Darklove (5 page)

So I do. I give him full details of everything, starting with me arriving at Ivy Cottage, my trek up to the stones, then the woods and St. Bueno's. Everything from the moment I entered that alternative world filled with weird tiny cat-headed demons, to pulling Eli and Vic out of the rafters. I end with the sonic boom that separated us all, and then I tell him of Vic's phone call from Romania.

“Are you sure that was Arcos on the phone?” Jake asks.

The question catches me so off guard words fail me.

“Riley, I took his head myself,” Jake reminds me. “You saw it happen.”

I shake my head. “No way is it not him, Jake. I refuse to believe it.” I glance at Noah, and he's looking ahead in traffic and pulls onto Montague Row. “No freaking way. Besides, Jake. I saw your sword flash, and then Victorian disappear. So I can't vouch for the beheading. I mean, it looked like you'd done it. But I don't know. Shit.”

“I'll call his father,” Jake says. “You two get your heads in the game and wrap up Inverness. We need you here. Fucking wolves.”

The line goes dead. Just like Jake Andorra. Business finished, hang up.

Meanwhile, all I can think about is Eli. He's
got
to be alive.

And I don't care if it kills me, I'll find him.

When Noah parks the Rover, the owner is standing on the sidewalk, briefcase in hand. Poor guy. I hope he doesn't get canned because he's late to work. We hop out, I holster my scatha, and Noah leaves the Rover's engine running.

“Hey, nice ride,” Noah says to the guy. His eyes are glassed over, but he nods.

“Aye,” he answers, and focuses on his car. He scratches his forehead, confused.

“Have a nice day,” I add.

The guy walks to the driver's-side door, still open. “Right, then,” he says. “Cheers.” Then he climbs in and takes off down the street.

I glance up, toward the sky. There's no sun out, but it's daylight. A dull gray haze surrounds the city. Car horns, voices, doors opening and closing, dogs barking. All the sounds collide at once, and I force myself not to cover my ears like a little kid. Suddenly, I'm drained, no energy, and all I want to do is close my eyes.

“Damn, I know that look,” Noah says, and grabs my arm. He pulls me to the guesthouse posing as our hideout. “Let's go, Sleeping Beauty, before you make a bed on the sidewalk.”

I can sometimes go days without sleep now, but when it hits, it's narcoleptic hell. It's coming over me now, a wash of weary indescribable, almost as if I've had a long day at the beach in ninety-degree breezes and salty waves. Just . . . exhausting. I feel my feet leave the ground, and my nose scrapes Noah's neck. He chuckles, mutters something. He's carrying me, putting me down. My body's against something soft, smells nice. Everything's dark now, all is silent, and I'm going out. . . .

The river. Brine. Marsh grass. Not the river Ness. Home. I inhale deeply, until the air singes my lungs. The blow of a porpoise in the harbor hisses through the night air.

My eyes flutter open, and I'm in my bedroom, upstairs from my shop. Inksomnia. Seems like it's been forever since I've been home. Everything's hazy, and I scrub my eyes to clear my vision. The French doors leading out to the small balcony are open, and the gauzy drapes are fluttering in a barely there breeze. I can feel it on my face, my bare arms, and with it carries the scent of something other than brine. . . .

Rising from my bed, I glance down at my body. A sheer champagne-silk slip clings to my skin, grazes my breasts, and the material shifts with the sea breeze. It barely covers my thighs. My long straight hair falls over one shoulder, and I push it back. The wooden floor is cool beneath my bare feet as I make my way to the open door. I pause and place my palm against the wooden French frame. The lights glow an amber hue against the aged cobbles of River Street below, and the sound of the river washing against the marshy shore on the opposite bank lulls me into a calming trance. I inhale again, and close my eyes. . . .

I sense him before I feel him, and when he moves behind me, my body reacts, a thousand nerve endings snapping fire at once. His hand skims my arm, over my hip, my thigh. With his other hand, he pushes back my hair and exposes my neck. Soft, firm lips drag with erotic, painful slowness across my skin, lingering on my shoulder. His scent, so familiar, makes my heart slam against my ribs with anticipation. My joints weaken at the knees. I'd know his touch, the feel of his mouth against me, anywhere. He's mine. He's back. . . .

