by Elle Jasper
Eli’s nostrils flare.
The last button undone, I ease the material over my hips, the feel of soft worn denim scraping my permanently smooth legs, giving me goose bumps. I drop the jeans to the floor, then step out of them.
“Kick them aside.”
I kick them.
“Take off your shirt. Slowly.”
With a ragged breath, I unsnap my long-sleeved shirt, pull my arms out, and drop it. Grasping the hem of my tank top I lift it, one inch at a time, over my stomach, ribs, then over my head. I drop it atop my pile of clothes.
For a moment, Eli simply stares. He licks those full, sensual lips, catches the bottom one between his teeth, then swallows.
“Your bra. Don’t take it all the way off. Just unclasp it.”
I glance down and reach for the clasp.
“Look at me.”
Lifting my head, I keep my gaze on Eli’s as I finger the small metal clasp between my breasts. My breathing becomes more rapid, watching him stare at me like a ravaged animal, his sexy French accent deepening to a primal, barely controlled tone each time he speaks a command.
Wetness dampens my panties, so turned on am I by Eli’s blatant display of desire and control. I throb with need, just below the very thin surface of the silk material covering me. I wait, watch, anticipate. I want.
Eli steps closer, then slowly circles me, the air stirring from his body’s movement the only part of him touching me. His alluring scent envelops me, drugs me, and I fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head with desire. God, I want him yesterday.
He leans close and smells me, but keeps moving in a slow, predatory ring, almost as though he was staking his claim, marking his territory, stalking his prey. Then, in a deep, purred whisper, tinged with French, he brushes my ear with his lips.
“Are you wet for me, Riley?”
“Yes,” I answer, my breath ragged.
He keeps moving, his boyish fall of dark hair brushing my bare shoulder as he leans close, making me shiver. “It’s been a long time, Ri. This time, no interruptions.” He stops behind me, his head close to my ear, his whisper a deep purr. Yet we’re still not touching, and it sends vibrations of pleasure across my skin. “I’m going to bury myself deep inside of your tight wetness, feel your muscles grip my hard length as you take all of me in,” he whispers erotically and licks my lobe, his breath caressing my cheek. “Make me come. But first,” he says, his raspy words vibrating against my throat, making me shiver with excitement, “I’m going to make you lose control right where you stand.”
Never have I been so worked up, so turned on. Every nerve ending hums with power, ready to unleash the energy simmering in my veins. So erotic are his words, his voice, his promise, that sexy accent, I have to clench my female muscles to keep from coming right then. I reach for him.
“Don’t touch me, Riley. Just feel.”
He moves behind me, still fully clothed, and brushes my hair to the side. His mouth hovers over my skin, his breath coming in light puffs, and then the wet velvet of his tongue strokes me where his breath has just been. He trails my spine with his lips, his teeth, his tongue making small circles against each vertebra, and I clench my fists, aching to touch him, but I manage control and keep them by my side. Fiery liquid pools between my legs, making me pulsate with desire. “Eli, please…”
Finally, he touches me. His hands skim my calves, up my outer thighs, over my hips, inches up my ribs. Not the place I want to be touched. I’m nearing the breaking point, and at any second am going to use whatever powers I have to throw his ass on the floor.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he whispers close to my ear, sending another wave of shivers through my taut body. His hands move to my shoulders and push my bra straps down, the soft silk cups catching on my breasts. Slowly, he slides them over the tightened peaks.
His sharp intake of air is a small victory.
I don’t know how much more I can take.
I want it to go on forever.
Eli’s large hands close over my breasts as his mouth claims that portion where my neck meets my shoulder. His thumbs brush the hardened, sensitive tips, and my head drops back to rest against his chest. A moan escapes me.
He moves his leg between mine. “Settle back against me, Riley.”
I’m out of my mind with need right now, and I do exactly what he asks, and the full erection pressing into the small of my back makes me moan again.
His lips scrape my jaw, the rough scruff of his stubbled cheek grazing my skin; then he moves his mouth to my ear. “I want to see how ready you are for me. Can you stand it?”
Between breaths, I shiver and whisper, “Can you?”
