Everdark

Part Three Terrors

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

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

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

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

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

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

All at once, a live scene flashed behind my lids. It was nightfall, and I was following a girl out of the mall. I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the place, but it definitely wasn’t Savannah. Young, petite, and blond, looking to be in her early twenties, wearing red flip-flops, holey jeans, and a purple tank top, she swung her hips as she made her way toward the covered parking garage. She happily chatted to someone on her cell and didn’t seem to notice me. A horn blew from somewhere in the garage, and the girl squealed, then giggled to her phone companion. I grew closer. In the distance, sounds of traffic filled the night air.

Long shadows, birthed from low light cast from the overhead lamps bracketed onto concrete pillars, fell over the row of sparsely parked cars. Not many people were about on a weeknight; no one was in the direct vicinity of the girl. She turned down the row with a white metal sign marked by a black capital B . I watched her closely. She dug through her purse and retrieved a set of keys. At the same time, she stopped at a white Camry and pushed the key release. The horn gave one short blast as it unlocked the doors. With her chin she held her cell, and she reached for the door handle.

Hands not my own grabbed her, whipped her around, and slammed her back against the car. Large blue eyes widened in fear and confusion as they stared, horrified, into mine. Tremors of fear wracked her body; I could feel them. Adrenaline rushed through her veins; I could hear the swooshing sound it made as though magnified, only to my ears. Her heart slammed rapidly against her ribs, faster, harder. At the indention in her throat, her pulse beckoned me. The moment she filled her lungs with air to scream, I lunged at her neck and sank my teeth into her flesh. The scream died in her throat as I ripped through her larynx and her vocal cords, until the vessel I sought popped; a rush of wet warmth, sweet, erotic, and heady, saturated the inside of my mouth. I suckled her blood, excitement rushing through me as I felt the liquid slide down my throat. The girl’s body jerked, involuntarily, as life left her. The jerks were hard at first, then weaker. The instant she sagged against me, her heart having stilled and her eyes dull and lifeless, I dropped her body. It crumpled into a heap at my feet, and I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Riley!”

Strong hands gripped my shoulders and shook me until my blurred vision cleared, and Seth’s worried face came into view. He shook me again and shouted so loud my ears rang. “Ri, wake up!”

“Whoa, back off, Bro,” I said, and shook his hands off me. I squeezed my eyes shut, opened them, and looked around. Slowly, my surroundings came into focus. I glanced at the Kit-Cat Klock on the wall. It was 8:50 a.m. Six minutes had passed.

What the fu—

“Your eyes were blank, but your face . . . ,” he said, and it was then I noticed for the first time his voice had deepened.

“What about my face?” I asked. I moved to the sink, flipped the faucet on, and splashed myself with cold water.

Seth passed me the hand towel. “You looked, I don’t know,” he said, then looked at me with his expressive green eyes. “Mean. You looked mean, Ri. Scary-mean. Not yourself.”

I dried my face and thought about that. “Did I say anything?”

Seth shook his head, a hank of dark hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it back. “No. You just stood there, staring, and looking . . . hateful.”

The memory of the vision struck me, rushing back full force. I met my brother’s worried gaze. “I saw something, Seth. Like a daydream, only it was so freaking real. It was”—I searched for the right word—“sickening.”

“What was it?” he asked, and I noticed then how worried he truly was. His brows pulled into a frown, his mouth thin. “Tell me.”

I closed my eyes and dug my fingers into the sockets, rubbing hard. I looked at my brother. “I saw a kill. I saw a vampire feed.”

Seth’s face grew pale, and his eyes widened. “What?”

My mouth went dry as the memory of the vision, so clear and realistic, pushed to the very forefront of my mind. “It was as though I were him; I saw everything as if I were the killer, only when my hands reached out, they were not mine. They were his.” I shook my head. “I felt everything, Seth. The girl’s terror. The rush of excitement as my teeth sank into her artery. The blood as it pumped into my throat. Every freaking thing.” Suddenly, my stomach rolled, every detail returning in vivid recall, and I felt the color drain from my face. My skin grew clammy. I covered my mouth with my hand. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Seth grabbed my arm and pulled me down the hall and into the bathroom with such speed, my head spun just as violently as my stomach. Even then, we barely made it. I stumbled, kicked the lid open with my foot, and retched into the toilet. Seth held my hair back while I lost last night’s lo mein noodles.

