me: Get out of my head, Victorian. I don’t want to hear it.

Vic: A piece of me lives inside of you, Riley. You cannot fool me. I can sense the mayhem. What else is happening?

Me: Nothing I can’t handle.

Silence.

Vic: Has my brother been contacting you?

Me: Maybe. Not really sure who it is. Or if they’re real. Like I said, I can handle it. Doin’ a fan-fucking-tastic time of it so far.

Vic: Riley.

Me: I’m losing chunks of time. They feel like dreams really, but then I physically realize I have lost time. Can’t remember what I’ve done, yet some things seem familiar.

Silence.

Vic: Christ, Riley. Let me help you before it’s too late. Please. I will take such good care of you. You’ll want or desire nothing, I vow it. I can give you such love, such pleasures, if you’ll only allow me to take you away.

Me: (laughing) Vic, you know I can’t allow that. No way am I leaving.

Vic: It’s taking you over, love. It will overpower you and there will be nothing left of the Riley Poe you know. It’s very close to succeeding even now. Please. Come with me. I am begging you.

Silence.

Me: Good-bye, Victorian. Leave me alone.

Vic: I will never leave you alone, Riley. Never. At least allow me a decent good-bye.

Me: What do you mean by that?

Vic: Meet me. Tonight. I won’t ask for another thing from you. I vow it.

Me: You do realize your mind whammy doesn’t work on me anymore, right?

Vic: Unfortunately, yes. I do realize. I only want to say good-bye.

Me: Yeah, right. Where do you want to meet?

Vic: I’m just across the river from you, love. At the Westin. Tower Suite.

Me: (laughing) Of course the tower suite. I’ll be there.

Vic: What time?

Me: When I get there.

“Ma’am?”

My eyes focus on the young soldier who is now standing in front of me, grinning.

“Yeah?” I say.

His face falls slightly, but he clears his throat and continues. He holds open a page in the sketches album. “I found the one.” Leaning closer, he shows me.

A winding serpent. I’d sketched it in under ten minutes. “You sure?” I say.

The soldier nods and answers without hesitation. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay,” I answer, get up and move to the computer up front. I click on the appointments screen and scroll down. “I can fit you in on Friday at five p.m.”

The soldier smiles. “Sounds great. I’ll be here.”

I click in his appointment, calling him “soldier/snake,” and close the screen. Then without another glance or thought, I get up and walk to my station.

I’d forgotten Eli was even in the shop. But he was. Hadn’t even moved from where I last saw him. I ignore him.

My clients come and go throughout the day. I don’t make much conversation. I do the art, and get done quickly. The sound of heartbeats rush through my head with such vigor, I have to really concentrate to block them out. Which, in turn, blocks everything else out and that’s fine by me, too. None of it’s easy though. Along with the thumping of heartbeats comes a thrill I can’t explain, and it shakes my whole body on the inside. I’m on edge, and I want to be alone. Vaguely do I recall inking a set of broken skeletal wings on the back of a very bony girl in her mid-twenties. That took a couple of hours. Staring at her back lined with drops of blood didn’t do much for my mood. But some small slice of my pride must still exist because in the end, despite all of the frustrations and distractions, my work still kicks ass. Call it vanity. Call it whatever the fuck you want.

I am just finishing up a Japanese verse on the flank of a young guy when Preacher walks in through the front door, followed by Eli’s brothers, sister, and Seth. My insides twinge; I haven’t seen Preacher and Estelle in a week maybe? I’ve lost track. My surrogate grandfather, wearing his signature plaid button-up long-sleeved shirt and jeans, catches my glance and holds it. I feel cold all of a sudden, and the hairs rise on my arms. Preacher’s eyes lock on to mine for several seconds, as if digging in my brain to find something. I feel like he’s busting me for smoking weed. He turns, and I can tell something’s up.

“Eligius?” Preacher calls.

Eli emerges from the back of the shop. “Yes, sir?” He slides me a glance as he passes. His presence takes up the entire area. I forget he has that ability sometimes. Power. He reeks of it.

