Eventide

by Elle Jasper

  “Yes, Father,” he answers.

  In my next breath I am leapt upon by the male Julian. His face is clear before me, contorted, gruesome, his eyes white, the pupils red and pinpoint. Long, jagged fangs drop from his top jaw, and immediately he sinks them into my throat. Cradling my head so I can’t move, he sucks. Fire shoots through my arteries, travels my body and jumps track, then courses through my veins. I thrash against him, but it’s useless. Inside, I’m on fire. Literally.

  “Non!” the familiar accented voice belonging to the one called Eli shouts, and his voice is angered now, almost a growl. I see nothing. I hear commotion.

  “Hold him,” the one called Gilles orders. “Hold him tightly.”

  “Let her go!” Eli shouts. “I will kill you right here!”

  Pain tears through me as needle-sharp fangs remain buried deep into my throat, suckling my life force. I’m hot, on fire, and my body begins to seize.

  Then it’s over. The fangs are withdrawn. My head is now free and falls forward as the one called Julian releases me. I am weakened now, and haven’t the strength to raise my head. I gasp for air as intense agony courses through me. Tears spill over my lids and run down my cheeks. I watch them splatter onto the wood floor beneath me.

  “Andorra, Miles,” a growl says menacingly, evenly. It’s the one called Eli again. “Let me go. Now.”

  “Jake, Noah, free him,” another says.

  Then, in less than a second, he’s here, beside me. The familiar one. Holding my head up and cradling it in a much different way from the other one. I feel his body shaking as he holds me to him. I want to thrash out, fight him, but I can’t. Part of me doesn’t want to anyway, and I don’t understand why. I’m motionless, with no energy. Helpless. That, I hate. Loathe.

  “Shh,” he whispers. Then, with his mouth to my ear, “Soyez toujours. Ce sera pas mal, l’amour.”

  I’ve no idea what he’s said to me, but it’s soothing, and somehow it calms me.

  Even if only for a moment.

  The commotion that follows is too much for my comprehension. The familiar one moves, lightning-fast, and lunges toward the one that bit me. Before he reaches him, though, three others jump him. He struggles. Swears violently. Thrashes.

  Then, he changes.

  I’m beginning to blank out, my vision is blurry, but yet I can see him. He’s as frightening as the old one, with long jagged fangs and a distorted face.

  “Why, Arcos?” he yells at the old one. “Why!” He continues to push against the three holding him secure.

  The old one shrugs. “’Twas faster,” he says. “All is well and done. The only way she’ll ever be able to maintain control of her indistinct DNA and to ward off my elder son’s venom is to add mine. It is done. But,” he continues, “you must all remain here, at Castle Arcos, until the time of the quickening passes for her. She will be in a most weakened and vulnerable state, followed by”—he chuckles—“let us just say she will be very difficult to handle while her DNA is changing.”

  “I can handle her,” the familiar one named Eli says with ferocity.

  Again, the old one laughs. “Oh, my fierce Dupré,” he says. “I think not. Whilst she will not become vampiric, she will in fact have the venom of three powerful strigoi brethren circulating within her body. She’ll be as close to being a vampire as a human can be. Yet, in the end, it will be her only rescue. She’ll need it to ward off the cravings placed there by Valerian.”

  “There are other ways!” the familiar one shouts. He tries to lunge once more but is restrained. He is so enraged, his voice doesn’t sound like his own.

  “Mon fils,” the other elder says, his voice stern, calm. He lays a hand on his son’s forearm. “Let us leave for now. Julian,” he addresses the old one, “merci beaucoup.”

  The old one gives a slight nod, accompanied by a chilling smile. He looks dead at me, wipes a drop of my blood from his lip, and licks it off. “My pleasure, Monsieur Dupré.”

  Then, another is beside me. This one familiar also, yet still, unknown. “I’m so sorry, Riley,” he whispers. “Truly.”

  “Get away from her,” the other, Eli, demands. The warning is clear, even to me as I begin to drift.

  All at once, my body shudders, the angered familiar one is there, suddenly, holding me close, and I succumb to blessed darkness once more.

  “Riley, Riley, shh…” a voice soothes, consoles. Is it that one called Eli? It sounds like him. Why is he so concerned about me? “I’m here,” he says.

