by Elle Jasper
I grasped another, aimed, but before it left my hand, she lunged; a body flew in front of me, directly at her. They collided. Chaos was all around me, and all I could do was stand there and stare, dumbfounded.
Eli.
He ripped the she-vamp’s heart out, as it was the only way to instantly kill besides using a silver blade. When he turned and spared me a look, it truly frightened me.
It wasn’t just that his face had contorted. I dare not even say what I really thought.
“Get out of here, Riley,” he ordered, his voice a deep growl.
I set my jaw.
“Luc! Get her the fuck out of here!” he yelled over the crowd.
I turned and ran, but not away. Blood and killing were all around me; the metallic scent of human blood tainted the air, along with the screams. I was going to take out as many newlings as possible before I let any Dupré take me outside. I found one, his fangs about to pierce the throat of a boy no older than twenty. I was close. With Five Finger Death Punch’s “Hard to See” slamming in some random boom box and mixing with mortal screams and blood gurgling, I lunged, plunging my silver blade directly into his heart, just before his fangs made contact. I didn’t wait for reaction. I sought another.
Mentally counting my blades, I totaled nine left. In my peripheral, I saw Seth and Zetty, both with gleaming blades in their own hands. I glanced and saw Noah’s beautiful face transformed once again; Phin’s and Luc’s as well. And Josie’s. I didn’t look for Eli; I knew he’d be one pissed-off vampire. I’d worry about it later. After this.
This was over in less than thirty minutes.
I knew it was over when all was quiet. Some mortals had escaped. The ones who’d been bitten remained inside; Garr’s people would be here soon to collect them. I knew that because Noah had already morphed back into his human form and was talking on the cell phone. I zoned in and listened long enough to know that an assload of bitten mortals would be taken to Garr’s version of Da Island this night. At least a lot would be saved. But this was still not over. Far from over—just ... this was over. For now.
I glanced around at the ones who would never see life again. They lay in heaps of mangled flesh, blood, and bone; some with their chest cavities ripped wide open, their hearts pierced. Some even still pumped blood, and I had to wonder for a split second how Noah, his folks, and the Duprés could stand being in such close proximity of so much blood and not go . . . nuts. That was the power of hoodoo and the conjuring of Preacher and Garr, I suppose. Pretty cool shit.
Without my permission, my body gave out; I dropped to both knees and simply looked around. I’d used all of my blades; I was still covered in mortal blood and vamp goo. I felt as if I’d been in a medieval melee, as if I’d been fighting alongside William Wallace or something. This had to be close to what that’d been like.
Minus the vampire aspect, of course.
I was drained. My head throbbed. I no longer had the capability to filter out all of the exaggerated sounds and scents of the city. I resisted the urge to cover my ears.
“I wish someone—anyone—would turn that fucking boom box off,” I yelled.
I waited; no one did, so I got up, pushed my way through the bodies of mortals and dusty piles of vampire newlings, and found the music. I love some Five Finger Death Punch, don’t get me wrong. But I was drained; irritable beyond belief, and . . . something else I couldn’t define. PMS? Who the fuck knows.
I picked the box up and threw it against the wall.
I felt my body falling then, completely out of gas.
Strong arms caught me before I hit the floor.
When I looked, it was Eli’s painfully beautiful face I saw, and I inhaled deeply. He smiled down at me, lines of worry etched into his brow. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said.
The beauty of his smile gave me energy.
A lot of energy.
I tilted, regained my footing, and Eli steadied me on my feet. He moved to wrap me in an embrace I knew—knew—I’d melt into. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance.
I passed the hell out.
Part Nine
CAPTIVE
“Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.”
—Stephen King
“What did I say before? Don’t fuck with my
loved ones. Sorry for the potty mouth of late,
but Jesus and hot damn—a lot of shit’s hap-
pening and, frankly, it’s starting to overwhelm.
I’m afraid it’s going to consume me, all this
evil; or at least turn me into some crazed, psy-
cho, silver-totin’, vampire-huntin’ fool who
says fuck way too much. It’s like who the hell
can you trust anymore? I keep finding that the
ones you least likely thought you could trust
are the most trustworthy of them all. How
weird is that, huh? All I know is this: all the
horror movies you watched as a teenager?
Go back and watch them again. Make notes.
Make lists from the notes. There are survival
skills embedded in those wacky dacky fricky
fracky slasher stories that will one day come
in freaking handy. Start with Zombieland.
Smart movie, that. Rule number four: the
double tap.”
—Riley Poe
My eyes fluttered open; it was daylight. I scrubbed my closed lids with my knuckles, then looked around, gathering my bearings; Jake’s place in Charleston; king-sized bed; my own personal veranda. I glanced beside me.
One hot freaking naked vampire.
Eli Dupré, damn him and his birthday suit, lay sprawled out beside me in the white down fluff of a gazillion-count comforter. I strained my eyes hard and searched the digital clock on the far side of the room—three forty-five p.m. Damn, I’d slept a long time. Eli seemed out cold, too. I didn’t remember getting here, getting naked, or falling into bed. It made me wonder just what else I didn’t recall.
For a moment, I permitted my eyes the pleasure of looking slowly over Eli’s beautiful, flawless self. Dark lashes brushed his pale cheeks; tousled black hair fell over one eye. Muscles cut into his lean frame were covered by a layer of silky-smooth pale skin. Perfect lips, slightly parted, invited me. I was tempted.
I quickly glanced at myself again. Oh yeah, I was naked, too. I was totally tempted.
