Darklove (Page 35)

I feel his will, his strength, trying to penetrate my core; it doesn’t. I smile at him. “Go fuck yourself, Arcos.”

Valerian’s brow pulls into a hideous frown. “Very well. I’ll risk a war—”

Everything happens so fast after that.

Valerian’s features morph into that of the hideous Strigoi bloodsucker that he is. He lunges at Eli, and I throw my cored energy into my legs and leap at them both. Valerian and Eli are entangled, fighting, jaws snapping, and I wedge between the two and, with all the power I can control, throw Eli as far as I can. His body sails, knocking over tombstone after tombstone like dominoes as he crashes. Only then, once I see Eli on the ground, do I feel the piercing of skin, ripping of artery, and fiery intrusion of Valerian’s poisoned toxic fang as it enters me. I turn and look at him, my hand flying to my throat. He snaps back, his face confused, contorted. Filled with agony. I stumble backward, something warm and sticky trickling between my fingers at my throat. Already, my vision begins to blur.

A rumble rises, roars, and vibrates within me as a body flies past and rocks into Valerian. I shake my head to clear my vision. Shock steals my breath.

Victorian Arcos, in one fierce twist, takes the head of his very own brother.

Another roar pulls my attention back to Eli. I’m falling now, stumbling like I’ve had too much tequila, and I see another figure fighting him. They tangle, twist, and the other figure throws his head back, dreads pulled into a queue, and Noah sinks his jagged fangs into Eli’s throat.

I stumble back, horrified, dizzy, and I hit the ground on my backside. My energy is spent. My scatha—I’ve been clutching it the whole time—drops from my hands. I fall back on the cold cemetery ground and stare skyward. No stars. Just blackness. Oh yeah, I’m in an alternative world. Nothing’s real here anyway except the creatures and souls within. . . .

Victorian’s flawless face and warm brown eyes stare down at me. His mouth is moving furiously, and he is shouting my name. I can’t hear him. But it’s my name. He grips my shoulders and shakes me, and he falls to his knees and scoops me up. He must be running with me . . . somewhere. My body begins to convulse, my breath quickens, stops in my lungs, and I can’t breathe. I’m clawing at Victorian’s shirt, his hair, but he’s running fast, his head turned yelling at someone over his shoulder. I can’t hear who. His face is drawn tight in fury and concern, but he doesn’t look down at me again. I think I see tears streaming down his face. Fear pits my stomach, but I can only stare. Only straight ahead. I grow weak fast, and now my arms fall helpless. I feel like I’m floating again. Where’s Noah? Please, God, please at least let Noah get out. A black curtain is pulled over my eyes, wrapped around my head until I can’t breathe, and I see nothing, hear nothing . . .

• • •

Nausea. Ears drumming. Voices. I don’t know where I am. I try to get up, can’t move my arms. My legs. I can’t even turn my head. Eyes won’t open. Pain. My flesh is ripping apart!

“She’s moving around too much,” a voice says.

“She won’t break out of that.”

“You said that the last time she broke out of it.”

“Shut up and just tighten them.”

“You tighten them.”

I try to speak. My mouth is frozen, stuck in place, like my lips are sewn together

Finally, I give up. . . .

• • •

Pain roars through me, skidding along every nerve and pathway inside my body, and I scream so hard my insides quiver. I still can’t see—something’s tied around my eyes. I force my core energy to my arms, my legs, and I push so hard with my mind that whatever’s holding them down flies off. Curses, shouts, as whatever I’m in rocks back and forth, jolting me forward. I catch myself, and just as my fingers fly to my eyes to remove the blind, a body hits me. We crash to the floor.

Suddenly, I’m overcome by a powerful sense of . . . sexuality. Erotica. Deep-core horniness that makes me scream and grope at the body pinning me down.

“Someone better fucking hurry up over here,” the voice on top of me says. “If she gets loose, someone’s in trouble.”

His breath brushes my lips as he speaks. I reach, wriggle beneath him. Gotta have him . . .

“Hold her still,” a voice says.

“I might like her kind of trouble,” a new voice comments. Accent . . . funny. Hard to understand. Familiar.

“This is as still as she gets,” the voices says on top of me. “Hurry.”

A pinprick, and as soon as the sensation has begun to claw at the body hovering over me, it disappears. I settle, ease, and the pain leaves me as I drift into a weightless black cloud of nothingness. . . .

The ebb and flow of waves against the shore pull me out of my deep slumber. The heavy brine of salt and sea life wash over me, and I inhale. Familiar.

