Eventide

Part Six Newblood

The one thing that I severely notice as I run is that my heart maybe beats about ten times per minute. I’m pretty sure any cardiologist would love to see that in action. I guess I’m lucky the damn thing beats at all.

As I slip into the forest on another worn path leading up and through the dense wood, Victorian’s words echo in my head. “…although the soul and body you’re visiting can’t hear or see you, they feel your emotions. Whatever you experience, they experience.” I’ve sort of had that already. Valerian’s thoughts and actions were ones I could see, and feel, right after he was released from his tomb and started preying on innocents. I could feel what they felt, see what they saw, but I was me. I tried to warn them, to run, but they couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t control them, either. I was an invisible bystander, but I couldn’t stay out of the situation. Hopefully, with this, I’ll learn. I can’t imagine just…falling into someone’s body. Into their psyche. That’s utterly weird.

The dark bracken crackles beneath my booted feet as I run through the wood. I pick up speed—which seems to grow faster than ever with each step. I mean, ridiculously fast. So much that the trees and bushes and rocks blur. My reflexes are lightning fast, and I impress myself by not slamming into even one low-lying limb. I bound off trees and rock, and leap over anything within my path. I feel strong. I feel good. Fucking good.

I don’t know how long I run, but it’s a damn long time. What little light filters through the trees begins to fade; the mist grows thicker. I slow my pace. I’m completely lost and I don’t even care because somehow, I’m fearless, even here. I can find my way back. I glance upward, through the canopy of leaves, and watch a crescent moon begin its ascent.

I feel his presence before I see him, so I slow, then stop.

Eli emerges from behind the trunk of an aged fir tree and I feel the adrenaline surge through me. Just seeing him does that to me, and I can’t explain it other than that he makes me feel. It seems so long since we’ve been together, and to myself, I admit: I miss him. Miss the hell out of him, actually. I know that what he did, he did for me. For my benefit alone, not for him or anyone else. No way could I ever stay angry at that, and I’m not so sure why I was so pissed to begin with. No, that’s a fat lie. I do know why. Because he freaking bit me. I do understand why, though. I know he did it because he loves me. Deeply. I get that.

As Eli stands, he says nothing. Only stares. And waits. The wood surrounding us is wildly alive, yet acutely silent. Suddenly, his presence overwhelms me. It almost…crowds me.

His eyes say everything.

Instinctively, I go to him. As if I’m just laying eyes on him for the very first time, I’m drawn to his scent, his eyes, the shape of his jaw, the fall of his hair. He mesmerizes me, and yet now, I know him. I know his behavior. I know what’s in the heart he swears he doesn’t even have. I know his soul that he swears is hell bound. He’s wrong about that. Never have I met a more caring soul. I crave him even more than before.

The moon, rising higher, bathes Eli in a silvery hue, making him look like the surreal, mystical, cryptic vampire he is.

Every bit the fierce and loyal vampire he truly is.

Magnificent.

It makes my heart race.

A biting wind whips through the air, stirring the canopy above, and carrying with it anticipation, excitement, as though the wild Carpathians knew what was up, what was about to occur, and waved their encouragement.

An ancient feel accompanies that wind, and it makes a tingle cross my spine, wrap around each vertebra, and nip. I’ve gone too long without Eli, without feeling like myself, and although I don’t even know who myself is anymore, there is one constant now that feels right. Him. I shiver, and Eli grasps my fingers as though he knows, without words, without being able to read my mind, what I feel. He probably does. Silently, we walk. I’m not sure how long we walk like that, fingers laced, shoulders brushing, but it’s a while. How Eli knows where he’s going is a mystery to me. I simply trust him and soon, a small stone lodge appears. Smoke trails from a single chimney. It’s not the same place he’d taken me to before. Without a word, he leads me up the walk and through the front door. Inside, all is dark except the embers burning red in the hearth.

He retrieves a large quilt thrown over the back of a sofa, and he lays it on the floor in front of the fire. Kneeling there, he grabs a poker and stokes the embers, adds a log until the flame grows. I stand silently, watching the play of light lick his face, his jaw, and throw his eyes in shadow. To me he is the most breathtaking soul I’ve ever laid eyes on. Then Eli rises and turns. His eyes lock on to mine. We say nothing. Only stare.

Everything freezes in that moment as Eli stands, staring, the light from the fire glinting off his hungry eyes. Ancient eyes that know secrets, have powers, have seen so many things. He could have anything and anyone in the world that he wanted. A rich, high society, untarnished young woman, maybe.

Yet, he chooses to be here, with me. With me and all of my tarnishes.

My pulse quickens, as fast as it will anyway, and blood rushes on powerful thrusts in my veins as I lock eyes with his. Eli’s muscular chest rises and falls in a rapid, irregular rhythm, his jaw flexing, making the shadows jump on his face.

“Take off your boots and socks.”