Oh my God! Had I had sex and didn’t know it? What kind of freaking torture was that?
There was no way to tell until Eli woke up, I supposed.
I resumed my perusal, but hey—I was a girl in love. Yes, I admitted to myself, I loved Eli, and it seemed like a long freaking time since I’d just casually gandered. I did remember socking him the other night in the club, but as I inspected his perfect features, I saw no evidence of it.
I lay back, not wanting to get out of bed yet, and obviously not realizing how tired my body still was. One second, I was there, stroking Eli’s skin with my fingertips, and in the next second I closed my eyes again, and I was walking along the riverfront, at a slow, leisurely pace. As I looked around, I saw several things that disturbed me. One, was the Savannah River Queen. That riverboat worked singularly out of Savannah Harbor. I continued to walk, and my vision was his—the monster’s—once more. I looked one way and saw River Street Sweets, and farther down, the Hyatt Regency Hotel. I glanced in the opposite direction and noticed the SoHo Boutique. Through the storefront window I saw little Bhing, rushing around in her fast-walking manner, helping several customers browsing through her clothes racks.
My vision then moved with his, the monster’s, and it settled on the storefront window next door.
Inksomnia.
Next to that, Da Plat Eye.
His eyes moved back to Inksomnia’s storefront, peering directly at Nyx as she gathered her skull and crossbones shoulder bag and headed out the front door. She turned, locked the door, a
nd started up the walk.
He stood and followed.
I began to thrash, to scream, “No! Nyx! Oh my God, please don’t let this monster go after my best friend!” Inside, my adrenaline rushed as fiercely as if I ran hard; I mentally kicked and screamed. It did no good.
He crossed the cobbles, stepped up onto the sidewalk, politely stepped aside as a passerby moved by him. His gaze found Nyx again.
We then passed another storefront. He glanced in. I looked.
He stopped, staring.
Somehow, in the reflection, he saw me, too. He recognized me and mouthed, “Hello, Riley,” in the glass so I’d see.
A slow smile spread across his unfamiliar face. He was just a random victim, midthirties, tanned leathery skin, menacing eyes. Valerian indeed knew me, and he’d manifested his DNA into this new victim. He had a different body, but he was the same monster. Slowly, he lifted one finger to his lips, mentally telling me to keep quiet. Then he crooked that same finger, mentally beckoning me.
His maniacal laugh woke me cold turkey out of the vision. And at the same time, another voice infiltrated my head.
“He wants you to come, love,” Victorian said, his voice angry, heavy. “He cannot speak to you in your mind, as I can, but he has found me. He speaks to me. And he wants you to come back to Savannah. Alone.”
“Really?” I said inside my head. “No shit. And why, Victorian? Have you known his plan all along? Have you known who he was, where he was, all this time?”
“No!” Victorian said with vehemence. “He’s no longer my brother. My brother died a long time ago. He didn’t resist the evil as I did. He’s, as you say, a monster. Out of control.”
I believed him. “So what do I do?” I said to him in my thoughts. “Why can’t I at least bring Zetty and the guys?”
“He’ll play only by his rules, love,” Vick said. “He’s in control. All I can do is tell you what he seeks. And that’s you. He’ll know if you bring anyone. He’ll kill your friend if you do”
I gave a short laugh that was not a laugh at all. “I’m on my way.”
“I’ll do what I can to help, Riley. Never would I let you be harmed.”
I ignored Vick’s last statement. A wash of dread crashed over me.
I sat up, still nude, still beside my naked vampire, who was still totally out cold. I’d been warned by Preacher never to awaken slumbering vampires. Not that they’d purposely harm me, or any other mortal, but being roused out of their vampiric slumber might cause a reaction they’d not like. Or I’d not like.
Much like the crazy-ass bird in my dream had crawled across the branch, I crawled from bed, doing my very best to keep quiet.
Valerian was alive—manifested in another’s body, but still alive. I wasn’t sure exactly how but what I did know was that the bastard was using Nyx as bait. In my heart I knew he’d kill her just for spite, and I had to get to her in time. It was all coming to an end. Valerian Arcos was the monster. And I was going to kill him. He wanted to throw rules at me? Don’t bring my guys? Don’t wake Eli? Fine. He’d be in for a big-ass surprise when I rolled into town.
I strapped on every sheath I owned and stuffed each one with every silver blade I could find. I pulled on a loose gauzy skirt, a ribbed tank, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and found my shades, Jeep keys, and backpack. I slipped into my Vans.
As I made my way through Jake’s mansion, I noticed everyone else was out cold, too—all except Jack and Tuba; I didn’t see them anywhere. I took a solid five seconds to look at my baby brother’s face; his smooth skin, his dark hair and brows, his relaxed expression. It was a very real possibility I wouldn’t see him again.
I left before I bawled.
I eased out of the kitchen door, crept to my Jeep, popped the emergency brake, and made sure it was in neutral; I pushed it down the drive and out into the street. Thinking better of it, I pushed it a little more, away from Jake’s, then jumped in, started it up, and tore up the street. Soon I was headed south on US 17, toward Savannah.
Hopefully, to save my best friend’s life
And kill someone—something—that was supposed to be already freaking dead.
I grabbed my cell and dialed Nyx’s number. Maybe at least I could warn her; tell her to get her ass to the Duprés’. It rang and rang.
“Pick up, dammit!” I yelled over the wind. “Freaking pick up, Nyx!”
She didn’t.
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.