The old Gullah merely stares at Eli for several seconds; Eli returns the look. Without saying a word out loud, both leave Inksomnia, Luc and Phin following. Their expressions are unreadable.

I guess there’s enough of the old pathetic me left to actually care to ask, “What’s going on?”

Josie and Seth walk toward me. Josie watches me with depth. Precision. Weighs me. Large, cerulean blue eyes unblinking. But keeps silent.

Seth stops in front of me. His green eyes are solemn. “One of Capote’s nieces was killed last night.” Capote is an old Gullah, and Preacher’s cousin. Plays a wicked saxophone, too.

“Killed?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

Seth and Josie simply stare at me. No words. No explanation. Then, I know. I realize it means only one thing.

Vampires.

I meet their stare for several seconds, then return to what I’d been doing in silence.

“Oh, gosh,” Nyx says quietly. I glance at her. Now she’s wringing her hands and pacing, her face pinched in worry. The beat of her heart increases. “How awful. Poor Capote.” I think for a second Nyx is going to burst into tears.

Of course, Capote and Preacher are cousins, so the girl is related to Preacher as well.

A vampire killed a Gullah. This hasn’t happened in centuries, save Eli’s accident. The Duprés have always kept Savannah and Preacher’s kin safe. Valerian’s army is growing. Now, a young Gullah girl has been murdered.

What if I did it?

I continue cleaning my station until I feel a hand on my shoulder. When I glance up, it’s Seth’s eyes I’m staring into. “What?” I ask.

“Can we talk?” he replies. “Alone.”

I shrug. “Fine by me. Let’s go.”

Seth’s eyes lock on to mine for several seconds, then he turns and heads to the back of the shop. Nyx must be on a retro kick because she changes the tunes and The Monkees’ “Daydream Believer” blasts through Inksomnia and follows me upstairs.

I walk straight to the fridge, open the door, and grab a beer. I’ve got half the bottle drained by the time Seth speaks.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, and he doesn’t ask it nicely.

I stare at him as I drain the rest of the bottle. “What do you mean?”

Seth rakes both hands through his hair and then grasps his neck. For a moment, he closes his eyes. When he reopens them, his stare is hard. Hurtful. To him, not me.

“You’re not the same, Ri,” he begins. “You’re…different. Hateful. Mean.”

I laugh. “No shit, bro. I’ve got two fucking sets of strigoi DNA inside me.” I shake my head. “What the hell?” I’m irritated now. He called me up here for this?

“I watched your face when I told you about Capote’s niece,” he says angrily. “Your expression didn’t even flinch, Ri. It’s like you don’t care.”

“You’re still a kid, Seth. What do you know? Grow up and have some responsibilities and then tell me about my lack of care and expression, okay?” I answer.

Just then the door swings open and Eli walks in. His gaze sweeps over me and Seth. “Am I interrupting?” he asks.

Seth shakes his head and keeps his eyes on me. “No.”

The silence inside the apartment is a live, palpable entity.

Eli walks to me and grasps my shoulders. “I have to go with Preacher and my brothers to Da Island,” he says quietly, evenly. “I hate leaving you, but this is unavoidable. Did Seth tell you what happened?”

I simply nod.

Eli grasps my chin and tilts my face to look up into his. “I hate leaving. I hate that Phin, Luc, and my father have to go, too, but we do. This is big. And it has to stop.”

Again, I nod and remain silent.

“My mother and Josie will be here. Seth, Zetty, and Riggs, as well.” He lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me. When he lifts his head, those cerulean blue eyes almost take my breath away with their intensity. They nearly pierce the anger subtly bubbling below the surface of my being. “For now, the night runs stop, and I mean that, Riley. It’s too dangerous to go out alone. You’re strong but not against a dozen newlings. Wait for us to return.” He kisses me again. “They’re waiting for me. I’ll be back soon.”

“Bye,” I say, and with a final glance, he leaves. Fast. I follow him to the door but he’s already gone.

“Listen to him, Ri,” Seth says, and he’s closer to me now. Like right behind me, crowding my space. “I don’t know what’s up with you lately, but please.” He grabs my arm. “Listen for once.”

