Everdark

with eagerness.

“I’ve never wanted another as much as I want you,” he mouthed against my lips before tasting them. “I’ve waited for you my whole existence, and I never thought for a second that I’d get so lucky.” He kissed me, his full lips dragging over mine, our tongues brushing. His hands grasped my hips; his fingers dug into my flesh, I gasped, and he lifted me.

I wrapped my legs around him, the water making our bodies slick, and I slid down his abdomen until his rigid hardness nudged me, entered me, completely filled me. His hands splayed over my buttocks, pulling me tightly against him, preventing all thoughts of escape, and he kissed me again. Hard. Demanding. Possessive. I nearly came again.

Without any more words, Eli moved through the water, back to the shore. At the quilt he’d laid on the sand, he followed me down and kissed me as slowly as he made love to me. The only time I could see him was when the lightning flashed, and even then for only a split second or two. But I felt him, inside me, surrounding me, and I knew then that making love with Eli was unlike any other experience I’d ever had, or would ever have. He reached a place so deep and hidden within me, that it frightened me, and I wasn’t prepared to name it yet. I clung to him as we climaxed together, beneath an almost-moonless September night in the sand on a random Gullah barrier island. When our movement slowed, Eli’s hands searched first my body, then my face, and he held me close, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You’re mine forever, chérie ,” he said, his accent thicker than usual. “I want only you.”

Before I could respond, his lips claimed mine, settled, tasted slowly. With his knuckles he grazed my jaw, traced my lips, then wrapped his arms and legs around me, pulling me close. I accepted the fact that while Eli had the courage to say the words out loud, I didn’t. But I felt them just as strongly as I’d felt anything. One day, hopefully, I’d be able to tell him. Nestled against his chest, I hugged him and closed my eyes.

He kissed me again, whispered something French in my ear—I had no clue what it meant. I figured he’d just read my endearing thoughts and that my unspoken words were enough for him right now. Finally, exhaustion claimed me.

I confess, love—it pains me to know you’ve had another inside you. That you seem to enjoy it so fully excites me, though, and as I promised, one day you shall be no longer his, but mine. You will have me inside you over and over until you beg me to stop; and after, you’ll never want another. There is no escape—you are meant for me. He may be inside you for a while—as long as it takes him to fuck you—but I live inside you. My blood is mixed with yours, and no amount of hoodoo magic can change it. We are one and I promise, I will come for you. Until then, I drown in thoughts of you, of touching you, of your mouth sliding over me. Soon, love. Very soon . . .

I bolted up from the quilts and gasped. I glanced around; I was alone. A hazy light filled the canvas tent, the sun not yet risen but still light enough outside to see. The pungent brine of low tide wafted through and rustled my hair, and I inhaled deeply. Oh Christ Almighty. Another dream.

Another message, rather. From Victorian. He was close. I could feel him.

“Eli?” I called out, and crawled on hands and knees to the tent opening.

The man I sometimes had a difficult time remembering was a vampire sat hunched down at the shore, watching the sun rise and picking at some random shell in the sand. The slightly tanned skin of his muscular back looked shiny in the peaking sunlight, the black-inked Dupré crest standing stark between his blades. He was buck naked. He turned and waved. “Come here, you,” he said, and gave me a grin.

Pushing the fear of Victorian aside, I, also buck naked, left the tent and joined him at the water’s edge. And as he took me in his arms, I flushed my mind of the other. He’d not ruin this. I simply wouldn’t let him.

And I’d die making sure of it.

Part Two Voices

“There are such beings as vampires, some of us have evidence that they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of the past give proof enough for some people.”

—Bram Stoker, Dracula

“Swear to God, I thought I could handle this. Truly. I mean, the power of my tendencies is freaking amazing. I can do some outlandish shit. Even Gilles is impressed. But in becoming fearless, I’ve become reckless, and that’s not so good. While Victorian looks deceiving—I mean, he’s absolutely beautiful—I know the depth of his desires. He freaking tells me all the time—inside my head. He wants me as badly as Eli does, and I’m scared it’s going to come down to an all-out war. The thing is, what am I willing to risk to stop it?”

—Riley Poe

 My back hit the sand as I dropped to the ground, avoiding the blade Eli’s mother had freaking flung at me. Before I could blink, Elise was over me, her tiny bare foot to my throat. As my eyes met hers, she shook her head and sighed.

“Riley, sweetheart,” Elise said, her voice even, sweet, her heavier French accent enticing. “Never drop to your back. Crouch, oui . Jump, oui. But as you can see, being on your back leaves you vulnerable.” She wiggled her toes against the sensitive part of my throat, then removed her foot and extended a hand to me. I took it and, with amazing strength, she helped me up. “In any situation.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, mortified that a very proper lady in her late fifties with delicately painted pink toes and weighing no more than a hundred and ten pounds could kick my ass. I brushed the sand off my skin. “Crouch. Don’t drop.”

She smiled. “One hundred and four pounds,” she clarified, reading my thoughts as the Duprés frequently and freely did. “Seth,” she called out.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, leaving the gathered group, including all of the Dupré siblings, by the surf and running up to us.

“Join your sister.”

Seth glanced at me and wagged his dark brows. “Yes, ma’am,” he repeated.

I scowled at him. Suck up, I mouthed. He merely grinned.

Elise, dressed in a pair of knee-length white Bermuda shorts, a pale pink tank top to match her toes, and her hair pulled back into her signature stylish ponytail, studied us. The late-afternoon sunlight winked off the various rubber practice blades (we didn’t want to get stuck) sheathed around her slim waist, her thighs, and over both shoulders. She looked too petite to have the ability to carry such a load, but I knew she had the strength to toss me two hundred feet into the sound if she wanted. She was wicked strong, wicked fast, and wicked lethal, despite her sweet looks.

“Phin, Luc,” she called, grinning at me. “Come here.”

My eyes met Eli’s briefly as his brothers jogged across the sand. He offered no smile, no cocky grin—only that profuse stare that seemed to pierce my insides, clear to my soul. It made me shiver.

Phin and Luc circled Seth and me, as Elise barely seemed to shift in the sand. Their eyes bored heavily into us, like hunters stalking prey. The boys were just as armed as their mother, and this was nothing more than a test of reflexes. Seth and I had no blades—just our wits and superfast tendencies. Hopefully, they were superfast enough; neither of us wanted to get nailed on the noggin with a rubber blade. With our backs pressed together,