A low growl rumbles deep in Eli’s throat. “Be still.”
Keeping one hand possessively cupped over my breast, Eli slides his other hand over the flat of my stomach, over one hip, then slips under the low waist of my silk panties.
The moment he touches me, an uncontrolled growl of desire tears from my throat.
“Christ, Riley,” he says, holding his hand still against my wetness. His whisper turns hoarse. “Now.” He dips inside of me with one finger, holding me tight against him, and his lips press and suckle against my throat. I suck in a raw breath and hold it, squeeze my eyes shut, and struggle not to explode against Eli’s hand.
It doesn’t work.
A gradual climax, one pulse at a time, increases with each beat, with each movement of his hand against me, until I turn and press my face against his shoulder as the orgasm claims me. Slowly, it subsides.
Without another word, Eli lifts me and lays me on the quilt before the fire.
Damn it, I didn’t want to lose control. I couldn’t help it. I wanted the moment to go on forever.
The erotic fire quickly rekindles as I watch Eli strip his clothes away.
He doesn’t tease, doesn’t do it slow, doesn’t put on a show. Centuries-old vampire or not, he’s still one hundred percent male, and he yanks his shirt over his head, toes off his boots and socks, unbuttons his jeans, and kicks them off. He’s totally bare under the worn denim. My heart leaps.
Bathed in the amber glow of the fire, Eli stands tall, thick, muscular and powerful, worthy of his ancient heritage, of what Fate led him to be, and volts of energy shimmer off his body in sizzling waves. His hair hangs loose and disheveled, making him seem wild, untamed, and I easily drum up a vision of him two hundred years ago, in a white linen shirt with laces at the throat, tight breeches, and high black boots. The beauty of the vision sucks the air from my lungs.
Eli eases down beside me, pulls me close.
“Come here, chère.”
I inch closer, eyes locked, something more than lust propelling me. Inexplicable. I push it to the far corners of my brain and just accept Eli, the man.
“Look at me.”
I do.
“I can’t offer you normalcy, Riley Poe.” He brushes my cheek with his knuckle. “Things will never be normal for us. But I can offer you whatever soul I have left in me. It’s yours. Forever.”
I watch the firelight flicker in the depths of his blue eyes. “I know,” I answer, and I did know. There was nothing else that could be said. Somehow, we understand each other, and that’s all that matters. Now, anyway.
With the pad of his thumb, he traces my lips, hooking the corner, then lowering his mouth to mine, urging it open. Our tongues meet, slow, exploring at first, and then he breaks the kiss, angles my head, and moves his mouth over my throat. Sensations ripple through me. The lack of fear that a vampire hovers over my artery doesn’t faze me. Eli’s unique taste settles on my tongue, making me crave more.
Eli gives it. He rolls over me, bracing his weight on his elbows. His eyes sear into mine.
“Hold on to me, Riley. Lock your legs around my waist.”
As I slide my legs around his waist, he eases into my slick wetness with one swift push, burying himself all the way inside. I gasp, moaning as my feminine muscles stretch and accommodate. I almost
come again.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he whispers.
When I do, his mouth claims mine, devours me, his tongue tasting every corner. He moves his hips, pulling himself almost all the way out, then thrusting back deep inside. His motions mimic his tongue, both making love, and I hook my ankles around his waist and move with him.
He thrusts faster, once, twice, a third time and I close my eyes as darts of heat flash my skin, and behind my eyes light erupts. Waves of powerful orgasm break over me, my muscles contract, pulse, and squeeze in an unstoppable rush. A moan rips from my throat on a ragged breath.
Eli’s body jerks as his own climax convulses him, the muscles in his stomach flexing with each thrust, the vein in his neck thick and protruding. His movements finally slowly ease, and he wraps his arms around me tightly. He kisses my mouth in a slow, erotic movement of possession. He kisses my throat, makes my head tilt back, and he gently licks the small hollow where my pulse beats.
With one hand, Eli palms the back of my head, bringing our mouths a whisper apart. He stares, the firelight licking his skin, and he kisses me deeply, then brushes whispered words against my ear from a language I don’t know, words I had no understanding of. I didn’t dare ask their meaning.