I snatch my arm from Seth’s grasp and glare at him. His sluggish heartbeat resonates in my head. “I don’t need you telling me what to do, Seth. So chill the hell out and stop talking to me like I’m a kid.”

Seth’s face falls. Blanches, even. Suddenly, he’s seven years old again and looking at me as I trip and fall up the steps to our apartment. Drunk. I vaguely remember those days. But I totally remember his expression. I’m not sure why it doesn’t affect me, but it doesn’t. I turn and head for my room.

“Where’re you going?” Seth calls after me.

I don’t look at him. “I need to work out,” I say, step into my room, and shut the door.

Minutes later, I hear the apartment door open and close. Finally, alone.

Nervous energy simmers under my skin, and for a split second I feel as though I’m on fire. I claw and peel out of all my clothes except my bra and panties. Without bothering with a warm-up, I start kicking the bag suspended from the corner ceiling of my bedroom. I kick. I punch the bag, and I don’t know how long I go at it, but it’s a while. I don’t even break a sweat. The exertion only helps a little. My thoughts are running ninety to nothing, my brain suddenly unable to filter out the constant rumbling of human noises outside the apartment. My head begins to throb. Mercilessly. Voices. Heartbeats. Crying. Traffic. The pain is so bad it sends shards of light shooting behind my eyelids. I gotta run. Gotta get out.

No, first watch this. Watch what you could be…

I jerk my head around and scan the room. I’m alone. The voice. It’s familiar. Frightening. I sit on the floor and cradle my head in my hands, and only then does the vision appear behind my eyes. It’s dark. I’m running away. No, I’m chasing. Someone. Wait, not chasing. Stalking. They’re unaware of me. I slip through the shadows silently, yet I run. I want to get closer. I can already smell their scent. Hear their heartbeat. Almost feel the rush of their blood through their veins. I’m on Savannah’s dark side, away from the tourists, away from the history, the moss, the charm. I’m where most people wouldn’t dare go alone. Up ahead, the figure turns the corner. I’m right behind them. The moment I turn the corner I’m coldcocked by a heavy fist, and I land square on my ass. Warm liquid spills over my lip and onto my chin.

“Damn, bitch,” he says. “What the fuck’s your problem? You a cop?”

I stare up at the guy in silence. I’m seething.

“Deke, man,” another guy says as he steps out of the building’s front door. “What’s up?”

“This bitch was followin’ me,” he says. “I think she’s a cop.”

The other one lets the screen door slam and walks over to me. He studies me for a moment. Looks at my ink. “Naw, man,” he says. “That bitch ain’t nothin’ but that. A bitch. She ain’t no cop.” He shoves me with his foot. “You ain’t no coppy, are ya, bitch?”

He lifts his foot to shove me again. It never touches me. I grab it, midair, and with very little effort, send him flying backward into the shadows beside the duplex. I’m so fast that the other guy doesn’t have time to react before I’m in the shadows with the first guy. In the darkness, I have his body pinned to the ground. I see only the whites of his eyes, the flare of fear in his nostrils. His mouth opens to shout for help, out of surprise, whatever. The words die on his tongue. Because he dies on my tongue.

My fangs sink deep into his throat. His body thrashes, then slows to erratic jerks as his nervous system detects failure.

“What the fuck!” his friend calls from behind me.

I leap upward, grab his shoulder, and swing onto his back, my legs wrapped around his waist, my arms tightening around his neck. His strength gives out and we tumble to the damp mossy ground. Before a single word escapes him, my fangs are buried in his heart. A deep, sadistic laugh reverberates off the trees and dingy buildings around me.

Just as fast as the vision appeared, it vanishes. I lose my breath for a second, and I choke. The sensation I’d had moments earlier seems so real. I blink, look around. I’m back in my room, in my apartment above Inksomnia. Why am I being tormented? Rising from the floor, I breathe. What was that? Was it real? I’m so confused, and the pounding inside my head returns. Quickly, I grab a pair of discarded jeans thrown across the back of a chair, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and boots and hurry out of my bedroom. I pass by Chaz, lying on his bed close to the hearth. He stares at me, lowers his head, and growls low in his throat.