I blink. Before, my first reaction to the blatant, male command would have been go fuck yourself. Only Eli all but quivers with forced restraint, and he doesn’t command me as a domineering barbarian or a mind-controlling vampire, but as a wild, hungry Alpha who’s just found a delectable morsel he wishes to savor, make last, instead of gobbling it up.

Without a word, I toe off my boots. Since I have no socks, I now stand with bare feet on the smooth wood floor.

“Your jeans.”

Heat pools in my lower stomach as I unclasp each button, keeping my eyes on Eli’s. So erotic a feeling, him watching my fingers work the buttons loose, that when my thumb brushes my panties, just inside the fly, it makes me shudder. I stifle a gasp, and wish it was Eli’s hand there instead. Now. Not later.

Eli’s nostrils flare.

The last button undone, I ease the material over my hips, the feel of soft worn denim scraping my permanently smooth legs, giving me goose bumps. I drop the jeans to the floor, then step out of them.

“Kick them aside.”

I kick them.

“Take off your shirt. Slowly.”

With a ragged breath, I unsnap my long-sleeved shirt, pull my arms out, and drop it. Grasping the hem of my tank top I lift it, one inch at a time, over my stomach, ribs, then over my head. I drop it atop my pile of clothes.

For a moment, Eli simply stares. He licks those full, sensual lips, catches the bottom one between his teeth, then swallows.

“Your bra. Don’t take it all the way off. Just unclasp it.”

I glance down and reach for the clasp.

“Look at me.”

Lifting my head, I keep my gaze on Eli’s as I finger the small metal clasp between my breasts. My breathing becomes more rapid, watching him stare at me like a ravaged animal, his sexy French accent deepening to a primal, barely controlled tone each time he speaks a command.

Wetness dampens my panties, so turned on am I by Eli’s blatant display of desire and control. I throb with need, just below the very thin surface of the silk material covering me. I wait, watch, anticipate. I want.

Eli steps closer, then slowly circles me, the air stirring from his body’s movement the only part of him touching me. His alluring scent envelops me, drugs me, and I fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head with desire. God, I want him yesterday.

He leans close and smells me, but keeps moving in a slow, predatory ring, almost as though he was staking his claim, marking his territory, stalking his prey. Then, in a deep, purred whisper, tinged with French, he brushes my ear with his lips.

“Are you wet for me, Riley?”

“Yes,” I answer, my breath ragged.

He keeps moving, his boyish fall of dark hair brushing my bare shoulder as he leans close, making me shiver. “It’s been a long time, Ri. This time, no interruptions.” He stops behind me, his head close to my ear, his whisper a deep purr. Yet we’re still not touching, and it sends vibrations of pleasure across my skin. “I’m going to bury myself deep inside of your tight wetness, feel your muscles grip my hard length as you take all of me in,” he whispers erotically and licks my lobe, his breath caressing my cheek. “Make me come. But first,” he says, his raspy words vibrating against my throat, making me shiver with excitement, “I’m going to make you lose control right where you stand.”

Never have I been so worked up, so turned on. Every nerve ending hums with power, ready to unleash the energy simmering in my veins. So erotic are his words, his voice, his promise, that sexy accent, I have to clench my female muscles to keep from coming right then. I reach for him.

“Don’t touch me, Riley. Just feel.”

He moves behind me, still fully clothed, and brushes my hair to the side. His mouth hovers over my skin, his breath coming in light puffs, and then the wet velvet of his tongue strokes me where his breath has just been. He trails my spine with his lips, his teeth, his tongue making small circles against each vertebra, and I clench my fists, aching to touch him, but I manage control and keep them by my side. Fiery liquid pools between my legs, making me pulsate with desire. “Eli, please…”

Finally, he touches me. His hands skim my calves, up my outer thighs, over my hips, inches up my ribs. Not the place I want to be touched. I’m nearing the breaking point, and at any second am going to use whatever powers I have to throw his ass on the floor.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he whispers close to my ear, sending another wave of shivers through my taut body. His hands move to my shoulders and push my bra straps down, the soft silk cups catching on my breasts. Slowly, he slides them over the tightened peaks.

His sharp intake of air is a small victory.

I don’t know how much more I can take.

I want it to go on forever.

Eli’s large hands close over my breasts as his mouth claims that portion where my neck meets my shoulder. His thumbs brush the hardened, sensitive tips, and my head drops back to rest against his chest. A moan escapes me.

He moves his leg between mine. “Settle back against me, Riley.”

I’m out of my mind with need right now, and I do exactly what he asks, and the full erection pressing into the small of my back makes me moan again.

His lips scrape my jaw, the rough scruff of his stubbled cheek grazing my skin; then he moves his mouth to my ear. “I want to see how ready you are for me. Can you stand it?”

Between breaths, I shiver and whisper, “Can you?”

A low growl rumbles deep in Eli’s throat. “Be still.”

Keeping one hand possessively cupped over my breast, Eli slides his other hand over the flat of my stomach, over one hip, then slips under the low waist of my silk panties.

