Eventide

Part Five Carpathians

The voices. They’re back. So I’m not dead after all. Or, maybe I am and this is what Hell is like at first. A load of weird scary shit to make you really think hard about what you did to land yourself a place here. That’s the thing. I don’t know.

I try to move; my arms and legs are tethered. I try to crack open my eyes, but still I see nothing but darkness. Yet…I feel movement. Hear whispers. Air brushes my cheek and I feel a presence close.

“Riley,” a deep, slightly accented voice says in my ear. “Can you hear me?”

I’m not sure if I’m who they think I am, but I try to respond. My mouth is frozen, lips won’t move. I try to scream. Nothing comes out.

“Shhh, chère,” the voice says, and I feel a lukewarm hand brush my forehead. “Be still. It won’t be long. I’m right here and I’m not leaving.”

The surrounding noises infiltrate my brain, and I detect a low, constant humming. Almost a whistle at times. I stop fighting, stop trying to see, and just fall back into the shadows.

I awaken to a jerking motion. This time, even for only a few seconds, I can see. I’m riding in something. A car? A train? Feels more like a train, and I can hear that constant clack-clack of the tracks. Where the hell am I? I stretch my eyes open farther, and I can barely see out of the window next to me. It’s light outside. Foggy. And just as I look, we disappear into a tunnel bored straight into the mountain. Then, it’s dark again, exhaustion overwhelms me, and I drift back to sleep with the clack-clack of the train as a lullaby.

When next I awaken, I know nothing except pain. Pain and starvation. Why won’t someone feed me? I want to cry, and no tears will come. Fury overcomes me, and I gather what little energy I have to thrash against bonds still holding me prisoner. I don’t know how long I fight, but it feels like a long damn time. Hands hold me down. Then, a scent washes over me. Exotic. Sensual. Seductive. I feel the fight leave me in hopes of replacing it with whatever accompanies the intoxicating scent. Eventually, though, I tire. I give up. The scent disappears as fast as it came upon me.

More whispers. One voice in particular whispers close to my ear in a language I don’t understand. This one, whoever he is, is pulseless. And he never leaves my side. Always there, always touching. Then, as suddenly as I had awakened, I fall back into a deep, deep sleep.

“Jake, hold her steady,” the accented voice commands.

“Damn me, but I am,” someone responds. “She’s like a rabid fecking dog.”

“Eli, move over,” another male voice says. “I got this.”

“Hell no, Miles,” the accented voice says. “You keep that shit to yourself.”

Male laughter. “It’s either me or Victorian. Which do you prefer, Eli?”

“Neither,” he responds.

More male laughter.

“You boys mustn’t horse around so,” an elderly voice, also accented, commands. “That’s the only bit of Preacher’s herbs we have left.”

“Well, she needed more than I thought she would, Papa,” another replies.

“My father has called,” yet another voice offers. “He wishes us to gather in the library.”

“You don’t have a padded room or something?” another adds. “She’s going to go buck-fuck wild when we turn her loose.”

“We’ll see about that,” another says. “She can’t be all that strong.”

More male laughter.

Energy courses through me now, and I’m angry. Pissed. Three males, all pulseless, surround me in some room I don’t recognize. I’ve got to get out. Get away.

I lunge at the one closest to me and wrap my legs around his neck. We fall to the floor.

“Goddamn!” he mutters, and I twist around his body. In a half second I have him pinned, and just as I’m ready to strike, I’m knocked backward. I land on my feet, dazed for only a second. I lower, crouch, and eye my next target. He’s closest to the window.

I’ll go out of it if I have to.

“Eli, she’s going for the window,” one wisely notices.

I’m already moving. I fake left, bound off first a wooden bench, then the wall, use one male’s chest as leverage and I push off, landing square on the sill in a crouch. I turn, glaring at my captors, daring them to come near me. The one I just pushed off of is just now picking himself up off the floor. I’m barely out of breath. One is moving toward me slowly.

“Noah,” one says. “Watch your back. She’s ready to pounce.”

I seek him out. He grins. “I’m ready for it,” he says. Cocky bastard.

Oh, hell no, he isn’t. In one jerky motion I’m at him, legs wrapped around his waist, his neck in a choke hold.

“Fuck!” he yells, and tries to shake me off. I hold tighter. His arm reaches up to grab me, and I land two punches on his jaw. One more in his eye. All under three seconds. So fast he doesn’t have time to react until I’m already finished. I pull my strength and use his body to push off of. I’m back on the window sill, glaring. Daring.

“Look at her eyes,” another says. “Almost white.”