I spare him the slightest of glares and leave the apartment. In seconds I am just another body slipping through the streets of Savannah.

The night air is chillier than it has been. I’ve been on the streets for hours, and I find myself in a half-packed parking lot of some random club. I don’t recognize it, but that’s nothing new. Clubs pop up all over Savannah, and they close just as fast. In some weird extraterrestrial font, the bar sign reads AREA 51.

The club is just a plain gray building with no windows, and from the smell of extreme marsh and brine hanging on the breeze, I guess it’s close to the river. The scent is nauseating today, and I choke back a gag. I feel like I’m chewing on mucky saw grass. I make my way to the front door. Just as I reach it, a couple steps out. Chick. Dude. I don’t see faces, features. Only silhouettes. I step inside.

Bodies. Heartbeats. Laughter. Some cosmic weird tunes echoing off the walls—almost like the sounds a supposed spaceship would make. Some dude pushes by me. His T-shirt says THEY ARE OUT THERE.

“Hey gorgeous,” some guy says beside me. “You look lost. Want a drink?”

I glance at him wordlessly.

The guy chuckles, and his eyes divert to the ink on my cheek. His gaze travels down to my hands, where only the tail of my dragon wraps around my fingers, then back to my face. “Sweet tats.” He glances at my shirt. “So what does Inksomnia mean?”

I lean in close, and his nostrils flare with male hormones. “It means fuck off,” I say sweetly, blink, and move back. My gaze locks on to his. The thump of his fast-paced heart resonates inside my head. I can almost feel the blood rushing through his veins. My mouth waters. Maybe I shouldn’t rush him away.

“Hey Aaron, come on,” another guy says behind him, grabbing his arm. “We’re late, man.” The guy flashes me a shy smile. I think I scare him.

Aaron is transfixed. He can’t move and his stare is locked on to mine in fascination. I lick my lips, and I watch his pupils dilate. Goddamn. I don’t even have to say anything. Ole Aaron is ready to screw my brains out right here and now. It wouldn’t take much, and this game is just too…invigorating. Powerful. I haven’t even been in the club for fifteen friggin’ minutes.

“Aaron, man,” his friend urges, avoiding my glare. “Come on.”

I lean in very close to Aaron, and my lips brush the shell of his ear. “Your loss,” I whisper.

Aaron’s eyes widen as his friend pulls him through the crowd and away from me.

My eyes immediately scan the crowd. Searching. Seeking…something.

“Is that what you’re into?” a voice says close to me. “Geeks?”

I turn and look up. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Lean build. Sluggish heartbeat.

“Maybe,” I answer, and lean closer. “I’m into a lot of things.”

The stranger’s pupils dilate, just a fraction.

Just then, a siren goes off overhead, followed by an announcement over a loudspeaker. When I search the room, I notice some guy wearing a THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE T-shirt and a big goofy-ass grin standing at the mic. “We’ve had another sighting! This one near Mobile, Alabama, and more than twelve people saw the lights!”

A huge roar went through the crowd as they cheer. I can’t help but glance around at the people packed into the club.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I mutter.

A large hand skims my hip. “You wanna leave?” the guy says against my ear. “With me?”

I brush his stomach with my fingertips. Not an ounce of fat. Nothing but rigid muscle. “Hell, yeah,” I say in a low voice. “And don’t make me beg.”

The stranger stares at me for a moment, grins, then grasps my hand. I allow him to lead me through the crowd of X-Files dorks and to the front door. We push out into the night, and I only vaguely notice it’s warmer than usual. Warm and muggy, as though rain is close, hanging in the air. Threatening.

I like threatening.

The swoosh of his blood through his veins echoes inside my head. I hear it. Feel it.

Taste it.

And goddamn, I want it.

We’re walking beneath the shadows of the overhanging oaks now, and in midstride the stranger stops, turns, and slides his hands over my hips, pulling me against him. “What’s your name?” he asks seductively. His fingers trail up my ribs. In the darkness, I can’t see anything but his silhouette.

