hope Seth isn’t going through the same thing. I’ll tell you now: I’d die if something happened to my brother.
My thoughts return to Victorian’s words. Eli’s actions. Ever since our encounter with Vic, Eli’s been more intense. The fact that he won’t leave me alone is a definite sign that he thinks something really bad is up, too. He knows I can handle myself, but lately he treats me like I have zero abilities. He’s everywhere. Being protective is one thing. Not giving me space to breathe is another. But I have to be sympathetic. I know, long ago, that Eli accidentally killed a young woman he’d fallen in love with. He’ll never forgive himself for it, and I’m pretty positive he’s scared the same thing will happen to me. It won’t. But there’s no consoling him. Eli still worries he’ll lose control with me. So he’s careful. Extremely careful.
His image comes easily to my mind; his chiseled face, full, firm lips, clenched jaw. His disturbing blue eyes are always locked on me. And his expression? Painful. Like he’s in absolute physical agony. Kind of like when we first met.
Eli’s siblings are around a lot more, too, always in the shop. Phin, intense and always so deep in thought. With his short-clipped dark blond hair and crazy-clear Dupre eyes, he’s an attention getter to be sure. And he’s on my ass just as much as Eli lately. Eli’s other brother, Luc? He and Phin could pass for twins, but Luc’s hair is longer, with wild curls. He’s definitely the clown of the three brothers, although I’ve seen him turn pretty stinking mean in a vamp fight.
My best human friend and business partner, Nyxinnia Foster, has claimed Luc’s attentions of late. I didn’t think I’d like it, their coupling, but I do. Nyx is totally crazy about Luc, and he is just as into her. Nyx, with her sweet, loving, and annoyingly trusting behavior, is an easy target for Valerian and his gang of newlings. She’s a Goth princess and sticks out like a sore thumb. Luc protects Nyx. I feel comforted knowing that. I love Nyx like a sister.
Speaking of sisters, there’s Eli’s youngest sister, Josie. She looks like your average teen, with skinny jeans, Converses, and long, light brown hair nearly to her waist. She wears it parted in the middle with her bangs pinned to the side. Sweet as peaches, you might think. I know better, though. She can fight like her brothers. Trust me when I say it’s weird as hell to watch her kill. But she’s free-spirited and a kind soul. Unfortunately, she’s forever trapped in her fifteen-year-old body and is crazy about Seth. He’ll age. She won’t.
I’m surrounded by people I love, so I’m usually on my best behavior. But these days, I have to think about my next words, my next move, my next interaction with anyone I come in contact with. My fuse is shorter. Even when dealing with clients, I catch myself before saying something awful. It doesn’t take much to set me off. It’s like there’s this shade of irritability that lies just beneath the surface, ready to unleash. Luckily, I can sense it. It’s like…I can feel this thing clawing at the lining of my insides, trying to escape—digging, scratching, whispering. Almost like an entity, living inside of me, separate from my own self. I have no idea what keeps it locked up, other than my own will. But it wants out. I can tell. Weird. Just…weird.
Sometimes I wonder if Eli detects it, too. The way he stares at me? It’s beyond intense. His eyes go deep into mine, searching, perusing. I swear I can feel him inside of me. He can read my thoughts and is constantly in my head now, yet he still can’t pick up Victorian’s voice in my head. I wonder if he can sense this other thing? Because I swear, I feel like it’s alive inside of me. It’s like Eli…knows it’s there but just waits. Watches. I guess he trusts me to let him know when I can’t control it anymore. I hope to hell and back that day never comes.
The clicking of paws through my room alerts me to my dog Chaz’s arrival. He pushes the door open with his nose and peers in at me. He whines.
“Hey, boy,” I croon. “Wanna go for a walk?”
His back end wags, just before he lets out a single bark. And I swear, he smiles.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I say, and climb from the tub. Quickly drying off, glad I’d pinned my hair up instead of washing it, I change into a pair of sweats, long-sleeved Inksomnia T-shirt, and my black Adidas sneaks, pull my hair into a ponytail, and head downstairs with Chaz. He lets out an excited yelp as I grab his leash and hook it to his collar. We head outside.