“Bad juju right there,” the grinning one says. “I mean bad. She’s strong as shit.” He’s rubbing his jaw, smiling at me.

“She needs to be fed,” one replies, and his gaze hasn’t left mine the whole time. “Arcos? You taking care of that?”

“Already done,” he answers. “Hurry.”

I wait no longer. In the next breath I leap upward with all my strength, grasping one long rafter with my fingertips. It’s enough. I pull myself up, then crouch and ease to the far corner of the room, high above all the others.

“Oh, shit,” one says. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

“How the hell are we going to get her down?” another asks.

“We wait,” the one who constantly stares says. “She’ll tire. She’ll get hungry. She’ll come down.”

I peer at all of them from my corner rafter, high above the floor. I’m in the dark, swamped by shadows, but they all can see me perfectly clear. I grasp my beam and hold tight. I sit. I stare. I wait.

“Here. Sit up and drink this. You’ll feel better.”

My eyes crack open, and light pours in. Someone must have pulled me off the rafters. My body aches, and I feel beaten. I squint, blink rapidly, and allow the pulseless male to cradle my head. Something firm nudges my lips, the scent of nutrients stings my nostrils and I open my mouth like a baby bird awaiting a worm. Warm liquid drizzles down my throat. In seconds, I do feel better. No energy, but at least that roaring, fiery pain has disappeared. I drink for a while. Minutes. Finally finished, I drift. Again, I sleep.

“Wake her, Noah,” an elderly accented voice commands.

“All right,” he drawls. “Someone hold this for me.”

“I hate this,” a now familiar voice mutters.

I am awake. I’m just so drowsy I keep my eyes closed. I hear the voices around me. Suddenly, though, I get a whiff of…something. Then, it disappears. Then…an erotic feeling crashes over me and my eyes pop wide open. I stare into the painfully beautiful face of the same man whose ass I whipped the last time. Now, though, I don’t want to fight. I grasp him around the neck, pull his mouth to mine, and kiss him. Hard. He kisses me back, but I barely notice because my fingers are searching for an edge of cloth—his clothes—to yank off. I can’t get enough of him. I find skin. Stomach. Rigid muscles. I grope. He moans. I moan—

“Noah!” the familiar voice warns. I barely hear him, so engaged in disrobing whoever was driving me sexually insane. Just the feel of his tongue against mine nearly makes me orgasm.

“Bind her now,” an elderly voice says. “Bring her to me.”

With my mouth still latched on to my new obsession, my hands are pulled behind me and tethered. My feet are bound. I don’t care. Only when the male I’m sucking on is pulled from me do I become alert. I blink several times, shake my head, and look around. I am put in a straight-backed chair. I watch closely.

I’m in a room. A strange, large, empty room. Windowless. And in it are six males. All pulseless. There’s only one heartbeat within, and it’s mine. So sluggish, it barely thumps five times per minute.

Two elderly males stand close, facing one another.

“Gilles Dupré,” one says. “We’ve but one choice to right this matter.”

The one called Gilles nods. “Oui, Julian. You are unfortunately correct.” He glances at me. “There is no other way?”

The one called Julian shakes his head. He has long, straight silver hair pulled into a silver clip. “No. A force stronger than Valerian’s must enter her, and the only force stronger than his venom is mine.” His gaze passes over me, then over the others before returning to the one called Gilles. “In return for my aid, I require the return of my eldest son, Valerian.” He looks at one of the males in particular. “Unharmed and intact.”

“He needs to be punished for his actions,” that one called Eli demands vehemently. “He cannot simply go free.”

Julian nods. “Of course. And we shall see justice served. Through our counsel, punishment will occur.” He again looks at Gilles. “Agreed?”

Gilles glances at the others, then back to Julian. “No harm will come to this girl?”

Julian gives a slight nod. “I vow it.”

Gilles nods. “Very well, then.”

Julian meets the gaze of one of the males—dark, tall, young. “Victorian?”

“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 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.”

With a single nod, he turns me loose. We continue on in silence.

After a while, the dense wood thins, and a small, ancient-looking village lies ahead in the mist.

“The belfry at the citadel has the most stunning view of all Transylvania over the village and back up to Castle Arcos. Would you like to see?”

Sliding Victorian a gaze, I smile. Then I laugh. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

Victorian stares, confusion making his eyes question.

“We’re in Transylvania. A family of vampires?” I encourage.

Victorian grins.

“And you’re my tour guide now?” I say.

If a vampire could blush, it’d be Victorian Arcos who could pull it off. He smiles. “Of course. And, of course.”