As I stare at him, a blank, hollow feeling washes over me. Forcing my brain to concentrate, I think. It’s no use. I’m empty. Tapped out. In other words, I have no fucking clue who I am. Why can’t I remember my own name? I look around me as if I expect my name to be written on something, like the trunk of a tree, the side of a building. I see nothing. I know even less.

“Hey,” the guy says, leaning his head close to mine. I am still staring at him, but blankly. After a few moments, his features focus. “It’s okay.” He begins to walk backward, pulling me along. “Doesn’t matter.” He stops, turns, and backs me against a moss-covered brick wall. It’s dark. No lights. A few sparse drops of rain fall through the canopy of oak. The scent of brine and wet vegetation permeates the air. The stranger lowers his head and kisses me.

I kiss him back.

Unfamiliar hands slide up my stomach and over my breasts, and I moan and push into him. We kiss, grope, touch until we’re both breathless. He rests his forehead against mine. “Wanna go for a ride?”

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I’m doing. I want something. And it’s something he’s not going to want to freely give. I’ll have to take it.

I will take it.

“Yeah,” I say breathily. “Let’s go.”

I see a white flash in the darkness, and it’s the stranger’s smile. Without words, he pulls me away from the wall and leads me down the sidewalk, around the corner to a row of historic townhomes. On the street, a motorcycle is parked. He pulls me toward it and hands me the spare helmet strapped to the back.

As I pull the helmet onto my head, a vague familiarity washes over me. I’ve done this before. With this guy? Another? Whatever, I’ve done it enough that I don’t even hesitate. The stranger eases onto the bike, I slide on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. In moments we are on some street, heading in some direction or another. I don’t really know or care.

In the end, what I want will be waiting there. Away from the crowd. In private.

I lean against the stranger’s back as we ride, and I feel his heart beating against me. A craving gnaws at me, stirs something feral within me that is almost uncontrollable. I slowly lower my hands from his waist to his crotch, and the hard bulge I find lets me know he’s ready for me.

Only, he’s not. He’s so fucking not.

His hand leaves one handlebar and covers mine, pressing mine hard against his cock. I can feel anticipation, smell his pheromones, and hear his heart rate increase.

I wait. We continue.

Down a winding two-lane road we travel, and I’ve no idea where we are. Huge mossy oaks drape the street, and we’re hugging tight curves and the river as we go. The bike speeds up, dangerous, reckless, and I find myself liking the feeling.

After one more curve the bike slows and veers right; we pull into a long oyster-shell drive. A small, older concrete house on the river sits beneath several trees, and a long front porch lies open to air. All is dark, save the single yard light high on a power pole. It casts shadows that dance and play with the slight breeze rolling in off the marsh.

The sexual energy literally rolls off of the stranger. I have to wonder if he would be as turned on if he knew I could snap his head off like a dandelion bloom.

I dismount the bike, and he does the same. Immediately, he pulls me to him. Hungrily, his mouth takes mine, his hands move over my ass, up my spine, and the whole while he’s touching me, kissing me, I notice—feel—one thing: his heart. I smell one thing: his blood.

The more frantic he becomes, the more ravenous I grow.

He’s groping me now, through my jeans, pressing his hard cock against me. Somehow, we’re on the porch, and the only sounds are the rush of air through the trees, his heartbeat, and his excited, breathless groans as I press my hand against his stiff ridge. It’s all a game. To me, anyway. It’s the only way I can get what I want. What I need.

But I can’t take any more. Not one more fucking second. His blood rushes with each pump of his heart, and it’s so intense it resonates literally inside my head. Taunting me. Begging me. My head begins to pound, my mouth waters. Shards of light intrude behind my eyes as the pain intensifies, and suddenly, I no longer feel his hands on me. I see him though, barely, and through my fog of delirium, I lunge. We struggle. He screams. All is silent.

A suffocating black shadow of agony swallows me whole.

“Damn it, Riley, wake up!”

Hands on me. Loud voices. I jerk my eyes open and stare, pissed off and confused. In one fluid motion I leap, shove the hands off me, and dart to the corner of the room. So fast is the movement that I barely feel my feet hit the floor. Only now, at the far end of the room, does my vision clear and I see the kid standing beside the bed.