  A cold, wet cloth mops my forehead, my cheeks, my throat. A fiery fever ravages my body from the inside out, and I can’t stop the violent tremors. My skin is so hot, it burns like the worst case of sun poisoning. Baked, white skin on a cloudless, treeless, windless August dog day of summer in the South. Water. I want water.

  No. I want something else.

  “Here, here, chère,” he croons, and places something to my lips. At first, just a drizzle slips down my throat. But the moment my taste buds register to my brain what it is, I guzzle. Gorge. With my arms, I’m reaching, clutching out to him and holding on while he feeds me. It’s warm, thick, and it soothes my burn like some internal balm. I don’t know what it is, but my body likes it, demands more of it.

  But after a few minutes, he takes it away. I scramble and grab, but he’s fast. I know his name is Eli, and his voice continues to feel familiar to me, but I don’t know who he is. Yet I’m getting used to him. He may be the one keeping me restrained, but he’s also the one who gives me what I need.

  “More later. For now, rest,” he says.

  I rest. Until, the pain awakes me. Fire. Scalding lava instead of blood coursing my veins and arteries. It feels like my skin is peeling off, and I writhe in agony. My voice, screaming in anguish, sounds disembodied. I scratch, claw at what skin I can reach. My hands, my arms are bound, and I feel like my muscles are coming apart.

  “Can’t you do anything for her?” he yells. I feel his hands, a cold, wet cloth, on my body. “Papa? Please!”

  “Non,” an elder voice says calmly. “It must run its course, as you know. She is strong and will survive.”

  A wave of convulsions shakes me until blackness engulfs my mind.

  I awaken, huddled in a darkened corner. I’ve no idea where I am, how much time has passed since that pulseless elder sank his fangs into my throat. I only know that this place surrounding me is cold, damp, and pitch black. There’s a musty odor hanging in the air. I sense…beings close by. They’re calling out Riley! Riley! That’s not me. Riley is a human name. I’m…something different. I’ve got to escape. Get away. Run. Waiting for silence, it arrives. I slip from my hiding place, check the corridor to find it empty, and ease out.

  It’s a long hall. Wall sconces adorn the stone walls, and amber light falls over a narrow strip of carpeted walkway. I follow it to the end, where a winding iron staircase leads upward. I can mount the steps and take the twirling stairs two at a time. If I can make it outside, I’m gone. Almost there…

  No sooner do my feet hit the first step than a body crashes into me, then pulls me back. We land on the corridor floor. Finding my footing, I’m up, turning, backing away, and my vision falls on another. Pulseless. Beautiful. And a wicked gleam lights up a mercury pair of eyes. His mouth tips up at the corner. Challenging.

  Steeling myself, I lunge, slide, sweeping his legs out from under him. He falls onto his back. Just as fast, he’s up and springing at me. I leap and fall onto his back, my legs locked around his waist, my arm forcing his head into a choke hold. He backs and plows me against the stone wall. Back, back, he slams me, over and over, but I hold tightly. I’m trying to rip his head off. The goddamned thing won’t budge.

  “Riley, it’s Noah. Get off me!” he yells.

  Voices fill the corridor and I turn and glimpse three others running toward us. I turn Noah loose and land in a run, heading for the spiral steps. I’m up them in five seconds and onto the roof.

  “She nearly took my f
ucking head,” I hear one say.

  “Goddamn, Noah,” another exclaims. “Goddamn.”

  Outside, I’m free. There is a multitude of reddish steeples and turret roofs. This place…it’s on a rocky hilltop, surrounded by thick forest. A soupy mist hangs over the estate, slips through the trees. That’s where I have to go. The woods. There, I can escape. Disappear into the fog. I run along a narrow path with a short wall that barely comes to my waist. They’re behind me. All of them.

  Reaching the far corner, I don’t hesitate. I clear the edge, slipping over and down the sun-bleached white stone and mortar. Digging my fingers into the surface, I find pigeonholes that keep me from falling. The last thirty feet or so, I drop, land in a crouch, scan my surroundings, then take off. Already, the mist envelops me. They’ll not find me—

  My body hurls through the air and lands with another atop me.

  “Riley, ’tis Victorian,” he says. “Stop fighting!” He holds me still, tries to pull my arms behind my back but I buck him off. I blindly leap and hit a rough, wooden base. A tree. I don’t even look; I begin to climb.