The chilly bite sinks into my skin and we take off up the merchant’s drive. As Chaz inspects every little thing, I scan our surroundings. We’re all alone. I allow my hearing to open full blast. At first chaotic, with sounds and voices and music all overlapping, soon it filters, becomes selective as Eli has taught me. I listen for anyone who signals distress—a tinge of panic in their voice, or excited talking, pleading. All I hear is swearing, ice clinking in glasses, idle chatter, a fight between angry guys. Drawing in a lungful of air, I taste the inhalation. Allow it to settle against my tongue. Newlings, I’ve discovered, have a unique scent. Slight though it may be, if I concentrate, I can detect it. It’s not smelly, or pungent, but it’s definitely different from anything else. Tonight, I smell nothing. So far, anyway. I have no idea of the distance my wolflike capabilities and senses are able to travel. Guess I’ll eventually find out.
Chaz takes care of his doggy business, but I’m in no mood to head back inside. Something pulls me, something inside of me. The crisp night and unusual tranquility of the city lure me, and we cross Bay Street and head into the squares. There are scattered tourists on benches or strolling along the walk, a few locals. Time slips by—how much, I don’t know. It has become unimportant. Along with the crispness of October, there is dampness in the air that suggests an approaching storm. Soon, the crowds thin. Loud, drunken laughter spills from The Boar’s Head on River Street. Although I’m on Broughton, it sounds as though I’m right in the bar. I can feel the heat from the patrons’ bodies. Smell their cigarette smoke, their breath, their sweat. Almost taste the alcohol they’ve consumed emanating from their pores on my tongue. Irritation and disgust consume me, and I try to tune those senses out. It doesn’t work. The sounds of the city, the scent of humans, suffocate me. Wait, I’m still human. Aren’t I? Hell if I know what I am anymore. All I know is that I’m unsettled. Confusion makes my brain hurt. I begin to run. To escape.
For a block or two, it’s a slow run, and I’m still vaguely aware of Chaz on the other end of the leash I’m still gripping. At some point, though, I drop it. He follows for a while, but soon he can’t keep up, and I feel glad to be alone. As his single bark echoes off the brick buildings surrounding me, I slip farther into the shadows, away from Broughton Street, away from people. The night envelops me, swallows me up like some ravaged beast, and for a brief second the Eagles’ “Hotel California” plays in my mind.
The sharp blast of a car’s horn sounds to my left, and for a second I jolt out of the weird subconscious state that I’m in. A Ford Explorer has slammed on its brakes to keep from hitting me. I can’t make out the driver’s words. He flips me off. I make eye contact with him and keep on running. Soon, in the shadows of tall live oaks and wispy moss, I slow to a jog, then a walk. The sounds that plagued me earlier are now a dull hum, and within minutes fade to nothing. Have I run so far that I’ve escaped the city? People? Am I finally alone?
Then, a heartbeat. Not mine. Someone else’s. Steady. Strong. Ahead of me.
I follow.
The small town of Thunderbolt. That’s where I am. As I move beneath the sparsely spaced streetlamps, I watch ahead of me. Male. Young. Early twenties. His tall, lanky figure casts a long shadow as he jogs. A rain begins to fall. Light at first, then more steady. It lifts the jogger’s scent and wafts it to me. I inhale deeply. Sweat. Soap. I inhale again.
Blood.
I grow closer. Twenty feet. Ten feet.
A strong hand encircles my arm and jerks me to a stop. I’m aware of very little around me, save the jogger getting farther away. Rain slides down my cheeks, drips off my nose, plasters my hair to my scalp. My eyes remain fixed on the jogger.
His scent remains fixed in my nostrils.
“Riley!” an angry voice growls in my ear. The grip tightens on my arm. Shakes. “Riley! Look at me!”
When I don’t, the hand belonging to the voice grips my chin and physically turns my head. Large hands grasp both sides of my face, tilts it up. Uses his thumbs to brush the water from my eyes. He’s standing close, intimate. I’m staring, but not seeing. All I can hear is the sound of a heartbeat growing farther and farther away. It fades to nothing, and for a split second, my mind goes totally blank.
Slowly, the sounds of the city, the scents surrounding me, filter in. The blankness lifts. A horn blasts. A door slams. Somewhere, someone is whistling. I blink several times. These sounds are familiar.
“Riley?”
Eli’s face comes into focus. Dark brows pulled together, the streetlamp’s shine winking off the silver hoop.