A cold, wet washcloth was suddenly resting on the back of my neck. Seth flushed the toilet, closed the lid, turned me around, and pushed me down onto it. I rested my forearms on my knees and breathed, and my baby brother, who seemed so grown up lately, squatted down to look at me. Green eyes just like mine met me with intensity.

“You gotta tell Eli,” Seth said.

I thought about it. “Maybe. But I’m not. It’s probably just my mind effing with me, you know? That night at Bonaventure still haunts me. Seriously. It’s just a lot of crap to take in. We’ve been through hell, little brother. Nasty-hell.”

The frown still on Seth’s face proved he didn’t really believe me. “Yeah, I know, he said. He ducked his head. “You okay, Ri?”

I wasn’t. Not at all. “Yeah. I’m totally fine. Let’s get out of here, okay? And,” I said, playfully punching his arm, “thanks. Not many dudes would hold a girl’s hair while she puked her guts up.”

Seth’s eyes softened. “Well, I’m not just any ole dude, and you’re my sister. I love you.”

My heart was melting.

“I love you, too,” I said. “I’d hug you, but—”

“Yeah, gross,” he finished, taking a step back. He held up his hands in defense. “No postpuke hugging, please. That’s just nasty.” He shuddered.

We both laughed, and I did my very best for the rest of the day to forget the horror of the daydream. Good thing it was Sunday and Inksomnia was closed. I’m not positive I could have kept it to myself.

Eli had gone with his brothers and Gilles to some monthly guardian meeting at Bethesda with Preacher and his people, and while I missed being with Eli, I’d craved time alone with my little brother. So I spent the early part of the day with just Seth. It seemed like forever since we’d done that, and even in spite of the awful, realistic daydream, we had fun. We had breakfast with Estelle and took Chaz to Forsythe Park for a long walk. Then later we hit Cleary’s for lunch. We both had the Reuben, and, swear to God, they make the best ones in Savannah. I could have eaten two and had to literally stop myself from ordering a second.

One of the tendencies Seth and I shared: voracious appetites. We both ate like friggin’ hogs. Luckily our metabolisms kept up with the amount of food we dumped in.

On the way home, we hit the Pig (that’s the everpopular southern grocery chain store Piggly Wiggly, aka Hoggly Woggly, aka the PW), picked up some milk, dog food, a twelve-pack of Cherry Coke, a pack of T-bones, another twelve-pack of Octoberfest, some junk food, and a few things for Estelle, then headed home. As we cruised the city streets with the top off the Jeep, the sun pelted me through the sporadic holes in the overhead canopy of oaks and pines. As my skin warmed, and the briny breeze wafted from the Savannah River to my nostrils, I could almost put behind me the horribleness of that damn daydream, and the way that girl had died; the way I’d felt it, tasted it, experienced it, and how wickedsick real it had been. I mean, I’d tasted her blood. I’d felt it slide down my throat. How the hell could that be?

The girl’s face kept randomly flashing behind my lids, and it was disturbing as holy freaking hell. Her facial features, right down to the small gap in her front teeth, seemed so exact. It was almost as if I’d met her before. Maybe she was a past client I’d inked? That could definitely be a possibility. I’d inked a lot of people. Overall, though—why her?

The afternoon sun waned, and weak early-evening shadows now fell from lampposts, live oaks, and parking meters as we crossed Bay, pulled onto the merchant’s drive and parked the Jeep behind Inksomnia.

“Hey, there’s Eli,” Seth said, and pointed.

Eli was there, waiting for me, and, I confess, he had the sole capability to take my breath away. His bike was almost as hot as he was. The liquid silverback chopper sat propped on its kickstand, half helmet hanging off a handlebar, the whole package looking kick-ass. Eli leaned casually against the seat; legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest, he was wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung worn jeans, boots, and a white T-shirt, and the silver hoop at his brow. I couldn’t see his eyes—they were masked by his shades—but I knew he stared at me. He studied every inch of me. My sex drive kicked me mule-hard, and I wanted him. Just knowing he watched me behind the privacy of his sunglasses shot a thrill through me. A sexier man did not exist, I swear it.

A small smile tilted the corner of his mouth. Freaking ego. Of course, he’d been listening and had joyfully heard every word I’d thought.

