by Elle Jasper
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 fucking 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.”
Jake Andorra? Why would he be here? I’ve never even met the guy. I only stayed at his house in Charleston when we fought Valerian’s vampire fight clubs a little while back. I lay my palm against my forehead. “This can’t be happening.”
“There’s more.”
With my hand still fused to my head, I look at him. A bad feeling pits my stomach. “What? What else can there be? Where’s my brother?”
Eli edges closer. “Seth is safe. He’s at home with my mother and sister. Listen, Riley. Look at me.” I do. “In order to balance the strigoi DNA in your system, Julian had to inject his venom. It was the only way to give you control over Valerian’s urges.”
I blink. “How did Julian…inject his venom?”
Rising from the bed, Eli walks to the fireless hearth. He runs his hand over the back of his neck. “The same way I did.”
The moment the words are out of his mouth, I freeze. My insides grow numb, and mindlessly, my hand reaches for my throat. No freaking wonder it’s so sore. “You bit me, Eli?” I ask. Shock beats through me. Confusion makes my head spin.
In the next breath, he stands beside me, and he lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him. His gaze, harsh and desperate at the same time, may have at one time scared me. “It was the only way,” he says, his voice low, unsteady, as though he were about to totally lose it. “I couldn’t stand the thought of all those Arcoses binding with your DNA.” He drops his hands from my face, squeezes his eyes shut, lowers his head, and gathers his control. When he lifts his head, and those blue eyes stare into mine, I can plainly see he has gained it again. “I wanted you to have my DNA, Riley. Dupré. Not just Arcos.” His French accent thickens with his last words.
A mixture of emotions crowd me at once, and I slowly stand. Part of me—a big part—understands Eli’s actions. He didn’t want three powerful and deadly strigois’ DNA binding with mine. I get it. But the other part of me is pissed off. I know I was incapacitated, unable to make rational decisions. I know that. But still. Somehow, I feel…violated. Like I am nothing more than a beat-up doll thrown into the midst of four vampires who all take turns at me. Each trying to claim me. Well, I’m not anyone’s bitch. I’m not available to be claimed. “What part of me left is actually me, Eli?” I ask, and I look at him. “Any of it?” I thump my chest. “Is there anything left of Riley Poe inside? Or am I just some fucked-up mutated human with vampire tendencies?” Anxiety and irritation claw at me. I pace. The need to run takes over. Eli senses it.
“Riley,” he says, stilling me with one hand against my shoulder. “Stop.”
“No!” I reply. I’m angry. Hurt. Confused. “I need to talk to Seth. To Nyx. I…gotta be alone for a while, Eli. Think things through.”
“Non.”
I meet his look with silence. “Don’t follow me. You know I will outrun you.”
Eli’s eyes are hard, face determined. His grip tightens around my forearm. “Don’t do this, Riley. You’re not in Savannah.”
I give Eli one last look that hopefully conveys the message that I need to be alone. After several seconds, his hand drops from me. I turn, search the floor for shoes that look like mine, find a pair of worn brown hikers and pull them onto my bare feet. I head for the door in a house unfamiliar to me, and run.
Far into the wood I go, beneath a misty canopy of tall aged trees and atop thick bracken. Twice I look over my shoulder. Eli hasn’t followed. Finally, I slow to a trot, then, I walk.
For the first time, I notice what I’m wearing: jeans, a tank covered by a long-sleeved button-up shirt. I’m hardly ever cold anymore, but Romania seems a little different from home. I notice a biting cold wind whipping through the trees. It rustles an array of various colors above me. Some fall to the ground. Is it October? November? I don’t even know anymore. So consumed am I with the new knowledge of just what I have become, I barely notice my unique surroundings. The cold. The leaves. I don’t care.
“You’re deep in the Carpathians, love,” Victorian’s voice pushes through my mind. “My home.”
I quickly look around, my gaze darting through the brush, along the beaten path through the bracken. No sign of Vic. “Yeah, I can see that,” I say. “Did you help bring me here?”
He sighs. “Yes. ‘Twas for your own good, I’m afraid. Like I said in Atlanta—my father is the only one strong enough to overpower Valerian’s forces growing inside of you. Had he not intervened, you would have surely turned.
Already you were experiencing a fierce quickening, Riley Poe. You nearly ripped the jet apart. Dupré had a difficult time containing you.”
“I hope so,” I answer, and continue to walk. Past a large boulder, with several scattered rocks beside it, I meander along a path well worn by others before me. “Where are you?”
“Here.”
Startled, I jerk my head behind me. Victorian Arcos steps from behind an aged fir tree. I don’t know why, but for some reason, the sight of him comforts me. Yeah, it bothers me that I feel that way—that I ran from Eli, but am comforted by the sight of Victorian. I can’t explain, so I won’t even try. Not even to myself. Not now.
“Hey,” I say, and move toward him.
He gives a slight nod. “It’s good to see you…sane.” He smiles.
I give a slight chuckle. “Not so sure about that, Vic.” I look at him. “You following me?”
His smile lingers. “Of course.” He cocks his head and studies me. “How are you feeling?”
Turning, I shrug and begin to wander down the path. Something, and I don’t know what, warned me not to tell Victorian about the newly added Dupré ingredient to my DNA. “How would you feel?” I respond.
With a long stare, he finally nods. “So right, so right. My father…he can be quite, well, abrupt.”
“Hmm,” I say, and continue on. “I can hardly wait to meet him.”
In the next natural blink of my eyes, Victorian closes the distance between us and rounds on me. His hand on my shoulder stills me. “I would have never let him harm you,” he says, determination tightening his words. “Never.”
As I look into his unusual chocolate eyes, I see it. “I know that.”