The moment he touches me, an uncontrolled growl of desire tears from my throat.

“Christ, Riley,” he says, holding his hand still against my wetness. His whisper turns hoarse. “Now.” He dips inside of me with one finger, holding me tight against him, and his lips press and suckle against my throat. I suck in a raw breath and hold it, squeeze my eyes shut, and struggle not to explode against Eli’s hand.

It doesn’t work.

A gradual climax, one pulse at a time, increases with each beat, with each movement of his hand against me, until I turn and press my face against his shoulder as the orgasm claims me. Slowly, it subsides.

Without another word, Eli lifts me and lays me on the quilt before the fire.

Damn it, I didn’t want to lose control. I couldn’t help it. I wanted the moment to go on forever.

The erotic fire quickly rekindles as I watch Eli strip his clothes away.

He doesn’t tease, doesn’t do it slow, doesn’t put on a show. Centuries-old vampire or not, he’s still one hundred percent male, and he yanks his shirt over his head, toes off his boots and socks, unbuttons his jeans, and kicks them off. He’s totally bare under the worn denim. My heart leaps.

Bathed in the amber glow of the fire, Eli stands tall, thick, muscular and powerful, worthy of his ancient heritage, of what Fate led him to be, and volts of energy shimmer off his body in sizzling waves. His hair hangs loose and disheveled, making him seem wild, untamed, and I easily drum up a vision of him two hundred years ago, in a white linen shirt with laces at the throat, tight breeches, and high black boots. The beauty of the vision sucks the air from my lungs.

Eli eases down beside me, pulls me close.

“Come here, chère.”

I inch closer, eyes locked, something more than lust propelling me. Inexplicable. I push it to the far corners of my brain and just accept Eli, the man.

“Look at me.”

I do.

“I can’t offer you normalcy, Riley Poe.” He brushes my cheek with his knuckle. “Things will never be normal for us. But I can offer you whatever soul I have left in me. It’s yours. Forever.”

I watch the firelight flicker in the depths of his blue eyes. “I know,” I answer, and I did know. There was nothing else that could be said. Somehow, we understand each other, and that’s all that matters. Now, anyway.

With the pad of his thumb, he traces my lips, hooking the corner, then lowering his mouth to mine, urging it open. Our tongues meet, slow, exploring at first, and then he breaks the kiss, angles my head, and moves his mouth over my throat. Sensations ripple through me. The lack of fear that a vampire hovers over my artery doesn’t faze me. Eli’s unique taste settles on my tongue, making me crave more.

Eli gives it. He rolls over me, bracing his weight on his elbows. His eyes sear into mine.

“Hold on to me, Riley. Lock your legs around my waist.”

As I slide my legs around his waist, he eases into my slick wetness with one swift push, burying himself all the way inside. I gasp, moaning as my feminine muscles stretch and accommodate. I almost come again.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he whispers.

When I do, his mouth claims mine, devours me, his tongue tasting every corner. He moves his hips, pulling himself almost all the way out, then thrusting back deep inside. His motions mimic his tongue, both making love, and I hook my ankles around his waist and move with him.

He thrusts faster, once, twice, a third time and I close my eyes as darts of heat flash my skin, and behind my eyes light erupts. Waves of powerful orgasm break over me, my muscles contract, pulse, and squeeze in an unstoppable rush. A moan rips from my throat on a ragged breath.

Eli’s body jerks as his own climax convulses him, the muscles in his stomach flexing with each thrust, the vein in his neck thick and protruding. His movements finally slowly ease, and he wraps his arms around me tightly. He kisses my mouth in a slow, erotic movement of possession. He kisses my throat, makes my head tilt back, and he gently licks the small hollow where my pulse beats.

With one hand, Eli palms the back of my head, bringing our mouths a whisper apart. He stares, the firelight licking his skin, and he kisses me deeply, then brushes whispered words against my ear from a language I don’t know, words I had no understanding of. I didn’t dare ask their meaning.

Suddenly, they register.

I will love you forever.

Slowly, I wrap my arms around Eli and press my body as close to his as I can. I feel every inch of him against me, and there’s not an ounce of flesh not claimed by him. Grasping his jaw with my fingers, I pull his head close, my lips to his ear.

“I’ll love you forever, too,” I whisper back.

When Eli pulls away and looks at me, surprise first fills his cerulean blue eyes. It’s quickly followed by more love than I’d ever hoped to find. One corner of his mouth lifts in the sexiest grin I’ve ever seen.

Then, he kisses me. I feel every ounce of love in that kiss.

If nothing else stays with me for all of my days, I hope this moment in time does. This kiss. The look in Eli’s eyes. God almighty, I pray it does.

For the first time in…Jesus, I can’t even remember, I fall asleep in Eli’s arms.