Now that I take a closer look at everything around me—the ancient medieval village, the cobbled streets, the colorful buildings, the old-as-dirt-church and the castle? It totally reminds me of a scene out of Van Helsing. Any minute I expect Drac’s brides to come flying over the belfry to swoop down and nab some dinner from a hapless villager.

“We never feed from our own villagers,” Victorian offers.

I snap my head toward him. “I thought you couldn’t hear my thoughts.”

He blinks, stares at me, and smiles. “Well, I just heard you clear as a bell. It must be your new metabolic changes that have given me the communication back. Sweet.”

“Sweet?” I ask at his use of modern slang. Then I chuckle. Vic makes me laugh.

Just then, the bell in the church tower tolls. It sounds positively spooky.

As we descend from the forest and onto the path leading into the village, I notice my surroundings. Breathtaking hardly describes them.

“It’s true,” Victorian offers. “Our land is second to no other.” With an elegant sweep of his arm, he describes the view. “We’re surrounded on three sides by the Carpathians,” he says in his unique accent, and as I look, I see it’s true. Rigid pikes, most with snowcaps, form an almost complete circle in the distance. “Reminds me a little of the Rockies,” I answer. When I notice Victorian looking at me, I explain. “Big ink conference in Denver.”

“Well, very much like your Rockies, there are large animals in the wood,” he says. “You need to take caution, Riley, when taking off alone.”

“What kind of animals?” I ask.

“Bear. Lynx”—he meets my gaze—“wolf.”

“Warning heeded,” I respond. Suddenly, my brother crosses my mind. Then I look at him. “I need a pay phone.”

Victorian immediately withdraws a mobile phone from his pocket. As we walk toward the church, he punches in a few numbers, then hands me the cell and guides me to sit on a little stone bench facing the cobbled streets. “Just dial your area code and number. I’ll be right back.”

I don’t even think. I grab the phone and dial Seth’s cell. It rings three times before my brother answers.

“Hello?” Seth says.

A whoosh of relief rushes through me at hearing his voice. “Hey, bro. It’s Ri.”

After a moment of silence, he answers. “Riley?”

I smile. “Yeah. How ya doin’, squirt?”

“Riley!” he says excitedly. “I miss you! How—what’s going on? Are you okay?”

I laugh at the excitement in my brother’s voice. I feel like I’m smiling on the inside. “God, I miss you, little brother. Yes, I’m okay. A little weird, but okay.”

“Weirder than before?” he jokes.

“A lot more,” I answer. “How’s Nyx—”

“What do you mean, a lot more?” he asks. Worry now laces his words.

“It’s nothing, Seth,” I say, not wanting to stress out my fifteen-year-old worrywart brother. “Nothing I can’t handle. Seriously.”

“I miss you, Ri,” he says, and for a second, sounds like my old baby brother. Before vampires. “When ya comin’ home?”

“I’m not sure, but soon,” I say. “Nyx?”

“She’s fine,” he answers. “Luc pretty much stays at the shop with her during the day.”

“Good. What else is going on?” I ask.

“It’s…been busy,” he answers. “A lot of activity between here and Charleston. Valerian’s gang has been on the move. We’ve managed to intercept several kills. They’re random and unorganized, almost as if some of the newlings have split from Valerian. Noah’s guys have been here twice. We’ve been there three times and headed back tonight.”

If Noah’s little clan of humans with tendencies have been helping Seth and the others, then Valerian must be out of control.

“How’s Preach and Estelle?” I ask.

“Well,” he sighs, then continues. “Ever since the Gullah killing, things have been tense. I repapered the entire upstairs of Preacher and Estelle’s apartment, and just started on the kitchen. Fresh coat of haint blue on the door and ceiling. And Estelle’s been making some stuff that stinks like crazy.”

Haint blue paint is a Gullah belief; they use it on doors and ceilings to keep the bad spirits out. Estelle is a superb brewer of root potions, but they stink like hell. And work like hell, too.

I close my eyes briefly. “The killing. Tell me.”

“Eli didn’t tell you?”

I sigh. “I didn’t give him a chance. I ran out as soon as I woke up.”

“Woke up from what?” he pushes.

I give up. My baby brother deserved to know. “I had two quickenings to get through. They’re all done now, so no worries. Got it?”

“Two?” he asks.

“Yeah. Another Arcos. And a Dupré. I’ll explain that one later, so don’t ask.”

“Did they hurt you, Ri?” he says solemnly.

“No, Seth. I’m fine. Honest.” I see Victorian heading toward me with something in his hand. “About the killing?”