  “Riley, come down from there!” he calls after me.

  I ignore. I don’t look down until I’m far up. Clinging to a thick branch, I glance to the ground. Tall, beautiful, with long brown hair pulled back, the pulseless one stares up at me. Then, he shakes his head, mutters something unintelligible, and throws himself at the tree. He’s climbing. Toward me. Fast.

  I leap several trees before dropping to the ground at a dead-run. The mist is thicker now, and I can barely see my hand in front of me. The voices behind me are growing faint; I’m getting away. Free at last. I run faster, weaving through the dense wood. It’s a blind run now as the fog is so soupy, I can only see the almost-black trunks of trees as I move. My insides are buzzing; adrenaline fires through my bloodstream and I’m almost hyper. The noises and sounds of the wood increase in pitch and all at once. It’s so discombobulated, it makes me dizzy. I try to tune it out, but it doesn’t work. Only gets louder—

  A body slams into me and we both go down. He’s strong, this pulseless one, and he holds his hand over my mouth. His entire body covers mine, holding me with his legs like a vise. “Be still if you want your freedom,” he warns. “And do as I say.”

  I go dead-still. I don’t trust him. I buck—hard. His body shifts and it’s just enough for me to writhe out from beneath him. He’s strong, but so am I.

  Just as I escape, my ankle is grabbed and down I go. I scramble, arms and fingers clawing and digging into the bracken of the forest floor. I see nothing but white as the mist slips between us, and frantically I try to pry the hand grasping my ankle loose. I kick with my other foot. I’m released for about a half second, and again I scramble. Grabbed again and dragged across the damp leaves and dirt. My arms are yanked behind me and bound. As I’m forced to stand, I growl. My skin feels flushed with fire as I’m jerked around to face my captor.

  It’s him. The familiar one. The glare I give him almost hurts my face, it’s so severe.

  “You can give me da plat-eye later, Poe,” he grumbles, then ducks, dumps me over his shoulder, and puts one arm across the back of my calves. The other is firmly holding my ass. “Let’s go.”

  It’s the voice of the one called Eli, but what’s da plat-eye? He’d said it in a strange accent, not his own. What the hell is going on?

  He runs with me. I struggle, but it’s no use. Deeper into the misty wood we go, until the trees and fog blur together. Suddenly, I feel queasy, and it’s then he stops running. We’re at a building of sorts, and we enter through a door. Inside it’s dark and old smelling. The door slams shut and is locked.

  “You’ll be safe here,” he says, and sets me down. The moment my feet hit the floor, the pain starts. I crumple. Fire shoots through me, and my body seizes.

  “Riley, shhh,” he says in a low voice. “It will soon pass.”

  Nothing’s passing. Pain rips through me, setting my insides writhing in agony. The scream I hear is mine, but I barely recognize it. Soon, blackness washes over me.

  Even though my body is relaxed now, I’m not in control. I’m drained again, listless. I’ve no energy, not even to weep. I can barely open my eyes, even a fraction, but I force myself to. He’s beside me. I’m sure he’s never left. The room is hazy, cavernous, and cool. A soft, yellowish light falls over a hearth, a wardrobe, a single chair, a chest of sorts.

  “Riley,” he says softly.

  He calls me that frequently. I’m not sure if that’s just what he’s named me, or if it really is my name. I can’t remember. All I know is I can’t even move my head to look at him.

  His hands move over my body—my wrists, my ankles—and his fingers move over the skin where tethers once bound me. I want to lunge, escape, but I can’t move. I’m barely breathing. Somehow, in my distorted thoughts, I find that better than the pain. Perhaps I’m slowly dying? Might be best.

  He grows near, gathers my body to his. I feel his embrace encircle me, and for the first time I notice his scent. Intoxicating. It hurts to breathe in deeply, so I allow my shallow breath to take it in. I close my eyes.

  In the next instant, his mouth is at my ear.

  “Je suis désolé, mon amour.” I don’t understand the words, but his tone is…regretful. Saddened, perhaps. His breath fans over my throat, his lips caressing my skin. “Mais il n’y a nulle autre voie. Il fera seulement mal un moment…”

  The sound of his voice, the tone of his unusual accent, comforts me. I relax, draw in a breath—then it catches in my throat as something razor sharp pierces my throat. My artery is punctured. I know this because I feel it pop. His mouth is against me there.

