Everdark

It went to voice mail.

“Get your ass to the Duprés’ and stay there,” I said. “Do it!”

Then I dialed the Duprés. Thankfully, Elise picked up. Valerian didn’t want me bringing help? Well I damn sure would call for some.

“Riley darling, what’s wrong?” she said.

“Nyx is in trouble and she won’t pick up her cell,” I said frantically. “It’s Valerian, Elise. He’s the monster. He’s manifested himself into another of his victims who carries his DNA. He . . . saw me in a vision and has threatened to kill Nyx if I bring anyone. I’m on my way home, but I’d hoped you could—”

“Gilles and I will go look for her,” Elise said. “You calm down, sweetheart, and drive safely. Is Eli at least with you?”

“No, ma’am. They’re all in slumber.”

“You left alone?” she asked.

I sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, dear, are you in big trouble.”

“I know. I left a note.”

“Hmm. Hurry. But drive safely, love.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We disconnected and I raced up the highway. My ponytail all but beat me to death, but I didn’t care. I hit Nyx’s speed dial a gazillion times, but she never would pick up. Not until the last time, that is.

My cell phone vibrated against my thigh. I picked it up and looked at the screen. Nyx. I answered. “Nyx!”

“Riley,” an unfamiliar voice said. I could hear the smirk in his tone and it made me want to throw up. It was Valerian, but not Valerian.

“Don’t touch her,” I warned. “I fucking mean it, Valerian. Do not.”

He laughed then—laughed hard. “So you’ve discovered my little secret, yes? Impressive. Unfortunately, I had to trade in my youthful body for this older one, but it’ll do for now. You meet me at Tunnel Nine, just off Washington, an hour after dusk. If you’re a good little bitch, you’ll do exactly as I say. I’m sure you don’t want to watch your friend here die.”

“Riley,” I heard Nyx whimper in the background. “Hurry. Please.”

“Can I—”

The line went dead. I knew what kind of monster he was; I’d watched him feed multiple times. He had no mercy. Which meant I had no time.

If Nyx made it through this, it’d be a miracle. My stomach lurched, my insides raged with fear for her.

The only thing that could save her was the possibility he’d want me worse than he’d want Nyx. I prayed that was the case. Nyx would not be a challenge to him. She’d be an easy, effortless kill. I, on the other hand, would be anything but.

Thankful the traffic was thin, I raced toward Savannah. Once I hit Interstate 95 South, I threw the Jeep into fifth gear and tore up the road.

I made it to Inksomnia, and I ran in through the back door. I’m not sure what I searched for; I knew everything would be exactly where it needed to be. The monster—Valerian—hadn’t come inside. He’d waited for Nyx outside. She was with him now, terrified, and it made anger boil inside me. Out of control, I screamed, and punched the wall. My fist broke through the sheetrock. I sagged against the wall and sank to the floor, sobbing.

I knew I was being useless right now; crying and whining, doing the wall-slide while my best friend sat, prisoner of a vicious killer. What the freak was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I find him myself? Why couldn’t freaking Victorian help me find him?

Preacher would know what to do. Maybe there was something he could give me, I didn’t know. To help me find Nyx? I concentrated—hard—on my new senses. Maybe I could hear her, if she was close enough? I strained my ears, and a flood of sounds fell in. None of them was distinctively Nyx. I sighed and dropped my head against the wall.

The thought lingered in my brain, and lingered a fraction too long. Just when I’d made my mind up to run next door, heaviness settled over my body, weighed me down, nailed me to the very spot I’d fallen to the floor. I tried to speak; I tried to move. My arms, legs were like anvils, and I could move neither. My insides wretched because I knew what was coming. Even in my paralyzed state, I knew.

My eyelids fell, and darkness fell behind them, a menacing shadow that no matter how hard I tried to lift, it wouldn’t. Finally, it did, and I found myself looking through his eyes once again; I tried closing mine, fearful of what I’d see. I couldn’t. I felt the pleasure he took in knowing me now, in knowing I unwillingly watched, partially participated, and it made me wonder if he hated me that much; that he’d kill Nyx just so I’d have no choice but to be a part of it. Nausea swept over me, but I couldn’t even relieve the sick sensation myself by vomiting. He moved. I moved with him.

We were downtown, on the other side of Bay Street and over the bridge; an old apartment building, dark, a bad neighborhood. He pushed into a side door and entered the building, taking the first set of stairs to the right. Climbing three flights effortlessly, he passed no one. On the third floor, he opened the door and stepped into the corridor. A small dog barked its head off in some random apartment close by. Otherwise, no one was about. He walked to the end, to the very last room. The apartment number was 340. He knocked. The door opened, and relief washed over me as a woman, not Nyx, stood there. She stood in the doorway, in a short blue skirt that barely covered her ass, a thin black vest that laced up the front, barely containing the extraordinarily large, perfectly round fake breasts, and high leather boots that reached her thighs. A stripper, maybe? A hooker? A cigarette dangled from her mouth, and without touching it, she pulled on it, inhaled, then blew a plume of smoke in his face. Early thirties, she wore heavy makeup, thick black eye liner, electric blue shadow. Her hair, several shades of blond, was braided back from her face, then left to fall in dreads halfway down her back.

She removed the cigarette from her lips. Her nails were painted the same blue as her eye shadow. “I have to work in an hour,” she said, her voice low, husky from years of smoking. She knew him. And he knew her. He liked her.

She reached down then, grabbed my hand—his hand, and pulled him into her apartment. Seductively, she leaned into him, locked the door, pulled the chain latch. She let her hand trail down his chest, down his stomach, to his belt where she loosened it and slid her hand down the front of his pants.

“Oooh,” she crooned, her eyes growing dark with lust. “Cock’s already hard for me, huh baby?” She rubbed her thumb over it, squeezed, then let go. “Wanna show first? Like always?” Crooking her finger, she beckoned him. “This way.”

She sauntered backward, then turned and moved seductively through the small apartment. He followed, with me, trapped in his filth. The girl leaned over the kitchen counter where she already had a line of coke, snorted it, then rose up, wiping her nose and sniffing. A glass with amber liquid sat nearby. She grabbed it, downed it, and licked her lips. Setting the glass down, she kept her eyes trained on him.

I fully understood her; the only way she could stand being in Valerian’s presence was to first do a line of coke and down some liquor. Didn’t blame her for that.

The woman moved toward him, then led him by the hand to an overstuffed chair in the living room. She playfully pushed him into it, then backed away, keeping her eyes on his. She began to sway seductively; her fingers grasping the laces holding her vest together and tugging slowly until her breasts spilled out. Wasted now, she licked her fingers, one by one; groped her breasts; grazed her nipples and moaned.

His cock stiffened, and nausea swept me as I felt his excitement grow to a fever. He knew I hated this; he did it on purpose to torment me.

The woman continued her seduction; it worked on him. She moved toward him, slowly lifting her skirt, revealing nothing below, all hair shaven. She touched herself, moaned again, and as she grew close, draped one long, booted leg over one arm of the chair, the other leg over the other arm. She wiggled her bareness into his lap, and his adrenaline pumped hard.

With haze-filled, high-as-a-kite eyes, she stared into his. Her fingers fumbled in his jeans and