“It’s been kept quiet, but I overheard Mrs. D. talking to Mr. D. on the phone about it. We didn’t know her, but she was one of the nieces. Seventeen years old. Preacher knows it wasn’t the Duprés. Feels sure it wasn’t you either, Riley. The attacks haven’t stopped though. Seems like someone turns up dead every day, no matter that we run the streets each night. It’s almost like the ones we’ve saved haven’t mattered.”

“They’ve mattered, bro. Every single one matters. And Seth, you guys have to check on Bhing,” I say. “I think she was attacked. She could be in the quickening.”

“Okay. I’ll see about it.”

Victorian hands me something wrapped in a thick brown paper. “I’ve gotta go, bro. I love you. Be home soon. And stay safe, okay?”

“I will, and I love you, Ri,” he answers. “Be careful. And don’t fully put your trust in Victorian. I know he’s there, and that he has helped you. But, I don’t know. Something about him. I’m not sure I like it.”

I smile. “Okay, okay. Got it. Watch your back. And I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The click on the line lets me know my little brother has ended the call. I give Vic back his cell.

“Is all well there?” he asks, then sits beside me.

I shrug and peek inside the paper. A fried dough pie of sorts, and it smells like pot roast inside. “Well, my brother’s okay.” I lift the pie to my nose and sniff, then look at Vic. “But there’s a lot of shit going on. Your brother is on a rampage and doesn’t seem to have his army under control.” My teeth sink into the meat pie, and the moment the spicy flavors hit my tongue, my stomach growls in answer. I had no idea how long it’d been since I’d eaten anything. Normal people food, that is.

Victorian’s chocolate brown eyes stay locked on me. “Yes, it’s a bad situation there. My brother”—he looks away—“is out of control.” He stares off, toward the jagged mountains. “Despite my father’s crassness, he is still very much a believer in following the codes of vampires.” He looks at me then, eyes hardened. “If caught, Valerian will suffer in ways you can’t fathom.”

I continue eating, almost to the point of cramming larger bites into my mouth to feed my starving stomach.

“Good, yes?” Vic asks. He nods in the direction he walked from. “Best baker within a hundred miles.”

I nod in agreement, thinking he has to be right, and continue devouring. As I chew, I glance out over the small village, and the people moving about the cobbled streets. An old woman—red scarf tied over her hair, a brown dress and brightly colored apron tied over the front, and a woolen sweater, with sturdy, shin-high black boots—hustles across the street with surprising agility. As she passes us, she glances first at me, then at Victorian, and then mumbles under her breath.

“May God walk with me through this dark place, to my house of prayer,” she says, quietly but audible. Then she moves fast into the little church and disappears behind a thick wooden door that looks as though it has been around since King Arthur.

“Do many people here speak English?” I ask, and finish my pie.

“She wasn’t speaking English.”

I swallow and wipe my mouth. “What was she speaking then?”

Victorian grins. “Romanian. Seems like you’ve picked up a little trait from my father.”

“Great,” I answer. “Can’t wait to see what else pops up.” I stand and look around. “All right, Vic. I’m gonna head out.” I give him a quick look. “I need a little time alone.”

“Wait,” Victorian says, and leans close. He lays a hand against my shoulder. “There’s something else I should warn you about.”

I give him a skeptical look. “What else could there be? That I now have three powerful strigoi bloodlines converging with my own? Yes, I know. Yes, I’ll be careful—”

“You may experience things,” Victorian says, ignoring my rant. “Out-of-body type of things. You will see more than just through another’s eyes,” he says seriously. “You’ll actually be there. Or so it will seem.”

My mind doesn’t grasp this at once. “You mean…like becoming two people? Me and someone else?”

He shakes his head. “No. Almost like…converging with another’s soul. You’ll be inside of them, hearing, seeing, feeling everything that they do. Only they won’t know you’re there.”

I rub first my eyes, then my forehead. “That’s…sick. Any way I can avoid it?”

A small smile tips the corner of Victorian’s mouth. “Hardly. But you can learn, over time, how to control it. You’ll have to. Because although the soul and body you’re visiting can’t hear or see you, they feel your emotions. Whatever you experience, they experience.” He shrugs. “If you’re frightened, they’re frightened. Heart rate speeds up, breathlessness, adrenaline.”

I shake my head. “Why?”

Again, he smiles, and it’s more of a regretful type of smile than anything else. “Because it’s what the strongest of the strigoi are capable of. They do it on purpose to gain control of their victims.”

I think on that for a moment, and then look at Victorian. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

He nods. “I will see you later, love. Be careful. And watch for the bears and wolves.”

The feeling that I need to heed way more than Romanian carnivores strikes me full force as I take off at a slight jog along the path out of the village.

I run toward the ridgeline of the Carpathians in a hurry.

To what end? I have no freaking idea.