“Hey, Eli,” Seth said cheerfully, grabbing nearly all the bags from the back of the Jeep. He had a twenty-five-pound bag of Chaz’s dog food slung over one shoulder as he passed what no one would ever guess to be a nearly two-hundred-year-old vampire.

“What’s up, Seth?” Eli answered, but he didn’t move. Behind those shades his gaze remained fixed on me.

“Nothin’ much. Hangin’ with the sister,” Seth said with a grin, and disappeared inside. Chaz’s excited bark met my ears, and in seconds, Seth emerged with the Australian shepherd on a leash. “Be back in a bit,” he said, his smile wide. “We’ve got training at your folk’s place at eight. I can’t wait.” He waved and disappeared around the corner.

Eli didn’t move. He mouthed, Come here , and, oh hell yeah, I did just that. I stepped out of the Jeep and swaggered over to him, hoping I was half as distracting to him as he was to me. I was wearing my faded low-rise jeans and the fuchsia floral cami I knew he liked— mainly because it skimmed just above my belly button. I stopped when I was directly in front of him and placed one leg on either side of his. I leaned forward, bracing my weight with the heel of my palms on the sides of his hips. I drew so close, our noses nearly touched. I could see my reflection in his shades.

Neither of us said a word.

Eli’s hands slipped around my waist, grazing the bare skin of my lower back, and moved his mouth over mine in a kiss that had me wet and burning for him within five seconds. My hands slid up his back and around his neck; I kissed him back. The slightest pressure pulled my body against his, and I briefly thought how well we fit together. His hands moved over my ass; his hard bulge let me know I affected him just as much, and I groaned against his mouth. “I’m not above taking you right here, right now,” I whispered, and licked his tongue. I felt his smile beneath my lips.

“Another thing I love about you,” he said in a low voice. “You’re not shy.” His fingers threaded through my hair and he pulled me tight against his mouth. His kiss drugged me.

Finally, breathless, and just a shade under being pornographic in public, I leaned back and took off his shades. His profound stare never ceased to stun me; the weight of it froze me. Fathomless and ancient at once, his eyes locked on to mine. It was then I knew with complete certainty that I’d never be satisfied with anyone else except Eli—a pretty scary thought, actually.

The sexiest grin I’d ever seen crossed his face. “Ah, my evil plan has succeeded. Come here, mostly mortal woman. There is nothing to be scared of. Let me ravish you,” he drawled in heavy French. I laughed, and he pushed a loose strand of fuchsia hair out of my eyes and tucked it behind my ear. Then he stopped, studying me; his gaze narrowed, and a slight early-evening breeze rustled his already-tousled hair. All playfulness had vanished, replaced by uncanny perception. “What’s wrong?”

I shrugged. “Nothing. A dream I had earlier shook me up a little.” I sighed. “Freaking vampires.”

Eli pulled me close and buried his face in my hair. He inhaled deeply. “Must’ve shaken you more than a little.” He leaned back and frowned. “You’re making goofy jokes and you didn’t drink your tea.”

That he could smell my unprotected blood amazed me; it also knocked me a notch or two back to reality.

“It should,” he said, taking more liberties with my thoughts. “You might think you’re invincible with your new tendencies, but trust me—you’re not. Your blood may have changed some; I don’t zone in on it rushing through your veins like I used to. But it’s still tempting, addicting.” He frowned. “Drink the damn tea, Riley. I don’t care if you eat the stuff. Just get it into your system.” He grazed my jaw with a finger. “Please?”

“Okay, okay,” I answered. “I really didn’t mean to forget it, even though your dad told me that because of the strigoi factor in my DNA, I may be able to stop the tea altogether.”

“That’s not now, so humor me. Drink the tea.” With his index finger, Eli traced the dragon inked into my skin; all the way up my arm. He followed it until it disappeared beneath my shirt; then Eli grasped my chin. The look he gave me sent two kinds of chills up my spine—one of fear; one of pure sexual heat. “I don’t want to have to work so hard not to hurt you.”

“Point taken, Dupré,” I said, and I reminded myself I was crazy about a vampire who could kill me in seconds if he lost control. “Getting tea now.”

“Oh—my parents want us to have dinner with them Saturday night,” Eli said as we made our way into my ink shop. “Formal wear. You and Seth.” He grinned down at me as we walked. “Every once in a while they like to dress up, like in the old days when, you know—that’s the way it was done. Old music and stuff. It’s kinda fun. You up for it?”