A boy. Dark hair. Lean. Tall. Looks familiar. My brain strains, trying to remember.

My brother.

“Ri, what’s wrong with you?” he asks. Worry laces each word.

Slowly, I take in the room. It’s my bedroom. I’m in my apartment. Confusion webs my brain like a cocoon. Bits and pieces of memory filter in. “I, uh,” I stutter. “Had a bad dream, bro. That’s all. You scared the hell out of me.” I want to be alone, want him to go away. But there he stands, looking at me. His brows pinch together in concern. I’m sick of him worrying about me so much. It’s starting to get on my last fucking nerve.

Seth moves toward me. “You’ve been knocked out for almost twenty-four hours,” he says.

I glance around the room. How did I lose that much time? “I must be coming down with something,” I say. “Probably the flu. I feel like shit.” I blink. “Is Eli still gone?”

Seth’s eyes rake over me. Weighing me. Considering my words. “Yeah, they’re still on Da Island with Preacher. Maybe you’d better see a doctor, sis. You’re scaring me.”

A cynical laugh escapes me. “Yeah, right. A doctor. That’s what normal people do, Seth.” I give him a hard look and push away from the wall. “We’re not that anymore. Never will be, either. I’ll just sleep it off.” I throw myself back onto the bed.

“You’ve got clients waiting,” he says.

“Later,” I mumble into my pillow. “Tired.”

A few seconds go by. I feel Seth’s hand on my head, stroking my hair. “Come on, Ri. Get up. Please—”

In less than a half second, I turn over and shove him away. Hard. “Get away from me, Seth,” I say angrily. “I fucking mean it. Leave me alone.” My vision is fogging again, and I feel myself being pulled into blackness. I fight it, though, and keep my stare trained on my brother.

Hurt and anger crowd Seth’s young features. “I’ll never leave you alone,” he says with ferocity, then does exactly that and storms out of my room. In seconds I hear the apartment door downstairs slam shut.

Without another thought I turn over and fall right back to sleep. Or, into the pit of darkness. What the fuck ever. Doesn’t matter anymore. Shadows claim me, my thoughts, my memory. I’m aware of my own life force, the echo of my sluggish heart beating, but of nothing around me. Once more, I’m starkly oblivious. I like it like that.

I’m at a party. A ball? A charity? Everyone’s in tuxes and evening gowns, me included. Must be something big. Can’t imagine why I’m here. With a furtive glance, I check out my dress in the mirror I’m standing next to. Long, form fitting, garnet, thin jeweled straps and a plunging neckline. Backless. Slit from the floor to my thigh. Black peep-toe heels. The only jewelry I wear is a garnet velvet choker with a black stone inset. My hair is pulled up into a loose sort of sexy something, and someone curled my hair leaving long, spiraling hanks of midnight and fuchsia. The makeup is a little heavy, with my lips as garnet as my dress. I barely even look like me, except for the ink. My dual dragons running the length of my arms look wickedly out of place here. I like that.

A man appears beside me in the mirror, and I stare as he glides close to me. I’ve no idea who he is. Hell. I have no idea who I am.

“You came,” he says excitedly.

“Not yet,” I say, and I check him out from head to toe. A little young, but gorgeous all the same. Tall. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Perfectly structured face. “But that could change.”

He blinks in surprise, then gives me a seductive smile and offers me his arm. “Let’s dance.” Inclining his head, his grin widens.

I shrug and accept. “Lead the way.”

He does, and we make our way through a crowd of tuxes and gowns twirling around the dance floor to the music of a live orchestra. Once in the middle, he slows, turns, pulls me close, and immediately and with more grace than I credit him for, begins an unhurried, intimate dance. I let him lead, and I meet his gaze. His brown eyes sear into mine and he studies me with a burning, curious intensity.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he inquires. The hand resting modestly against my back moves lower, urges me closer with the slightest of nudges. His fingers interlace with mine. His whole presence exudes seduction. He’s very male. Very determined. And very, very horny.

“Not a clue,” I finally answer. “But you seem to know who I am.”

