Darklove

  I stretch my hand out to graze his jaw. “Eli—”

  Oh no, you don’t, Riley. Fight. Get away from him. He’s not your love right now. He’s your enemy. Run. Now. Or all chances of saving him are gone.

  Athios’s words hit me in the gut; it doesn’t take much. I’m not suicidal, or so awash with grief that I don’t want to survive in this chaotic world I live in without Eli. The faces of Seth, my Gullah family, the Duprés, Noah, Rhine—they all flash before me.

  I focus, forcing all of my energy to my core, and when it gathers, builds, and then explodes, Eli is thrown back. I don’t turn around, and I don’t stop to wonder where he was thrown to. I run. Haul ass, straight for the back entrance of the Crachan.

  I’ve got to get the scatha.

  Carrine’s voice catches my ear. “Go after her, imbecile!”

  I know what I’ve got to do.

  When I reach the door, it’s partially open and I hurry inside. The lights are out, and darkness and shadows stretch and distort my surroundings in a building I’m already not overly familiar with. I’m in the kitchen, and the sounds of the fight outside waft in from several broken windows. I push the thoughts and visions aside and make my way to the staircase.

  I’m not alone.

  Eli’s right behind me. There’s no use in hiding from him. I know he can sense me, smell me, just like I can him. On my way through the hall, I grab an iron poker from the hearth, leap over the sofa, and dash for the stairs. Just as I reach them, my arm is grabbed.

  Eli has a tight grip on my wrist.

  Without hesitation, I swing the iron poker and clobber him. His head snaps to the side, and his grip loosens just enough for me to break free. I run. Through the darkness, I take comfort in knowing that, no matter how hideous it sounded and looked, that iron poker didn’t do anything to my fiancé except stun him for a second.

  It’s not like I poked him with silver.

  I’m running up the corridor to my room when I’m slammed into and I hit the wall. A newling. Female. Face distorted, ragged teeth dropped and snapping at me.

  I drop the iron poker, yank a blade from a sheath, and ram it into her heart. As she falls, I leap over her and into my room. Grab my scatha off the bed where Luc left it, and just as I’m slipping the newly packed duffel filled with cartridges over my head, Eli grabs me and yanks me around. His grip is tight. And I’ve dropped my nonsilver weapon.

  He starts to drag me now, back toward the door. Eli’s eyes are bloodred, his expression blank. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, and his biceps bulge as he yanks me hard. My heart plummets; confusion webs my brain, and part of me wants to scream, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him, or hit him, until he wakes the fuck up! Recognizes me!

  “Eli! Please!” I holler.

  For a split second, he hesitates. His grip is still tight, but he stops. Studies me. And confusion flashes in his eyes.

  I don’t waste time. Instead, I focus my energy. It’s happening faster now. I’m gaining more control over my Fallen powers. In the next second, Eli is tossed across the room. I’m stunned at the force and exactness of my powers, but I don’t hang around. I head straight for the window and leap out.

  At the bottom, I land, crouched, and in the middle of . . . chaos. There’s fighting all around me, Ness boys fighting vampires. Blood. Piles of quivering dead newlings. I catch sight of Noah, and Seth and Rhine are close by.

  He turns and sees me, then glances up.

  Eli lands behind me, and I take off. I head straight for Rhine, and he doesn’t even look at me as he reaches into his pocket and throws me the key to his bike. I catch it and keep running, and I jump the last few feet and land, straddling his bike, jam the key in, and hit the engine. Just as Eli nears, I peel out down the drive. No time for a helmet. Eli’s on foot, right behind me. So close I can hear his grunts in my ear.

  I run over two vamp bodies, and hit another one as he surges toward me; then I skid out into the street and take off. Vehicles are sparse, but still on the road, along with trash cans and plastic recycle bins as I nudge my way through and make it to the bridge. I glance over my shoulder; Eli no longer follows on foot.

  But I know he and Carrine will follow me.

  It’s me she wants.

  And I fucking want her.

