“You’ve been dreaming of him again,” Eli said, his eyes hard, his voice low, and uncharacteristically accusing. “Haven’t you?”
I ignored him, my emotions on edge, extended my leg fully and, with a quick snap, kicked the workout bag hanging in my bedroom. I followed it with three sharp jabs. Anger and a little hurt built inside me, and after a few more kicks and rounds of punches, I broke a decent sweat.
Eli’s strong hands grasped my shoulders and spun me around. “Don’t ignore me, Riley.” He drew his face close to mine. “Don’t.”
I frowned, totally pissed. “Then don’t accuse me, Eli.” I shook his hands off. “You know I can’t help those dreams. You know it.”
Eli stared at me several long seconds, then shoved his fingers through his hair, muttered some French expletive, and walked to the window. He looked at some distant point across the river. “You desire him.”
Anger flashed inside me, and I crossed my arms over my chest. “How freaking old are you, Eli?” I asked. “Sixteen? Oh, no—that’s right. You’re over two hundred.” I walked up behind him, grabbed him by the arm, and turned him around to face me. Brilliant blue eyes searched mine, and I knew he was reading my thoughts; digging through them like a madman was more like it. “You’re acting like a jealous high school boyfriend,” I said, a little more gently. I grazed his jaw with my index finger. “Seriously, Eli.”
Another handful of seconds dragged by before his face went emotionless, his eyes dulled, those beautiful full lips that worked magic against my body thinned. “You don’t deny it, do you Riley?” His voice held an edge, tinged with a heavier-than-usual bit of French. I’d learned fast that the heavier the accent, the more pissed off Eli Dupré was.
“Victorian forces the dreams on me,” I said harshly. “Just as he forces the emotions within them.” I stepped closer. “I. Can’t. Help. It.”
Anger pulled his features tighter. “Do you think this is some game? He is deadly, Riley. Do you think he has feelings for you? Other than obsession? He will drain every ounce of your blood in seconds. Regrets might come after it’s too late.” His eyes grew somber. “I think you enjoy the dreams a little too much,” he said, moving past me. At the door, he stopped, staring straight ahead. “You could have come to me.”
“What would you have done, Eli?” I said. “You can’t go into my subconscious and change anything. You can’t make him stop.”
“You don’t know what I can do,” he said angrily. “You didn’t give me a fucking chance.”
He moved so fast, I didn’t see him actually turn and leave. Only the sound of the back door closing alerted me to his absence.
I walked to the window overlooking River Street, propped a hip against the ledge, and stared out into the growing darkness. Soon, it would be pitch-black outside—everdark (the Gullah pronounced it evah-dock). It meant, pretty much, everlasting darkness. That was what it felt like, too—an endless night. Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead against the cool pane. Eli wasn’t right, not by far. I did not enjoy the dreams; rather, the internal conversations I’d reluctantly had with the younger Arcos. Nor did I desire Victorian. In the dreams, I wanted two things: to continue the turn-on, then nothing more than for him to stop, to leave me the hell alone; he never did. He returned to me, time after time, with the most erotic, out-of-control dreams that make me respond to him in ways that mortified me. I loathed him. He made me excited. Yet I got a rush when his voice sounded inside my head.
Worse still, Victorian had begun speaking to me during my waking hours. Somehow, he’d gotten inside my head outside of the dreams. The only cause I could assume to be the reason for this was that we shared the strigoi DNA. I thought I could handle it. I wanted the bastard dead. I was the only one who could get close enough to do it. Dammit.
“What was that all about? You okay?”
I turned and met Seth’s concerned gaze. I was a balled-up bundle of hot electrical wires, and I needed to burn off a little energy. It was either that or bang my head against a brick wall. “It’s nothing, Bro. Seriously. You wanna go for a run?”
My brother gave me a crooked grin. “I’ll pass. I’m meeting Josie for a little roof jumping.” He wiggled his brows at me.