My mind mentally scanned my closet, then scanned Seth’s. “When you say ‘dress up like in the old days,’ do you mean corsets and funny hoops beneath my dress, or what?”

Eli laughed. “No, just modern formal wear.”

At the door I stopped, rose up on my toes, and kissed him. “I’m not your typical debutante, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he answered, eyes locked on mine. “It’s one of your charms.”

I grinned. “Yep. We’re up for it. What time?”

“Seven.”

Seth rounded the corner alley with Chaz just as we were stepping inside. “Sounds good. I’ll ask Nyx to take my appointments after five.”

“What’s up?” Seth asked as we walked through the doorway. Chaz ran ahead, his nails clicking on the wood plank floor.

“Dinner with Dracula and Company,” I answered, shooting Eli a smart-ass grin. “Saturday night. Seven. And no Vans and baggy shorts with the crotch at the knees and your drawers hanging out. Formal wear.”

“Sweet,” Seth said.

Eli just smiled and shook his head.

We spent the rest of Sunday pretending everything was normal. I guess for us, it was, although my mind never fully let loose the events that led me to where I’m at right now. Part of me was glad; Eli was in my life. For how long, I didn’t know. The other part hated it. The Arcoses had nearly claimed my baby brother, and I don’t know if I could have survived that.

We walked Estelle’s stuff over and visited with her and Preacher for a bit. Their back kitchen seemed like a mystical, unearthly place now, dimmed lights and shadows, where the unique African herbs and concoctions from Da Plat Eye wafted in like some crazy aromatic air infusion. Estelle’s sausage, shrimp, and red rice stewed on the stovetop, and she sat in the corner, surrounded by sweetgrass strands, weaving a basket and wearing her hair wrapped in one of her colorful traditional Gullah cloths. Preacher sat, wearing his usual long-sleeved plaid shirt and denims (he called them dungarees, and that totally cracked me up), scolding me (after Eli ratted me out) about forgetting my tea.

“Don’ get too complacent, girl,” Preacher had said, his ebony skin a beautiful contrast to his snow-white hair. He reminded me of an older Danny Glover. “I mean dat, right. You git too big for your britches, you might get hurt.” He’d reached over and grasped my hands with his. “I ain’t puttin’ up wit dat, now.”

Capote, Preacher’s cousin, had stopped by, and I swear, he was one funny-ass old man. He never, never went without a big, blinding smile, and he always had some sort of hysterical story to tell about him and Preacher from their childhood. He sat at the table with us, a bag of boiled peanuts in his lap, eating and shelling just as fast as his fingers and mouth would work. He’d looked at me and shaken his head. “Girl, you done fell in wit some crazy folk, right?” he’d said, jerking his head toward Eli. “Dem Duprés—wooo, now, you done fell in wit dem for sure.” He laughed and shook his head again. “Dey good folk doh, dat’s right. Always have been. Dey treat you good. You do da same.”

Once we left Preacher’s (with a big Tupperware filled with Estelle’s gumbo and a bag of boiled peanuts—I swear I could live off them), we headed to Monterey Square. Seth was already there with Josie; Phin and Luc had just returned from Tybee (they’d been checking out some new gaming software Ned Gillespie had developed); the Lord of the Flies boys, along with Zetty, walked in behind Eli and me. We’d all agreed on group training twice a week at the Dupré House, where the complete top floor had been renovated into a wicked-awesome, upgraded donjon. It’d been pretty cool as a gym before, but now? Damn. I walked in for the first time and stared.

“Wow,” I muttered, and looked around at the punching bags, table of blades, the vamp dummies, and the various-sized surfaces—pretty much synthetic rock—for leaping and jumping. I glanced at Elise and Gilles, who’d followed us upstairs. “You’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, sweet Mr. and Mrs. D.,” Riggs said, pushing past me. “Awesome.”

I glanced at Riggs; at his baggy shorts, his Eminem T-shirt, and his Nike Airs, and then, his shaggy hair held in place by a red bandanna. “Nice headband, Riggs,” I said, noticing he had one holding back his bangs.

“I wore it just for you, babe,” he said, grinning. He inclined his head. “Wanna spar?”