There is blood. A lot of it. There are screams filled with terror. I feel him, I know who it is without even looking, or without seeing his face. And I know it’s me he wants. Somehow, he knows what’s inside of me now. Not just his DNA, or his brother’s, but…more. His desire for me feels sexual, but I know it’s way more than that. He not only wants my sex, he wants my soul. Wants my blood. Wants my life.

I remain…wherever this place is, and I can feel the pain and terror of those around me. Valerian is torturing them to torture me. He won’t stop. He’ll never stop.

Unless I stop him.

“Are you awake, chère?”

My eyes flutter open. I feel the adrenaline pushing through my veins and the deathly slow beat of my heart.

Then, Eli’s face, hovering above mine. Safety. Contentment. Desire. “Yeah, I’m awake.” Lifting a hand, I stroke his dark stubble-dusted jaw with my knuckle. “Why? You want something, Dupré?” I smile.

Settling his lips over mine, Eli nudges my mouth with his and kisses me slowly. “Hell yeah, I want something. But so does Julian Arcos.” He kisses my nose. “And my father.”

“I know why,” I say, and move from the quilt. The embers from the night’s fire smolder in the hearth. “Valerian. He knows about me. We need to get back home.”

“Then let’s go,” Eli says, and pulls his jeans on.

We hurry, dress, Eli smothers the embers in the fireplace, and we leave the cottage.

“Dupré, Poe,” Noah Miles says with his cocky grin and strange mercury eyes. “Nice you could make it.”

Eli ignores his friend and moves by him. As I follow to do the same, Noah’s eyes lock with mine. The corner of his mouth lifts. “Miss me?” he says.

I jam my elbow in his ribs. “Hardly.”

Noah laughs and puts a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Poe.”

I shake my head and follow Eli into the foyer. Suddenly he turns, stops, and slips my hand into his. “I forget you were out of it most of the time you were here,” he says, glancing down at me. “Stay with me. Closely. And try not to start any fights.”

I just stare at him, and he grins and leads me into what is hands down the epitome of what Hollywood would consider Dracula’s castle. Dark. Gothic. Ominous. Brass sconces embedded into the stone walls hiss and flicker as we pass, and large tapestries stretch from floor to ceiling. Long beam wooden rafters crisscross overhead, and ornate chandeliers cast a low amber light over the massive room. The fireplace, large enough for three people to stand upright in, takes up one whole wall. A group of people stand there, four men and two women, none of whom I’ve ever met. We move toward them.

As we near, a big man who seems to be addressing the group turns and faces us. He wears his nearly waist-long black hair straight and pulled into a ponytail. Green eyes meet mine and fasten. I can tell he’s weighing me. Probably trying his damnedest to read my freaking mind. Good luck with that, Tonto.

“You’ve missed a button,” he says to me, and inclines his head toward my shirt. I ignore him and meet his stare wordlessly.

He smiles, and I’ll admit right here and now: the man is ridiculously sexy.

“Riley, this is Jake Andorra,” Eli introduces. “Jake, stop being an ass.”

Jake inclines his head. “My apologies,” he says without breaking his stare, and I notice he has an odd accent. Not Romanian. Not French. Something else. Something old.

“Pict,” he whispers close to my ear. “And Tonto would’ve never made it out of here alive.”

I lift a brow. “Nice. Now stay out of my head.”

Chuckles break the silence of the others.

“Jake runs WUP—Worldwide Unexplained Phenomena,” Eli explains. “He’s not used to being one-upped.”

“I’m not yet still,” Jake corrects. “Nice to finally meet you, Riley Poe.”

“You’ve got a great house,” I say, remembering the beautiful manor home on Charleston’s battery. “So what do you want with me?” I ask bluntly. With all the hell going on in Savannah, the last thing I want to do is linger in Drac’s castle when I could be on a plane heading home.

“’Tis I who want to meet you,” another man with a similar accent says. He approaches and without warning, grasps my hand in a shake. Unlike Eli’s lukewarm skin, this man’s is warm. “My name is Darius.”

And the moment his hand envelops mine, I experience firsthand the powers given to me by Julian Arcos.

My equilibrium tilts, my body goes rigid, and everyone around me fades into shadows…

When my vision clears, I’m not alone. I’m not at Castle Arcos. I’m not even me…

“Darius? What have we done?”

Gasping for air, Darius fixed his stare on the bloodstained earth he knelt upon. Resting his forearm against the hilt of his sword, he wiped his sweating brow and glanced about. Eleven Celtae druids lay dead, their bodies entangled within their black robes.

“What we had to do,” Darius answered. He rose and met the questioning eyes of the younger Druthan. “The dark magick within the Dubh Seiagh is unimaginable. The Celtae used it, Ronan. To allow them to live would mean destruction for us all.”

Ronan nodded and wiped a streak of blood from his cheek.

Just then, a sharp gust of wind swept over the moor, stirring the robes of the dead, and a blanket of mist settled over the browned and bloodstained heather. The twilight’s dim glow made the desolate moor hazy, and thunder crackled in the distance. Darius glanced up. “We havena much time.”