Seth Poe was definitely enjoying his vampiric tendencies. The kid had serious free-running talent. I’d been watching him closely, just to see if anything else, possibly weird, popped up. So far, it hadn’t. I grinned. “Gotcha. I’ll catch ya later.”
Those fathomless green eyes stared at me for a moment; then Seth pulled me into a tight hug. “Love ya, Sis.” Then he disappeared out the door.
I shook my head, yanked on my sneakers, and headed out into the early-September night air, crossed the merchant’s drive, climbed the metal steps to Bay Street, and took off.
Savannah in September was still warm and humid, and the brine from the river clung heavily to the air. I drew it in fully as I ran, the muscles in my legs stretching with each long stride. I could go faster—much faster— but that would seriously draw attention. I mean, I can haul ass. Instead, though, I kept it to a typical human’s pace, crossed Bay behind a group of ghost walkers, and headed up Bryan Street. Finally, I found myself alone. Full darkness had fallen, and I increased my speed, stretching my legs. Long shadows fell from the lampposts, parking meters, and the massive oaks that lined nearly every side street in the historic district. Everything looked distorted. I turned the corner and glanced over my shoulder.
An arm shot out of the shadows, clotheslined me, and knocked me flat on my back. I’d barely felt the sidewalk beneath me before I leapt up, adrenaline rushing, body rigid, poised, crouched, and ready to fight. I stared hard into the shadows.
I knew who awaited me before he emerged.
“My apologies for using such force to stop you,” Victorian Arcos said in a low, seductive voice, “but you’re amazingly fast.”
“Thanks to you and your brother,” I answered. “What are you doing here? They’ll kill you if they find you.” I met his gaze with a hard one. “Maybe I’ll kill you.”
Victorian stepped fully into the lamplight, and again I was stunned by his beauty. He looked older than twenty-one. Gone was the eighteenth-century clothing from before. Although he still kept his sleek black hair long and pulled into a queue, he was now dressed in a loose white button-down shirt hanging untucked from a pair of worn jeans and scuffed boots. It was difficult to believe he was so young. Well, that plus several hundred years. Apparently, my death threat fazed him nada.
He closed his eyes and drew in a lungful of air, then looked at me. “I can barely smell your blood,” he said, stepping closer and inhaling deeply again. “Your dark brothers must have changed the drugs they use to mask your scent.” Light reflected in his deep brown eyes, and they studied me closely, intensely. “I’m glad. I had to see you.”
A car turned up the street, and the headlights flashed toward us. In the blink of an eye, Victorian stepped in front of me, pushing me backward through the thick, damp grass, and into the shadows of an aged brick historic house that dominated nearly an entire block. The car passed; the headlight beams swept above our heads, and then left us in total darkness. Victorian, who stood at least six feet tall, moved slowly, crowding me and forcing me to back up. I stopped when the brick pressed into my back. I felt completely powerless, as though I possessed zero control of my actions, my thoughts, my new tendencies—almost as if I’d had a stroke. The younger Arcos took full advantage.
He stared down at me, desire radiating off his body in heady waves. “You torture me, Riley,” he said, his Romanian accent making his words seductive, erotic. “I think of nothing else but you”—he leaned close, his mouth brushing my jaw—“and of what I want to do to you.” His soft lips grazed the skin at my neck, where he lingered, and a flash of fear mixed with an uncontrolled shiver rushed through me. “Of what I dream of you doing to me,” he said at my ear. “It causes me physical pain to stay away, Riley Poe.” His mouth moved to my jaw, dragging his lips to my chin, close to my mouth. “I want you now,” he whispered. “I want to keep you forever.”
I was shaking, my mind numb, my limbs paralyzed, and sensations tingled across the skin where his lips moved so erotically. I didn’t want this, or his touch. I couldn’t help but crave it. I breathed, squeezed my eyes shut, opened them, gathered my strength—God only knew where it came from—lifted my hands to his chest and pushed. Hard. Victorian flew backward and landed on his back several feet away. He lay there, staring at me and smiling.