I grinned back. The little turd knew I hated being called babe. “Oh yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Luc let out a whistle, clapped, and smiled, the hoop in his lip silver and, in my biased opinion, so him. “Yeah, baby—some action! Step back, folks—kids, wannabes”—he glanced at his parents—“and the elderly.” He grinned and backed toward the wall. “Poe’s got the floor.”

I rolled my eyes at him—what a nerd. I pointed at him. “You’re next.”

A round of oooh’s went through the donjon.

Elise Dupré smiled broadly at me. “That I’ll be looking forward to, darling.” She turned to Gilles. “We’ve got that auction on eBay, darling.”

“Oui ,” he answered, and, grinning, the two left the donjon.

I felt pretty certain she hadn’t particularly appreciated being called elderly. It was one thing to think it, but to say it? Eesh. I did think it hilarious that the matriarch and patriarch of the family raced to eBay auctions.

Riggs sauntered to the center of the mat, whipped his Emenem shirt over his head, and tossed it aside, leaving a pretty impressive six-pack (for a kid) exposed. Good God, that boy thought his boat rocked. Before he had tendencies, he was just a smart-ass adolescent with a cocky attitude. Now he had . . . powers. And while his experience had matured him some, he was still, well, pervy, cocky Riggs. Now he and his ego would be impossible to live with. He needed an attitude adjustment.

I was going to kick his ass.

With a quick glance at Eli, whose wicked grin told me he’d just read my thoughts, I met Riggs on the mat. The others watching clapped, Phin whistled again, and Riggs began to circle me. I let him—for a few. You know, he had to show off a little, for the other Flies, and I gave him that. He did some pretty amazing wall jumps (where he ran toward the wall, then sort of ran up it, then flipped over me), some sick leaps directly over my head, and a few cool roundhouse kicks. Yep. He was one impressive little shit-with-tendencies.

The moment he landed from his roundhouse, I crouched and swept his legs with one kick. Riggs hit the mat, back down with a smack. Everyone laughed, clapped—whatever.

Riggs stared up at me from the floor, grinning, as I extended my hand. He took it, and I pulled him up. He leaned close. “See? I knew I’d get you to touch me,” he said in my ear. “Babe.”

Then, all at once, several things, none of which I had any control over, hit me hard.

Quick as lightning, Riggs grasped my forearm and whole-body flipped me. As I went airborne, that same sick sensation I’d experienced with Seth came over me; I knew another awful image was about to fill my brain. My body went limp, and shadows fell behind my eyelids. I saw nothing, heard nothing—couldn’t speak, and I don’t remember even hitting the mat. I remained weightless in some dark, cloudy fog, where nothing else existed, as if I’d totally left the donjon. Finally, a sound—a heartbeat. I can’t tell you if it was mine or someone else’s. At first, it was muffled, but it grew in tone and intensity.

Then, slowly, my vision returned. Blurred at first, it went in and out of tune like an old TV set, and finally, it focused on . . . I blinked several times. A girl. In a bar. No, a club. In a booth. Music banging. Punk music banging. Surroundings unfamiliar. Girl unfamiliar. Girl totally wasted. She was a partier, midtwenties, heavy black eye makeup, Marilyn Monroe–ish, white-bleached bobbed hair with orange streaks. Her black leather strapless bustier barely contained her heavy breasts. She leaned over the table, picked up the glass of her mixed drink, and licked first the rim, then her dark red lips. Her brown eyes were hazed, and her pheromones were so pungent, I could smell them. She was horny and wanted me, only . . . I wasn’t me. Of course I wasn’t me. I wasn’t into girls. She saw him; not me. I could hear her heart beating erratically. She reached out for my hand, grasped it, and I looked down. The hand wasn’t mine. It was male; older, rough-skinned, not Victorian’s smooth pale skin. I knew that, though.

She stood and led me out of the booth. The leather miniskirt she was wearing hardly covered her ass, and the bustier was laced in back, revealing bare skin. I noticed a tattoo on her lower back. It was Death’s fingers, his long skeletal bones spread out across her, beckoning; it was my work. I had inked her before. She was laughing, stumbling as she made her way to the exit. She was pulling me, and I could feel her hand in mine; yet . . . it wasn’t me. But I could feel whoever it was. I knew what was going to happen; I could feel the anticipation of the kill inside me. I tried to move my lips, vibrated my vocal cords, and tried to warn her. I tried to scream, and deep inside me, I felt immense anxiety to warn her. It was no use. I was speechless, useless, not really even here. I could do nothing but watch—watch and be horrified.