  I’m paralyzed at first; my body stretches, arcs, then goes completely rigid. The pain is so intense, nausea again sweeps me, and then the uncontrollable shaking begins. I feel tethered once more, unable to move. My breathing is fast, shallow. Soon, I pass out.

  “Riley?”

  The feel of knuckles caressing my cheek, along with the voice, awakens me. My eyes flutter open, and I turn toward the one sitting beside me. At first, my vision is blurry. Blinking furiously, it clears. I see him.

  “Eli?” I say. My voice is cracked, deep, and gravelly. “What happened? I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

  With one hand, Eli smoothes the hair back from my face and caresses my cheek with his knuckles. Cerulean blue eyes fasten on to mine, and he smiles. “Ma chère,” he says softly. Somehow, it sounds different than usual. It has more…feeling.

  With effort, I turn my head and glance around the room. The walls are stone. I’m in a large bed; a hearth sits on the far wall across from me. There is one window. Dark beamed rafters are overhead. “Where are we?” I say, then reaching up, I touch my neck. It feels stiff, as though I’d been craning, or straining. No, it hurts deeper than muscle. “Damn, my throat hurts.”

  Eli reaches, grasps my hand, and laces our fingers together. He leans closer. “Riley,” he says, his expression grave. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  I don’t like his intensity. Not now. Something’s up. “What?”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t try to analyze anything right now. Not this time, Riley. Just tell me,” he says again, and squeezes my hand. His lukewarm skin comforts me. “The very last thing you remember.”

  Despite my irritation at Eli’s odd demand, I search my brain, and I think really, really hard. What in hell is the last thing I remember? I stare at some random point on the wall across the room. “I remember feeling…angry,” I say. “I don’t know why, but I was. Angry at everyone.” I turn my head to him. “Including you.”

  He stares at me. “What else?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “What else, Riley?” he insists.

  I take a deep breath and think some more. Then I remember. I push myself up by my elbows, fear gripping me. “Oh my God. Bhing, from next door.” I look at Eli. “She was attacked by a vampire, I’m pretty
sure. I…fought it. She ran off.”

  Eli’s eyes watch me closely. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t move. “Riley,” he says slowly. “That happened weeks ago.”

  Ice grips my insides. I look at him like he’s lost his mind. “That’s impossible.”

  “You know it’s not.”

  My mind rushes in furious circles as I try my best to recall something. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. Nothing comes. Only that of Bhing in the alley.

  “You’ve been experiencing a quickening. You’ve been”—his gaze doesn’t waver—“changing.”

  Even opening my eyes and looking into Eli’s doesn’t soothe me. I don’t even have to ask what into. I immediately know.

  “My quickening. Was it worse than my cleansing at Da Island?” I ask. That had been pretty intense. I remember most of it, and it included Preacher’s root doctor herb and potions, being tied down, night sweats, and a lot of pain.

  “Yes.”

  I lie back down and stare at the ceiling. “What the hell?” I ask out loud.

  “The strigoi venom—Valerian’s in particular—was taking over you,” Eli explains. “It began…morphing. Changing. I didn’t realize how severe.”

  I turn my gaze to him. “How severe?” It now dawns on me, and my insides freeze. “Oh, Christ—did I kill someone? How’s Seth? Nyxinnia? Preacher and Estelle?”

  “They’re all fine, Riley.”

  I don’t like the unanswered tone in his voice. “Who isn’t fine, Eli?”

  He only stares at me.

  “Eli!” I yell. “Please!”

  “We’re unsure,” he answers, just as calm as I am anxious. “A young Gullah girl was killed. But we’ll worry about that later. We knew we couldn’t risk any more time.”

  As his words settle uncomfortably into my brain, my gaze scans the room. Where am I? Old. Stone. Not Inksomnia, not Preacher’s, and not the House of Dupré. I look at him. “What did you do, Eli?”

  His hard stare fixes to mine. “The only thing I could do, Riley.” He goes through the motion of taking a deep breath. “We brought you to Castle Arcos. We’re in Kudszir, Romania, Riley, with Victorian’s father, Julian. You’ve been here almost three weeks. My father, myself, Noah, Jake Andorra, and Victorian have been here as well.”