As the wind grew fiercer, the other Druthan warriors gathered, making their way through the fallen Celtae to stand at Darius’s side.

Darius met each of his brethren’s gazes. “You know what must be done. Four of our future kinsmen will become the immortal Arbitrators. I sacrifice my own bloodline. Who else?”

Three more Druthans raised their hands without hesitation.

“Well done,” Darius said.

“What of the Archivist? Whose bloodline will he come from?” asked Ronan.

“None of ours.”

The wind screamed then, and Darius quickly muttered the ancient Pict verse that would name the Arbitrators twelve hundred years into the future. And, the Archivist, centuries beyond. By that time, the language of the Dubh Seiagh would be dead and forgotten. Only the Archivist would have the ability to read it. Thus, destroy it. Until then, it would stay forever hidden.

When the last word was spoken, a deathly silence fell over the moor.

It was done.

As the Drutha glanced around, gasps filled the still night air. Darius hurried to the first Celtae body and knelt down.

‘Twas as though every ounce of bone and muscle and matter had been sucked out of the Celtae’s skin, leaving it a flat and empty sack of cauterized flesh.

Just then a scream, high-pitched and chilling to the bone, ripped over the moor, followed by another, and another, over and over. The wind picked up once again and roared through the air with gale force.

“Darius!” Ronan yelled. “What is this?”

Darius closed his eyes.

They’d killed the Celtae.

But their souls had escaped…

Quickly, he mouthed another verse, unrehearsed, unplanned. Desperate.

And prayed with fervor that it worked.

As fast as it occurs, it stops. Only now do I realize the scene lasted only a few seconds—as long as it takes Darius to shake my hand. The second he releases me, the vision disappears. My head is spinning as vertigo grabs me. A small wave of nausea washes over me, and for a minute I think I’m going to barf all over the guy. Surprisingly, after a few deep breaths, it subsides.

I look at him wordlessly. He’s tall, muscular, with dark auburn hair pulled back much like Jake’s, and disturbing, ancient amber eyes. The vision I’d witnessed was from a long time ago. I’d been nothing more than a fly on the wall, watching.

“What did you see?” he asks quietly.

I look at him. “Everything. You, others, on a windy moor, blood,” I say. “You killed the others. You instructed them.”

“No, you don’t understand.” A woman I hadn’t noticed before moves closer to me. “There’s more to it,” she insists.

“Ms. Maspeth,” another big guy warns.

“I’m Sydney,” she says, looking at me with an almost desperate look. She’s blond, pretty, yet…harsh at the same time. Sort of like me, I guess. “Please.”

Then, she places her hand on my shoulder.

And the whole goddamn thing starts over again.

This time, though, it’s different.

I feel myself waver, as though I’m going to fall, but instead of falling straight onto the floor, I just keep falling, falling, until I suddenly stop. A faint light, starting as a pinpoint in the distance and growing larger as it moves toward me, makes my vision go from blurry to clear. When I blink, I’m still me. But I’m somewhere else. I feel…enclosed. Trapped. And I’m looking through eyes not my own…

Niddry’s in Old Town, Edinburgh, has always felt safe to me. Small, dark, and nondescript, it’s a pub very few tourists ever venture into. Low-lit alcoves line the ancient stone walls of the building, and Victorian-era lamps, emitting a soft glow, perch on tabletops. It allows me to blend in with the local working class of the city, drink a few pints, to feel somewhat normal for a short period of time.

It allows me, even for just a few moments, to forget.

The glass feels cool against my palms as I lift it to my mouth, and the dark lager slips smoothly down my throat. Draining the glass, I set it down on the chipped mahogany table and glance at the other Niddry’s patrons from my alcove. Most I recognize, like the three off-duty cops—two of them brothers— the owner of the chip shop just up the street, and a handful of students from the university. A cab driver—this one I recognize because I’ve used his service before—sits at the bar nursing his third whiskey. Two women who work at the Safeway up the street sit together at a table close to the bar, giggling and sharing some inside joke. Normal, everyday folk living their normal, everyday lives.

I stare down at my empty glass, at the impression my lips leave on the rim, and then out the window to the rain-dampened sidewalk. A streetlamp blinks and then turns on. It will be dark soon. The gray will become black.

And these people have no fucking clue what’s really out there…

“Another pint, miss?”

The bartender, Seth, stands there with a white cloth thrown over his shoulder, smiling. His grin is welcoming, friendly, the dimple in his left cheek giving him a boyish look. He wags his reddish brown brows and widens his smile.

I smile back. “One more, thanks.”

He gives a nod, makes his way back to the bar, retrieves another lager, and brings it back. “Here then, lass.”

As he makes his way back to his station behind the long, polished mahogany bar, I find myself thinking how lucky the guy is, how lucky they all are, to be so oblivious to what lies beyond the doors of the pub.

Sometimes, I wish I were oblivious, too.