The girl pushed out into the night, and the air was muggy, heavy; the faint scent of salt clung to my tongue. She hung on me as we walked, and she half stumbled, half pulled me along the sidewalk, drunkenly laughing, until the lights from the club, the thumping music from within, became dull and barely there. I heard only her heartbeat. I tried to yank back, but my body wasn’t really my own. Long shadows fell across her, and she pulled me into an alley. The scent of mingled mold and urine and brine reached my nostrils, and she fell against the brick wall, staring at me with her wide, drug-hazed, lust-filled eyes. How stupid she was; how utterly freaking ignorantly stupid.

A zipper closed the front of her leather bustier. She grasped the metal tab and pulled it down to her waist. Her breasts spilled out, and she grabbed my hands, pressing them to her skin. Inwardly, I resisted. Again, it was no use. Her head fell back, and she moaned.

It was the very last sound she ever voluntarily made.

The heartbeat I felt wasn’t mine, but hers, and it resonated within my head, strong, heady, and I lunged at her bared chest. Her moan died in a liquid curdling sound as her body fell hard to the cobbled ground; I followed her down. Blood, bone, and flesh flashed before my eyes, a vicious carnage that nauseated me. I couldn’t pull away, I couldn’t look away. Yet the need, the hunger—the horror—roared within me. Liquid warmth flowed down my throat, sweet, intoxicating, and my throat constricted as I sucked.

“Riley!”

My head snapped, hitting something hard, and my cheek stung as a hand smacked it. My eyes fluttered open, and I stared up—into the widened eyes of Riggs. He was straddling me, I was flat on my back on the donjon mat, and his hand was raised to give me another smack. His hand never reached my skin.

“Don’t do that again, kid,” Eli said, his voice edged with threat, a death grip on Riggs’ hand. “Get off her.”

Riggs moved—fast, and then I was looking into Eli’s eyes as he bent down on one knee and hovered over me. He stared, hard, for several seconds, and I knew he was digging in my brain. With a stern look, his gaze traveled over my body, then searched my face. “Yeah, I am digging. What the hell’s going on, Riley?”

Seth squatted down beside me and leaned over. “Ri? You okay?”

“I’m okay, Seth.” I sat up. “Seriously. No worries.”

Behind my brother stood Phin, Luc, and Josie; behind them, Zetty, Riggs, and the others. They all looked at me as if I’d grown another freaking head. “What?” I asked, glancing at all of them, then back to Eli. I stared silently, frustration and a little anger growing faster by the second. Tucking my foot under my ass, I moved to stand. Eli pushed me back down. In the next second Zetty was standing there, pinching dust from his protective pouch and sprinkling it over me.

He muttered something in Tibetan.

“Zetty, stop it!” I said, waving my hand in front of my face. “What the hell?”

“You got some bad stuff in you, Riley,” he said in his heavy Nepali accent. “It needs to come out.”

I glared at him. “Well thanks, Zet-Man. I’ll see what I can do.”

Zetty glared back, then moved away. Eli was there, doing his share of glaring.

“Tell me,” he said, his frown deepening and his blue eyes growing dark. “Now.”

I frowned back. “Jesus, Eli. Chill.”

He continued to stare, waiting for an answer.

I sighed. “It was another daydream. Very realistic—”

“How realistic?” he asked.

I looked at him, blocking out everyone else from the room. I focused solely on Eli. “Very. I see a kill. Feel it. As if I’m the killer.” With my thumb and forefinger, I rubbed my closed eyes, digging hard into the sockets, trying to erase the images, the feelings. “I ... feel his emotions, his desires, and they’re so gross—”

“Is it Victorian Arcos?” Eli asked.

The fury in his face was almost frightening. “No,” I answered. “But he’s male. In the daydream, when I reach out, it’s not my hand but his.” I shook my head and looked at him. “It’s freaky, and I hate it.” I inhaled. “Can I get up now?”

Eli didn’t answer me, but he grasped my hand and pulled me up.

“So what’s causing it, Eli?” asked Phin. He ran a hand over his short blond hair and stared at his brother. “I don’t like it, Bro. Something’s up.”