Brown eyes soften as he looks at me, and he smiles wide. “Let’s pretend neither of us knows the other,” he suggests. His accent is…I can’t place it. But it’s unusual, and sexy as hell. “To make it even. Yes?”

I give him a slight nod. “Why not.”

The orchestra plays some old tune I don’t recognize, and my dance partner lowers his head to my ear. Soft, firm lips brush the shell.

“Since we don’t know one another,” he whispers, “let’s go for a walk and get some air.” His lips brush the skin right below my ear. “Become acquainted.”

“All right,” I respond. “Let’s go become…acquainted, then.”

Wordlessly, he slips his hand to my lower back and leads me through the throng of partiers, to a set of French double doors near the back of the hall. Flanked by giant urns of green leafy ferns and marble statues, I can’t for the life of me figure out where I am. Cotillions and soirees aren’t exactly my thing. At least, I don’t think they are. I make eye contact with very few, but it’s because no one wants to look at my eyes. Instead they are fascinated by my dragons. I do notice that although the setting and music are both old-fashioned, most of the dancers are younger. Mid-twenties, maybe?

In the next breath we’re outside. It’s almost as though I somehow changed scenes in a movie. Literally. One second I’m standing inside. The next second, I’m beneath a canopy of moss and oaks, on a stone path through the garden. I glance up and around. The night is dark, starry, and moonless. A marble fountain spurts delicate sprays of water, pink from the lamp beneath the surface. A couple sits on a stone bench close by, their words whispered, muffled. My unknown date leads me past them, and as I glance down I see the woman’s hand grope the man’s crotch. His barely restrained moan reaches my ears. I notice he’s looking dead at me. I also notice his eyes have a sort of…glow.

Soon, we leave the horny couple behind and I find myself completely alone with a total stranger. The slight strains from the orchestra carry along the breeze until it seems we’re miles away from the ball. Shadows fall longer, the wood around the path grows denser.

“Are you afraid?” he asks. We stop. He rounds on me, facing me.

“Of what?” I return.

His hands ease to my hips, skim my bare back, and pull me close. I feel weird, as if I can’t really help my reaction to him. Even when his head lowers, I’m unable to pull away.

“Of loving me more than you love him,” he answers, his lips brushing close to mine, yet not touching them. “I think you are.”

Of him? Who? I can’t seem to help myself. I turn my mouth to his, and immediately he groans and covers my lips with his. The kiss is slow, erotic, and he takes his time to explore my mouth thoroughly, as if this is the only chance he’ll have. It feels like he’s waited for this moment a long, long time. I find myself kissing him back, and my hands thread around his neck and hold him tightly. Again he groans, and his kiss heightens. His hands slide down my bare back, over my ass, until he finds the slit in the dress and grazes the exposed skin of my thigh.

Then, he stills. For a moment, we’re both suspended there, in the dense wood, on a stone path. His hand leaves my thigh and cups my face. With a gentleness that surprises me, he strokes my lips with his thumb, then brushes a kiss there.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he says, his accent thicker. He kisses me again, then moves his mouth to my ear. He says something in a language I don’t understand. “Forever,” he whispers. “And it’s exactly how I imagined.”

I’m looking at him, his face half cast in shadow, and I can’t remember who he is. Familiar? Yes. Attractive? Totally. But there’s something missing here. Something absolutely not right…

“Riley, didn’t you hear what I said?”

I jerk, and again, my vision is blurry. Slowly, I focus. I’m confused. I’m pissed. And I don’t like either.

Woman staring at me. Auburn hair pulled into high pigtails. Bright red lipstick. Who the hell is she? Her eyes are wide and frightened as she stares hard at me. Her lips are moving but I don’t know what the hell she’s saying. There is no sound coming out.

All I can hear is her heart beating. Fast. Maybe I feel it more than hear it.

I turn to leave, to escape, and I then feel a hand close around my arm. I react. I turn and jack the woman up against the wall, holding her there by her throat. Although I’m staring dead at her face, I don’t really see her. Her features are a fuzzy blur. Her body begins to jerk, and she’s gasping for air, clawing at my hand with pale white fingers. Long legs clad in ridiculous-looking striped stockings kick the wall. I smile at her.