Taking a long pull on the lager, I continue to stare through the window. Despite the cold October rain, passersby scurry up and down the sidewalk, their overcoats swishing around their legs, on their way home from work, probably, or headed to their favorite meeting place with friends to have a few drinks.

I remember similar carefree evenings, when I would meet with friends, or go to my parents’ house with my fiancé for dinner, or simply stop by the mall to shop for a new outfit. I never even thought for a second how my life could change so drastically. How I would never see my family again, rely on my mother’s comforting hug, fall into my fiancé’s easy embrace.

But that sounds selfish, doesn’t it? Selfish and childish. Me, me, me.

Strangely enough, I’m really not so bitter anymore. But in the beginning? When everything first happened? Jesus, I was a hateful bitch. I didn’t want to accept what had happened to me, or what I was to become.

What I am now.

With my fingertip, I wipe a streak through the moisture gathered on the glass, then I lift it up to drink. Over the rim I see one of the cops looking at me. He gives a smile and a brief nod. He’s cute, and there once was a time when I would have indulged in an innocent flirtation. Not anymore. So I meet his gaze for a moment, then look away, back to the outside. The constant drizzle is falling harder now. I think it rains every damn day here.

It’s been nearly a year since I came to Edinburgh. God, when I think of who I was before, such a short time ago, it nearly makes me laugh. I am so different now. Before, I was innocent, naïve. Sweet. Fun-loving. Carefree. I baked cakes, for Christ’s sake. I don’t bake anymore.

Not even a shadow of who I used to be is present now.

I drain my glass and wipe my mouth. It’s funny—I can sit here all night and drink as much as I want, and never get drunk. I can smoke two packs of cigarettes a day and I’ll never get cancer. I don’t gain weight, nor do I lose it. I don’t get wrinkles. My hair doesn’t grow. I can’t catch a cold, the flu, tuberculosis, Ebola—I’m immune to all of it.

Thanks to my destiny, I’m immune to death.

My fate is unchangeable. But mankind’s is—and it’s up to me to make it happen. So when I have moments of self-pity, like the one I’m having now, I slip over to Niddry’s and steal a few moments alone, before Gabriel, my mentor, seeks me out. I…reflect. I give myself a scant few moments to mourn my old life, to miss my mom and dad, my sisters, my granny and grandpa. It helps somewhat. Time, Gabriel says, will ease the pain.

I finally stopped crying over my fiancé. For some reason, his love was easier to let go of than it should have been. We were only two months shy of marriage, yet…I mourned him very little. I suppose that’s a good thing for me. I try not to dwell on that too much, though. I’ve come to realize that dwelling on the past serves absolutely no useful purpose anyway. I do what I have to do now so that my loved ones can survive. So everyone can survive. It’s up to me. Only me.

Well, me and the other four Druthans.

My vision blurs as I stare at the lamppost outside, and at the torrent of rain pouring down. A few more minutes and then I’ll go. Until then, I’ll catch you up to speed on things, to where my life is now. Maybe, you’ll understand.

I’ll spare you a long, boring history of me before Scotland. Suffice it to say I was your average American girl. I was born twenty-five years ago to James and Lucinda Maspeth. They named me Sydney Jane, after my mom’s grandparents. I grew up on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. I went to UNC, graduated with a B.S. in education, and started teaching first grade in Kitty Hawk. I frequented the spa. I got my nails done every other week.

All that changed one May afternoon when Gabriel—an imposing wall of sheer muscle clothed in head-to-toe black—walked easily into my empty classroom, right up to the desk where I sat grading papers, pulled me out of my chair, looked me dead in the eye, and with a sincere apology, slipped a silver blade into my heart.

I died in his arms.

I awakened sometime later—weeks later, actually—in his bed. He sat in a dark alcove, watching me with those silvery eyes. I’ll never forget that first brooding, profound stare. To me it sums up his entire character. Silent power barely checked.

In a matter-of-fact tone, and with a mesmerizing accent, he told me my old life was gone, and that I was now immortal, like him. He told me to rest, that I was still going through the transformation and was very weak. Then he stood, tossed a newspaper on the bed beside me, and left the room without another word.

One thing I learned pretty fast about Gabriel—he speaks very little, but when he does, it’s potent.

The newspaper proved to be one from back home in Kitty Hawk. It was the Obituary page, and as I thumbed through it I found my own smiling face staring back at me.

Fishing a few pounds from the pocket above my knee, I put down a tip, nod to Seth who smiles in return, and make my way through the small crowd. The rain is only a drizzle now, and Gabriel is probably waiting for me. At the doorway, I slip my arms into my black trench coat, button it up, and put on a black skully and scarf. Funny. I go from sandals, French manicures, and flowery sundresses to black fatigues, boots, and a trench coat. I look like goddamn Mission: Impossible. My sisters would die laughing.

My granny would wash my mouth out with soap.

I’d give anything to let her.