  I hit the A-9 and let the throttle out. I’m heading for Dingwall, Ivy Cottage, and the standing stones. I’m going into the realm.

  And I know Carrine and Eli will follow me.

  I squint against the frigid Highland wind pelting into my eyes. In my rearview mirror, I see a single headlight. It’s growing closer. Faster. I look straight ahead and pray Rhine’s bike can outrun the one behind me.

  The one carrying Eli and Carrine.

  As I fly through Strathpeffer, then Dingwall, I’m pushing the bike to its limit. It’s pretty fast, and I’m relieved I don’t have to take the time to convince a local cop not to chase me down. Luckily, the cars are few and far between, and by the time I’m heading out of Dingwall and up the steep incline next to the car dealership, there are no cars at all. Ducking my head against the wind, I fly toward Ivy Cottage. At the drive’s entrance, I hit the brakes and skid sideways, coming to a stop. Kickstand down, I grab the key, stuff it in my pocket, and take off up the drive on foot. There’s a light in the living room of the crofter’s house, and I’m hoping he didn’t hear or see Rhine’s bike. It’s dark, and clouds obscure most of the moonlight. But I know where I’m going, and I rush past Ivy Cottage at the top of the hill, jump the sheep’s fence by the barn, and tear up the path toward the stones. In the distance behind me, I hear the roar of another motorcycle.

  I’m running top speed through dead gorse and heather, the big prickly clumps catching my boots so much that I have to take large leaps to get over them without falling. Higher I climb, and before long, the moon slides out of the clouds, and the silhouettes of the stones rise before me. I stop, looking around me as I reach into my duffel, grab a handful of cartridges, and quickly load the scatha. I snap the lever in place and, without a glance backward, step into the stones.

  The air shifts around me; a mist gathers and swirls up, crawling higher and winding around my legs and my torso and obscuring my vision. Then it begins to thin out, before me. Here, time is lost, from the world I just left, and this one. It’s unpredictable, and I might as well not hurry. I’ll fuck up if I hurry, and this is not the time for a fuckup. What I want is coming. Eventually. And I have patience this time. My head is clear. My will is stronger than it has ever been. And I have control.

  I’m facing a slight incline: a hill, with a path walked smooth. I follow it, and notice a black iron gate ahead. As I walk, my fingers tighten around the scatha; my pack is slung over one shoulder. My arms are bare in my leather halter top, and yet the cold doesn’t bother me at all. Walking through the gate, I descend stone steps embedded into the cliffside, and at the bottom, a long, barren street. Abandoned cars line the curb on either side, tires flat, windows broken out, doors and trunks open. At the end of the street, another pair of tall black gates. A cemetery. I’m walking down the center of the street, unwilling to get too close to the buildings on either side. Some have doors; others have black, cavernous mouths. No way am I getting close enough to those, so I stay walking straight down the middle of the street. My gaze roves back and forth, up and down, searching. The building has no glass in the windows. No drapes. No lights. The lone click-clack of my black leather heeled boots against the paved street makes echoes in the silence, the solitude.

  Only then do I see eyes staring at me from the shadowy windows and doorways.

  Dozens and dozens of them. Red. Unblinking.

  Then music. I hear it, coming from some back room in the building beside me. I glance over, the top-floor window glassless and dark, and the music grows louder. Billy Idol. “White Wedding.”

  Then the eyes disappear, and a rustling, scratching noise begins, growing louder and louder, and then out of the doors and windows pours
dozens and dozens—maybe hundreds—of cats. They crawl atop the abandoned cars and line the streets, and their eyes follow me as I walk, as Billy’s voice carries out through the upper window.

  Cats? Am I really going to have to blast cats?

  They don’t set one paw in the street; they stick to the curb. And as I slowly pass them by, they crack open their mouths and smile, their little cat lips pulling back over complete, perfect sets of human teeth.

  They’re not moving toward me, not rushing me. Not attacking me. So I continue on my way to the large iron cemetery arch at the end of the street.