Suddenly, they register.
I will love you forever.
Slowly, I wrap my arms around Eli and press my body as close to his as I can. I feel every inch of him against me, and there’s not an ounce of flesh not claimed by him. Grasping his jaw with my fingers, I pull his head close, my lips to his ear.
“I’ll love you forever, too,” I whisper back.
When Eli pulls away and looks at me, surprise first fills his cerulean blue eyes. It’s quickly followed by more love than I’d ever hoped to find. One corner of his mouth lifts in the sexiest grin I’ve ever seen.
Then, he kisses me. I feel every ounce of love in that kiss.
If nothing else stays with me for all of my days, I hope this moment in time does. This kiss. The look in Eli’s eyes. God almighty, I pray it does.
For the first time in…Jesus, I can’t even remember, I fall asleep in Eli’s arms.
There is blood. A lot of it. There are screams filled with terror. I feel him, I know who it is without even looking, or without seeing his face. And I know it’s me he wants. Somehow, he knows what’s inside of me now. Not just his DNA, or his brother’s, but…more. His desire for me feels sexual, but I know it’s way more than that. He not only wants my sex, he wants my soul. Wants my blood. Wants my life.
I remain…wherever this place is, and I can feel the pain and terror of those around me. Valerian is torturing them to torture me. He won’t stop. He’ll never stop.
Unless I stop him.
“Are you awake, chère?”
My eyes flutter open. I feel the adrenaline pushing through my veins and the deathly slow beat of my heart.
Then, Eli’s face, hovering above mine. Safety. Contentment. Desire. “Yeah, I’m awake.” Lifting a hand, I stroke his dark stubble-dusted jaw with my knuckle. “Why? You want something, Dupré?” I smile.
Settling his lips over mine, Eli nudges my mouth with his and kisses me slowly. “Hell yeah, I want something. But so does Julian Arcos.” He kisses my nose. “And my father.”
“I know why,” I say, and move from the quilt. The embers from the night’s fire smolder in the hearth. “Valerian. He knows about me. We need to get back home.”
“Then let’s go,” Eli says, and pulls his jeans on.
We hurry, dress, Eli smothers the embers in the fireplace, and we leave the cottage.
“Dupré, Poe,” Noah Miles says with his cocky grin and strange mercury eyes. “Nice you could make it.”
Eli ignores his friend and moves by him. As I follow to do the same, Noah’s eyes lock with mine. The corner of his mouth lifts. “Miss me?” he says.
I jam my elbow in his ribs. “Hardly.”
Noah laughs and puts a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Poe.”
I shake my head and follow Eli into the foyer. Suddenly he turns, stops, and slips my hand into his. “I forget you were out of it most of the time you were here,” he says, glancing down at me. “Stay with me. Closely. And try not to start any fights.”
I just stare at him, and he grins and leads me into what is hands down the epitome of what Hollywood would consider Dracula’s castle. Dark. Gothic. Ominous. Brass sconces embedded into the stone walls hiss and flicker as we pass, and large tapestries stretch from floor to ceiling. Long beam wooden rafters crisscross overhead, and ornate chandeliers cast a low amber light over the massive room. The fireplace, large enough for three people to stand upright in, takes up one whole wall. A group of people stand there, four men and two women, none of whom I’ve ever met. We move toward them.
As we near, a big man who seems to be addressing the group turns and faces us. He wears his nearly waist-long black hair straight and pulled into a ponytail. Green eyes meet mine and fasten. I can tell he’s weighing me. Probably trying his damnedest to read my freaking mind. Good luck with that, Tonto.
“You’ve missed a button,” he says to me, and inclines his head toward my shirt. I ignore him and meet his stare wordlessly.
He smiles, and I’ll admit right here and now: the man is ridiculously sexy.
“Riley, this is Jake Andorra,” Eli introduces. “Jake, stop being an ass.”
Jake inclines his head. “My apologies,” he says without breaking his stare, and I notice he has an odd accent. Not Romanian. Not French. Something else. Something old.
“Pict,” he whispers close to my ear. “And Tonto would’ve never made it out of here alive.”