I step out into the cool night air and start down the sidewalk, and before I can walk ten feet, someone behind me grabs my arm.

“Just a minute, miss.”

I turn to find the cute cop. He’s medium height and build, with dark, close-clipped hair and wide blue eyes. He gives me a crooked grin. “Sorry. I, uh, well, was wonderin’ if you, ya know?” He glances at his feet and mutters, “Shite.” He looks me in the eye and smiles again. “I tried to get your attention back there.” He inclines his head toward Niddry’s. “I’m Sean. I, eh, don’t mean to sound so forward, but I noticed”—he gathered courage and met my gaze fully—“well you looked nice to talk to, is all.”

I meet his wide blue eyes with my own stare. I never can quite get over how charming the Scottish accent is. Even now, it sucks me right in. Sean’s is a bit thicker than the Edinburgh burr. Glasgow, maybe? Nice.

In another life, I would be grinning like a fool and batting my eyelashes. Sean’s a good-looking guy, confident, charming. And blessedly ordinary. But I’m no ordinary girl.

Sean can’t handle me.

But instead of blowing him off, I stick out my hand. I can’t date him, but a friendly face every now and then in Niddry’s can’t hurt. I smile. “Sydney, and it’s nice to meet you.”

He smiles and shakes my hand. “Och, an American.” He nods toward Niddry’s. “Do you care to step back in? I would have come up to you earlier, but I’m a wee bit shy—”

Powerful fingers close around my arm and I immediately know who is there. Sean’s gaze rises above my head, directly behind me.

“She’s with me,” Gabriel’s deep voice vibrates above me.

Sean glances at me, almost as if looking for an approval of the possessive grasp the newcomer has on me. I give him a slight smile, he shrugs, and returns the smile. Defeat dims his blue gaze. “Right. See ya then, Sydney.” He turns and walks back to Niddry’s.

Gabriel turns me around, pulls me close and lowers his mouth to my ear. “You’re late.” The words brush against my ear and I shiver. He has that ability—to unhinge me—but I’ll never let him know it.

With deft fingers he opens my trench coat and eases my blade from his to my hip. Those mercury eyes never leave mine as he fastens the small scabbard holding the Druthan silver to the loops on my pants and closes my coat. “Let’s go.”

He turns and heads up the sidewalk, and I’m right behind him. Gabriel’s posture is guarded, although no one notices but me. I’ve spent nearly an entire year in his daily company. I know his gestures, his habits, and I know when he is on high alert, when his body is on edge. Like now.

We wind our way through the streets of Old Town. The castle is lit and stands formidable on the rock it was built on. During my training, when I was learning every street, every close, every pub, club, business, and landmark, the castle stood as a focal point, a guide, a beacon. It still does.

And I now know the streets of Edinburgh like the back of my hand.

The Druthan blade brushes against my thigh with each step, and I button just the top of my coat, leaving the last two undone. If I need to withdraw my weapon, it has to be fast. I have to be ready. Always ready…

We’re on the outskirts of Old Town now, and Gabriel takes a turn left and eases down a set of cracked stone steps, between the tight-knit quarters of Pippin’s Close. It’s cold, gray, and deserted. Not derelict, just empty. No one lives here now.

No one, except the dead.

I fight a smile as I walk behind Gabriel’s big self. He takes up every inch of the close, and has to turn slightly sideways to fit properly. I know that irritates him, too. It makes him feel vulnerable, as if he can’t protect me fully, if the need arises. But only I know that.

I hug the wall and continue to follow, through the narrow close and down one more set of steps before coming to a lone door. The thump of a nearby nightclub vibrates on the air, and laughter rings out. But that’s coming from several streets over. No one knows I’m here except Gabriel. And no one knows what is about to happen except us. Briefly, I think of Sean, that cute cop from Niddry’s. I can’t help but wonder what he’d think if he knew.

Gabriel stops just before the door and looks down at me with that ever-present profound stare. His long hair, nearly black, is pulled back at the nape of his neck and damp from rain. A long strand is caught on his cheek, but he ignores it. The light from a streetlamp finds an opening through the close and falls on part of his face, casting the other part in shadow. He is magnificent and immortal, lethal, and so sexually charged that the air hums with it.

No, I’m not used to it yet. Even after a year, I have to check myself. But those are the mannerisms of a Druthan warrior, and it has nothing to do with him being a man and me a woman. He cares for me only because of what I am. He is from a secret sect of ancient Pict druids. There are only three others besides Gabriel.

And they’re nearly five hundred years old.

So when I say Gabriel is looking at me with an ancient gleam in his eyes, I really mean it.

His dark brows pull together into a frown. “Finished?”

I shrug. Yeah, he can read thoughts. He doesn’t stay in my head twenty-four/seven, but when he thinks I’m straying from task, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. Anything to keep me safe. I suppose I should appreciate that. “Yes. Let’s go.”