All at once I’m tackled and I hit the floor. Frantic voices, swearing, shouting surround me, and I start to struggle. A weight, almost unbearable, pins me down. Not for long, though, because I find my strength.

“Goddamn, Riley, hold still!” the voice warns, and straddles me in a way that I can’t move my arms or legs. I don’t recognize the voice, but it’s deep, accented, and threatening. All I want to do is escape. Get away. But I can barely breathe, much less run away. Whoever is on top of me is one strong fuck.

“Nyx, call Mrs. Dupré,” the same voice yells. “Now! And get Ms. Estelle over here, too.”

I thrash some more. “Get the fuck off me!” I growl. I buck, begin to pull one of my knees up under me. The body atop me grunts, mutters something in a foreign language, and holds me tighter.

“Hold her, Zetty,” a female voice warns. “You’ve got to get a better grip on her legs or she’ll kick right out from under you. I’ve seen her do it.”

More weight, distributed over my legs and arms, and no matter how hard I pitch, I’m stuck. My face is pushed into the floor. I don’t know who Zetty is, or Nyx, but they’re both dead when I get free.

“Call, Nyx,” the Zetty person says. “I can’t hold her forever.”

I hear the Nyx person speaking in an excited voice to someone, then she moves into my line of sight. Same stupid stockings. Must be the heartbeat I had by the throat. She comes closer, bends down, and looks at me. I’m so filled with rage I want to gnash out with my teeth and grab her.

“Riley, it’s going to be okay,” she says. Her eyes are wide and fearful, but there’s pity in her voice. “I promise, it will be. And I’m so sorry.”

I do nothing but stare at her and growl.

Her hand goes to her throat and she quickly backs away.

“Yeah, stay back, Nyx,” the male says. “She’s strong.”

In the next instant, a small dark woman is suddenly there. She bends over at the waist and looks at me, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes deeply engrained into her skin. I try to lunge, but I’m trapped beneath the human. Her ebony face frowns at me, unafraid.

“Girl, we gonna git you right,” she says, shakes a bony finger at me, then looks at the male. “You stay put on her dere, boy. She git loose an’ we’ll be in trouble.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the male says. He holds me tighter still.

I gather all of my strength, buck hard and scream.

The male, Zetty, has a tight enough hold that I barely move an inch.

The dark woman smiles and nods. “Good. I’ll be back.”

“Riley!” another male yells. “Zetty, what’s happening?”

“No, Seth,” another says, this time a small, petite woman. No, not a woman. She’s pulseless. There are two without pulses in this room. With my vision cloudy, I seek them out. Short, compact, eyes aglow.

“Get away from me,” I growl, squinting to make my vision clear. The younger male, human, edges closer.

“Riley, no,” he says quietly. His face is pinched in pain, and I can’t understand why.

“She doesn’t recognize you, Seth,” the young pulseless female says. “You’d better step back.”

“No,” he says, unbending. “She’s my sister.” This he says so soft only I can hear.

Not that I understand it.

The dark woman returns, and everything spins out of control at that point. I’m lost, suffocating, drowning, fighting. I feel like I’m dying, like I’m more thirsty than I’ve ever been in my entire life. No, not thirsty. It’s hunger. Hunger and thirst combined. I need…something. A light-headed feeling comes over me, and now I’m dizzy. Something is forced down my throat, and although I thrash back and forth, I’m overpowered. Someone with very small but strong hands holds my head, and something disgusting is jammed past my lips. I cough, spit, but those same steely hands now grip my jaw closed. I have to swallow. I hear yells, cries, and what I can only assume is my own voice moaning in agony. My body goes limp. Feet shuffle around me. I hear the sounds, and the whispers, but nothing more. I can’t understand any words. I can’t see faces. I see only darkness, hear only whispers. They’re frightening me now, the whispers, and I try to hide but my body won’t move. They’re after me. They want to kill me.

They want to eat me.

Soon, though, the voices, whispers, shuffling feet, all become muffled. Then, they disappear.

I am now in total silent darkness.