I lift a brow. “Nice. Now stay out of my head.”
Chuckles break the silence of the others.
“Jake runs WUP—Worldwide Unexplained Phenomena,” Eli explains. “He’s not used to being one-upped.”
“I’m not yet still,” Jake corrects. “Nice to finally meet you, Riley Poe.”
“You’ve got a great house,” I say, remembering the beautiful manor home on Charleston’s battery. “So what do you want with me?” I ask bluntly. With all the hell going on in Savannah, the last thing I want to do is linger in Drac’s castle when I could be on a plane heading home.
“’Tis I who want to meet you,” another man with a similar accent says. He approaches and without warning, grasps my hand in a shake. Unlike Eli’s lukewarm skin, this man’s is warm. “My name is Darius.”
And the moment his hand envelops mine, I experience firsthand the powers given to me by Julian Arcos.
My equilibrium tilts, my body goes rigid, and everyone around me fades into shadows…
When my vision clears, I’m not alone. I’m not at Castle Arcos. I’m not even me…
* * *
“Darius? What have we done?”
Gasping for air, Darius fixed his stare on the bloodstained earth he knelt upon. Resting his forearm against the hilt of his sword, he wiped his sweating brow and glanced about. Eleven Celtae druids lay dead, their bodies entangled within their black robes.
“What we had to do,” Darius answered. He rose and met the questioning eyes of the younger Druthan. “The dark magick within the Dubh Seiagh is unimaginable. The Celtae used it, Ronan. To allow them to live would mean destruction for us all.”
Ronan nodded and wiped a streak of blood from his cheek.
Just then, a sharp gust of wind swept over the moor, stirring the robes of the dead, and a blanket of mist settled over the browned and bloodstained heather. The twilight’s dim glow made the desolate moor hazy, and thunder crackled in the distance. Darius glanced up. “We havena much time.”
As the wind grew fiercer, the other Druthan warriors gathered, making their way through the fallen Celtae to stand at Darius’s side.
Darius met each of his brethren’s gazes. “You know what must be done. Four of our future kinsmen will become the immortal Arbitrators. I sacrifice my own bloodline. Who else?”
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Three more Druthans raised their hands without hesitation.
“Well done,” Darius said.
“What of the Archivist? Whose bloodline will he come from?” asked Ronan.
“None of ours.”
The wind screamed then, and Darius quickly muttered the ancient Pict verse that would name the Arbitrators twelve hundred years into the future. And, the Archivist, centuries beyond. By that time, the language of the Dubh Seiagh would be dead and forgotten. Only the Archivist would have the ability to read it. Thus, destroy it. Until then, it would stay forever hidden.
When the last word was spoken, a deathly silence fell over the moor.
It was done.
As the Drutha glanced around, gasps filled the still night air. Darius hurried to the first Celtae body and knelt down.
‘Twas as though every ounce of bone and muscle and matter had been sucked out of the Celtae’s skin, leaving it a flat and empty sack of cauterized flesh.
Just then a scream, high-pitched and chilling to the bone, ripped over the moor, followed by another, and another, over and over. The wind picked up once again and roared through the air with gale force.
“Darius!” Ronan yelled. “What is this?”
Darius closed his eyes.
They’d killed the Celtae.
But their souls had escaped…
Quickly, he mouthed another verse, unrehearsed, unplanned. Desperate.
And prayed with fervor that it worked.
As fast as it occurs, it stops. Only now do I realize the scene lasted only a few seconds—as long as it takes Darius to shake my hand. The second he releases me, the vision disappears. My head is spinning as vertigo grabs me. A small wave of nausea washes over me, and for a minute I think I’m going to barf all over the guy. Surprisingly, after a few deep breaths, it subsides.
I look at him wordlessly. He’s tall, muscular, with dark auburn hair pulled back much like Jake’s, and disturbing, ancient amber eyes. The vision I’d witnessed was from a long time ago. I’d been nothing more than a fly on the wall, watching.
“What did you see?” he asks quietly.
I look at him. “Everything. You, others, on a windy moor, blood,” I say. “You killed the others. You instructed them.”