I don’t even have to ask what’s going on. Standing here, beneath the eave of Pippin’s Close and by the door of an empty flat, with rain spitting and sputtering against my already damp cheeks, and the cold October air freezing my skin, I know. And if I hadn’t known, the nauseating stench from behind the door would be all the warning I’d need.

One of them is in there. And it’s feeding.

I slide in front of Gabriel and press my back to his front, and his body goes rigid, still, with just the smallest movement of lung expansion as he breathes. Goddamn, it’s hard to concentrate in such an intimate position—

“Steady, lass,” he whispers against my ear.

As if that helps the situation.

“I willna be far behind. Now go,” he commands.

I take a deep breath, withdraw my sword, and I go.

The door is slightly ajar, so I place my fingertips to the wood and push a space big enough for Gabriel and me to fit through, and I slip inside the dark interior. A tinge of must mingles with the foul smell and nearly makes me gag, but I swallow several times to fight off the urge.

Reaching into my thigh pocket, I withdraw a small torch. I can hear the familiar gurgling noise, coming from another room near the back, so I feel pretty sure nothing is right before me. My heart slams against my ribs as I sweep the beam of light across the bare floor.

It falls across a woman’s shoe.

Jesus Christ.

As I move toward the back, I feel somewhat comforted that Gabriel is right behind me. Knowing he is there won’t erase from memory what I’m about to witness. That vivid scene, along with the odor, will stay forever emblazoned in my mind.

My fingers tighten around the sword hilt, and my body tenses as I prepare. I ease toward what I’m pretty sure is the kitchen. The chewing and gurgling sounds grow louder, more intense.

And then, it stops. Silence.

It knows I’m here.

I wait, because I have to have it in full view before I make a move. One wrong step and it’s my shoe on the floor.

In the next breath, it leaps, landing just a few feet away. It doesn’t see me yet, but I’m pretty sure it can smell me. I can definitely smell it. Vile. There’s no other word for it.

With the torch off, the room is once again cast into darkness. I can judge where it is, though, and I can hear it, allowing to my vision almost a full outline of its body. Amazing, the senses that have heightened since my death—

A cold, wet hand closes over my throat, pinching off my air. Its body is close to me now, too close to poke my blade into, too close to punch. So I pull back my leg and shove my knee into its groin, I do it once more, and it finally howls, turns my throat loose, and stumbles back.

A powerful swoosh slices through the air, followed by a heavy thump. Something bumps the toe of my boot.

“Torch on, Ms. Maspeth,” Gabriel says directly over my shoulder. “Now.”

Immediately, I flip on my torch and point it down.

The head of a Jodis lies at my feet, a nasty, white ooze spilling from its neck cavity.

Gabriel pushes past me and steps over the Jodis’s body, which is still twitching. He stops at the kitchen, looks in, and crosses himself, and in ancient Pict, gives what once was an innocent woman her last rites.

I know the verse by heart now. I’ve heard it scores of times over the last year.

With God, find peace hereafter.

I can do little but breathe. I feel my knees weaken and I stumble back, rest my head against the wall and swear.

Gabriel holds my chin and lifts it up. I squeeze my eyes shut, out of embarrassment and to hold in the goddamn tears. Even after a year of training, the monster beats me.

“Open your eyes, Ms. Maspeth,” he says quietly. “We have bodies to dispose of.”

“Riley? Wake up.”

I feel a tight grasp around my shoulder. I’m being shaken. I toss my head a few times, blink, and glance around. I’m back in Castle Arcos. Everyone is staring at me. Sydney Maspeth is standing a foot away. All eyes are on me.

“What the hell is this?” I say, and back away from them. “Don’t fucking touch me again. Any of you.” I sling my arms as though shaking off water. “Damn it!” I try to clear my head. All I see is Edinburgh, Scotland. That apartment. Sydney. That…thing.

“I’m sorry,” Sydney says. “I honestly didn’t think…I didn’t believe it could happen.”

I shake my head. “Well it did. But don’t worry about it,” I say, feeling like someone who has just told a kid there’s no Santa Claus. “No problem. Just…warn me next time.”

“So ’tis true,” the third big guy of the group, whom I recognize as Gabriel, says. “Your blood survived three strigoi?”

“I don’t have normal blood to begin with,” I offer. “And if you touch me I will throw your ass through that window,” I say, and incline my head.

Gabriel’s smile isn’t very noticeable, but it’s there. He simply nods. “Another time, mayhap.”

“I don’t think so,” I answer.

I slip a quick glance at Eli. “What’s going on?”

“My name’s Ginger Slater,” the other young woman says. She maintains her distance, which I sincerely appreciate. I’m in no mood to slip into anyone else’s body just right now. “We”—she glances at the man beside her—“we need your help.”

“All of us,” Sydney adds.

I exhale and glance at Eli. “Again. What’s going on?”

Eli inclines his head to the sofa near the hearth. “Sit.”

With a quick glance at the small group gathered, I concede. I sit.

And wait.