Eli. . . .

He turns me in his arms, and grasps my face with both hands. My fingers find his chest bare, and my eyes drink him in. I never thought I'd see him again, and a feeling greater than joy seizes my heart. My lips part to speak, but he hushes me with one finger across my mouth, silencing me. Slowly, he shakes his head, and I swallow whatever crazy words I had. I don't want to break this spell. Is it really happening? Is he really here, under my touch? Am I really looking into the face that I love?

A hank of pitch-dark hair falls over one of his trademark cerulean Dupré eyes, and he searches my face as though seeking some fine, minor detail he'd earlier missed. I allow him this, but impatience is biting at me. I want him, his lips, his tongue—I'd crawl into his skin if I could. I can't get close enough. And I'm not sure how much longer I can wait, but I let him take his time. Slowly, he explores every small detail. I'm dying. . . .

Tilting my head to the right, he lowers his head toward me. Something flashes in his eyes, just a fraction of a spark, just before his lips, those sensual, full, erotic lips, graze mine. And I'm lost. . . .

His hand cups the back of my head as he leans into the kiss, and he leaves nothing unloved. His mouth caresses mine, at first, gentle, searching, testing. Then he tastes me, and as if a firecracker has exploded, his free hand presses against the small of my back and yanks me against him, and my arms slip around his neck, entwine through his hair. I kiss him back with fervor, and when his hand lowers to my backside, he pulls me harder to him. A rock-hard bulge is between us, pressing against me, and I can't stop the smile on my mouth that he's kissing right now. My hands drop from his hair, my fingertips trailing over his chest, and I find his waistband. Undoing one button, then two, then three, I feel Eli's kiss deepening as my palm finds the erection straining against his jeans. I release him, and the feel of him is so familiar, so right, I can't help the vulnerable groan that escapes me. Eli catches me behind my knees and picks me up, our lips never parting, and carries me to my bed. We fall together, and he stretches over me. Then he breaks our kiss and looks at me through his fall of lush black hair. His face is half cast in shadow, and it's nothing but a straight-up turn-on. He studies me long, hard, and I writhe with anticipation beneath him. Bracing his weight with one arm, he caresses my face with one knuckle, drags it across my lips, then down the column of my throat. Neither of us breathes a word. I'm afraid to. I don't want this to not be real. . . .

“Do it now, Eli,” a strange female voice echoes from the shadows.

Eli goes totally still above me. Who the hell's voice is that? Eli's strength radiates through his body, making him quiver.

“Do not make me say it again,” the female voice commands. “Now.”

A single headlight beam flashes across the interior of my room, and illuminates Eli's face for one half split second. But I see it. I see it clearly. I see him clearly.

His face and body are marred by singed slashes. His jaw is extended, a row of sharp teeth dropped to jagged points. His eyes are . . . black as pitch.

He knows I know. He grabs my throat with his free hand and jerks his face to mine. I scream. Grab his hair from the back and yank his head away. I flip him, now straddling him. He screams, his head rolling side to side so fast it blurs. And it's a bloodcurdling sound I've never heard before. I scream, too. . . .

“Riley!”

I'm flipped onto my back, and the harsh impact of my shoulder blades on the floor makes my breath wheeze out. A sharp slap against my cheek burns and makes my foggy vision begin to clear. The light from a swag lamp above me makes me squint. I see clearly now. Noah is on top of me, holding me down.

“Are you back?” he asks. His voice is raspy, tinged with concern.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Get off me.” I give Noah a shove. He jumps up and extends a hand. I take it, and he pulls me up. I'm groggy, as though I've been sleeping for days. With the pads of my fingertips, I rub my eyes.

“Twenty-eight hours to be exact,” Noah says. Never does he miss an opportunity to read my mind. I'm most vulnerable when I just awaken from one of my fallout sleeps. Jesus, twenty-eight hours. Wasted. “And a lot's happened since you passed out.”

I look at him. “Like what?”

Noah shakes his head. “First, what'd you see?”