Eli kept silent, his gaze trained on me. “Yeah.” He inclined his head. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” I asked. “You know I don’t like to be bossed—”

“Now, Riley,” Eli said, his stern expression edgy. “I mean it. To my parents’ study. They’ have to know.”

Phin and Luc were already halfway across the donjon floor. My gaze lit on Seth’, and then on Josie, who stood right next to him. She looked at me, eyes fixed and reading me as though she could see straight through me. She picked up on my apprehension. “It’ll be cool,” she said with encouragement. “Eli’s right. Mother and Papa can help.”

With Eli’s hand on my elbow, I made my way to the Duprés’ study. Phin and Luc had waited. Eli reached around me, caught my gaze and held it, then turned the antique cut-glass knob and pushed open the door. I walked through a mixture of jasmine and the scent of a sweet cigar kicked up by a whirling ceiling fan as I entered the room. In the next second, a breeze grazed my cheek; Phin and Luc were across the room. I hadn’t even seen them move. My gaze lit on Eli’s parents, seated at a large mahogany desk near the window. Elise studied something on the computer’s flat-screen monitor. Gilles leaned over her shoulder, obviously interested.

“Take the bid up to twenty-five pounds, love,” Gilles said to Elise.

“Ah, and then we’ll wait and snipe,” Elise said, typing in her request. Gilles looked up and smiled at me. “On eBay. I’ve a penchant for antique pocket watches.”

“Papa,” Eli said, his slight French accent catching my attention. “Riley has . . . an issue. We need your counsel.”

Gilles rose and walked to me, stopping no more than a few feet away. His profound stare struck me. “What is the matter, ma chérie ?” He cocked his head. “Dreams, I see,” he said, nodding, before I could answer. “Of kills? Tell me.”

I glanced at Eli, and he nodded. I continued. “It’s as if . . . I’m him. The killer. And it’s not Victorian Arcos. It’s another male, and I’m seeing through his eyes. I can feel him. He attacks and feeds, but I can’t stop what he does.” I shook my head. “I try, but I can’t speak, move, or control his actions. It’s as if I’m . . . behind his eyelids.” I looked at Eli’s dad. “I recognized the last victim by her tattoo. It was my work.”

Gilles stroked his smoothly shaven chin; clear blue eyes the same shocking color as Eli’s regarded me. “You’ve a vampire’s venom inside you, Riley,” he said. “Yet you say it is not Victorian.” His gaze, curious, sought mine. “How do you know?”

It wasn’t that Gilles frightened me; he didn’t. I trusted him, just as I did Eli. But whenever I was around him, the feeling that I’d snuck and done something wrong and had just been busted overcame me. I’d been caught with Mary Jane stuffed in my locker in eighth grade once, and the school security guard had walked right up and caught me stuffing the plastic baggy in my backpack. He’d dragged me to the principal’s office, and it was that feeling. Gilles Dupré was an extremely profound soul.

Gilles smiled, clearly amused. He truly loved to read my thoughts. “Again, chérie. How do you know that it is not Victorian? It can be no other, oui?”

“I ripped Valerian’s heart out myself,” Eli said quietly.

“I helped Phin burn the rest of his body,” said Luc. “No way can it be him.”

“That leaves Victorian,” said Phin. He moved to stand next to me, folding his arms over his chest. “You have only the venom of the Arcoses. Like Papa said, there can be no other.”

I shook my head and looked first at Phin, then at Gilles. “I’ve seen his hand—it’s . . . rougher in texture, older skin, leathery. Definitely not Victorian’s young pale skin.”

Gilles glanced at Elise, then directly at Eli. “This concerns me, then. My only other guess is that another is projecting himself into you.” He regarded me closely. “You’ve obviously captured another’s attention.”

“Pissed them off is probably more accurate,” said Luc, and he looked at me. With a flip of his head, his shaggy dark blond hair swept out of his eyes. “Could’ve been any of the newlings,” he said. “Or possibly someone they’ve since turned.”

I closed my eyes, grasped the bridge of my nose, and swore in Romanian under my breath. “So what am I supposed to do? Watch innocent people die? Deal?” It’s what I’d done my whole damn life, right? Why stop now?

The room fell silent for all of five seconds; everyone stared at me. I figured the whole Dupré family had read my inner rant. At this point, I didn’t care anymore. Let’em read.

“We find him,” Eli said, that deadly edge back in his voice, his hand going protectively to the small of my back. I shivered. “And we kill him.”