I’m on my back, a thick softness below me, and a chilly breeze lifts my hair. I open my eyes and blink rapidly as the light pours in. Finally, my eyes can tolerate the sudden change and I focus on the figure kneeling beside me. His face grows closer, and he reaches out and strokes my cheek. I lift my hand and thread my fingers through his.

“Noah,” I say, and my voice comes out croaky and broken. My throat feels as if someone has dragged a handful of thorns across it.

“Shh,” he says, and covers my lips with his finger. He leans closer, mercury eyes searching my face. “How ya feeling?”

I look at him. “My whole body aches.” My gaze goes beyond Noah’s figure, to the lean-to palm roof I’m lying under. Several feet away, the edges of the sea wash up onto the shore. It’s late afternoon, and a low sun falls somewhere behind us. “I’m at Da Island?”

Noah nods. “Yeah, darlin’, you are.”

I stare up at the palms covering my head. Fear chokes me into a panic, and my breath hitches in my throat, quickens. “Noah?” I don’t even know what to ask, or what to say. I don’t know what’s happened.

“What do you remember?” he asks. His hand squeezes mine.

I concentrate. “The realm. Victorian.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Jesus Christ, he killed his brother,” I say. Then my eyes flash open and I force myself to sit up. “You,” I say on a painful whisper. “Eli—you bit him. Noah, Christ—”

“He’s alive,” Noah says with a smile. “Fine, no, not yet. Far from it. He’s in deep detox. Deeper than you, Riley. Couldn’t even keep him on the same island as you. I’m surprised even on the same continent. He’s not out of the woods yet. He’s . . . in it bad.”

I sit back and my brain hurts from trying to sort things out. I push my fingertips to my temples, massaging, trying to force the memories out. “I don’t remember anything.”

Noah chuckles, and another biting breeze whips through. “Yeah, I guess you don’t. Another hell of a plane ride. Had to take two jets. You on one, Eli on the other.”

I stare up at the fading sun peeking through the makeshift roof made of scrub palms and pine limbs. I’m not as settled as I should be, hearing that Eli made it out of the realm. “Tell me everything, Noah,” I say. Tears choke my throat and claw behind my eyes, and finally, they escape. “Where’s my brother? Preacher? Victorian? Rhine?”

Noah reaches over with a finger and wipes my cheeks. “It’s just you and me here, darlin’. We have the island to ourselves. Rhine and the Ness boys are fine. Had to make that young pup return to Inverness. He wanted to come here, watch over you, insisted on flying back with us. He left a couple of weeks ago, and he calls or texts me every day, asking about you. And yes, everyone else is . . . alive.” He narrows his eyes. “You sure you’re up to this?”

With a gusty sigh, I nod. “Might as well be.” Relief washes over me. Rhine and the boys are safe. Everyone is alive.

Noah scoots close, pulls me up in his arms, and settles me against his chest. He pulls the patchwork quilt—one I recognize is made by my Gullah grandma, Estelle—over my legs and waist. “This is going to take all night.”

Part Ten

    SACRED VOWS

I’m your density. I mean . . . your destiny.

—George McFly to Lorraine Baines, Back to the Future, 1985

Before this is all over I am probably going to lose my mind. I don’t remember ever being so off track and restless. I’ve got chunks of time missing in my memory, and I can’t seem to get a straight answer out of anyone. What I thought was one thing turns out to be something else. What have I become? Something feels different this time, something inside me is different. Almost . . . like I have two people inside me. Or more.

—Riley Poe

“It’s what?” I ask, almost jerking out of the comfort of Noah’s arms.

“Settle down, wildcat,” he says quietly. “It’s mid-January.”

No longer comforted, I sit up, turn around, and face Noah. He’s sitting with his back against the pile of quilts and pillows. “How in the hell can it be mid-January, Noah? We were in Inverness in early November.”

“I know.”

I blink, awaiting a decent answer.

Where has all the time gone?

Noah rests his forearms against his drawn-up knees and looks at me. “Do you remember everything that happened in the realm?”

I think about it. “I killed Carrine. Then Eli attacked me.” I look at him. “Valerian tried to make me kill Eli. But . . .” I think hard, my memories starting to blur. “Victorian showed up. He killed Valerian.” Panic rises in my throat. “I saw you . . . bite Eli. Then Vic picked me up and ran. Everything else is a . . . blur.”

Noah nods, his gaze locking on to mine. “It’s called a cluster fuck, Riley. I had to subdue Eli. He was . . . out-of-control sick. His bloodlust . . .” He shakes his head, and a long dread falls over his shoulder. “It was greater than any I’ve ever seen before.” He looks at me. “Ever.”