I notice that I'm still fully dressed, minus the leather jacket and boots. We're standing in the small living room, finished in blue-and-black plaid. I walk toward what I hope is the kitchen, find the fridge, and thankfully, Noah's bought a gallon of milk. I twist off the plastic cap and raise the jug to my mouth. Ice-cold whole milk pours down my throat, and I'm a half gallon down by the time I pull it away.

“I was with Eli, back home,” I begin after wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “He was . . . perfect. Unmarred.” I shrug. “He was my Eli. Then he changed. His skin was slashed with those blackened singe marks, like he had in the church when I pulled him out. He morphed, full-vamp changed on me.” I meet Noah's gaze. “Someone commanded him to hurt me. A female. After that, he did try to kill me.”

“It was a dream, Riley,” Noah says. “Nothing more.”

I take another gulp of milk, screw the lid back on, and put it back in the fridge. Turning, I lean against the counter and cross my arms over my chest. “I don't think so. He's alive, Noah. Vic's alive. He somehow zapped clear over to Romania once I cleared him of that alternative world. Eli is . . . somewhere else.”

“Where?” Noah asks. “Any clue who the female is?”

I press my fingertips to my temples and rub hard. Woke up too fast. Head is splitting. “Hell if I know.”

“So you think he put that dream in your head?”

My eyes flash open and I stare at my partner. My friend, too. Noah Miles would lay down his immortal life for me. Without a doubt, he would. I don't believe there's anyone or anything that could stop him. And that's a little frightening. “Or the female. I just don't know.”

Noah's face tenses, and I can tell my words trouble him. Troubles me, too. “Let's get Inverness handled,” he says, turns me around, and takes over rubbing my temples. So easily, he could squash straight through my skull and into my brain. But he won't.

“That's really, truly gross and disgusting,” he says, and turns me back around to face him. “But it's nice you trust me.” He gives me a somber look. “We'll get all this figured out,” he says. Surprisingly, I'm comforted by that. “Until then, we've got work to do. You've taken one rogue out. I've taken another two.”

“Two?” I repeat.

“Yeah, they seem to be unrelated, and both newbloods. One of them crazy and big as shit,” he says, shaking his head. “No pattern with their targets, except all hits at night.” He eyes me. “Could be an older one transformed a handful of newbloods, and they've all just struck out on their own. Like I said, no pattern to their kills, and they've all been alone. We'll have to hunt like hell until we get them all.”

“We'll have to split up,” I add.

“Not happening,” Noah says. “No way in hell.”

“No choice,” I say. “Besides, do you realize I can hear your footfall from a mile away? I can call your name and you're at my side within seconds.”

“Not seconds,” he counters. “Only if I'm close enough is it seconds. Might take a few minutes if we're on opposite ends of the city. And that might be a few minutes too long.” He shakes his head, one long dread falling from the clip he has gathered at the nape of his neck. “No way, Riley. Get over it.”

“We'll hunt together tonight,” I offer. Besides, I can tell nothing will change Noah's mind right now. No sense in wasting time arguing when there's work to be done. “The city's not too big. Let's just get tonight over with, see what we find, and go from there.” It is a little hard being all WUP business, when all that's on my mind is Eli, where he is, the condition he's in, and how in hell he put that dream into my head.

“All right,” Noah agrees, but his dark blond eyebrows are furrowed into a frown. Those silvery eyes hold mine. “There's takeout in the fridge. Unless you're good to go on all that milk you guzzled.”

I grab the fridge door, open it, push past my partner's specially bagged blood products, and find the white foam container of . . . whatever. I grab it and carry it to the microwave. After it heats, I sit down at the kitchen table and Noah watches me closely as I devour two slabs of batter-fried haddock, a pile of thick chips, and a beef pie. At least, I think it was a beef pie. It all went down so fast I barely tasted the glob of brown sauce and malt vinegar Noah had covered the chips in.

Like my narcoleptic hell, the appetite I wake up to is something uncontrolled, and pretty impressive for a girl. I guess it's my body's way of keeping me in good functioning condition. I honestly can't help it. But my thoughts remain on Eli. Always.

I rise and toss my empty container in the trash, down a warm soda, and throw it away, too. I glance at Noah.

“Give me ten minutes,” I say. “I need to shower.”

“Ten,” he agrees. “I threw your bag in the first room.”