  Then one solitary cat yawns, and its mouth widens to a disproportionate size: a big black jagged, gaping hole that takes up most of its head.

  And it screams.

  At once, they all stand on their hind legs, straight up, and join in the screaming. They look like some discombobulated Meerkat Manor of the alternative world, and the minute they launch at me, I take off. I run, hesitating to use my cartridges on a bunch of fucking big-mouthed cats.

  The first one latches on to my hip, and those human teeth drop long and sharp and sink into my flesh. With my free hand I grab it by the scruff and fling it off, but it’s soon replaced by another, and another, and now they’re all lunging at me from their curbside perches. It’s the first time Billy Idol has ever, ever annoyed me.

  I now have hundreds of vampire cats flying through the air and attacking me.

  I focus, zero in on them, envision in my head a room filled with cats, and I release my energy. The shock wave rocks them all back, sends them flying against the buildings. I run top speed to the iron gates in front of me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the cats are dazed, but shaking their heads and watching me. Then they run after me. I hurry.

  The moment my feet cross the cemetery’s threshold, the cats disappear. I breathe a quick sigh of relief that A: I didn’t have to blow a cat away. And B: I still have all of my cartridges.

  As I glance around, the cemetery shifts, and tall Celtic crosses bend unnaturally to the side and back, and the marble statues, blackened with age, begin to move, walk, drag themselves toward me like stone zombies. Cemetery. Bad choice, Poe.

  Only choice. Consecrated ground. Sanctuary. Better than out in the open, with rabid vamp cats throwing themselves at my throat. I hurry.

  Just as I think, Where the hell is Carrine? she appears. Slipping from behind a leaning crypt, she emerges. She’s wearing clothes similar—no, almost identical—to mine. Tall black boots, leather low-riders, leather halter. Her hair is down, and her eyes are bloodred. Behind her, Eli stands still, watching me. Silent. Silent, but seething in bloodlust. Bloodlust and . . . confusion. He’s fighting her. I can tell it, sense it, feel it. I can feel it where I stand. But will he be able to withstand the brunt of her power if she enforces it? Jesus, I don’t want to kill my beloved.

  “Are you wondering if we just followed you here for the hell of it?” Carrine says to me. She smiles and lifts her hand, pulls Eli’s mouth to hers, and traces his lips with her tongue. She looks at me, slightly shaking her head. “Hardly.”

  I don’t speak. I just watch. I know now that Eli is heavily under her spell. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. And that eases the pain somewhat. My forefinger flips the lever on the scatha, and my palm tightens the grip. I wait. I can’t hit Eli with my aim.

  Carrine laughs. “You’ll hit nothing with that toy, silly girl.” With a swipe of her hand, she sends my scatha flying. The force of her power knocks me back several feet, and I slide against the gravel and rock, slamming into a gravestone. I shake my head, dazed, but I stand. Carrine slowly walks toward me, taking long, exaggerated runway model steps.

  I jump up, face her. She looks at me, first at the ink at my cheek, then at my dragon tails down my arm. Her gaze lifts to mine. “Pity to waste such a . . . unique shell,” she says. “But your blood is much more important. It’s something I must have, you see. To add to mine.” The smile that stretches over her face chills me. “You canna conceive the power your blood and mine combined will produce. It’s almost . . . erotic, the thought of it—”

  I swing with my fist and catch her jaw. Her head rocks to the side, and she snaps her gaze back to mine. She smiles, but her face is contorted with hate.

  In the next breath, she morphs, and she’s ugly as holy fucking hell. Her face shakes and blurs, then elongates; jaws unhinge, and her teeth drop from her bleeding gums in long jagged shanks. Her mouth resembles the cats’: disproportionate and taking up a lot of her face space.

  With as much energy as I can focus, I turn and roundhouse kick her in the mouth. Carrine spins, and when she is righted, her foot is airborne and catches me in the shoulder. I stumble, and she’s lunging toward me, teeth snapping together, coming an inch from my throat. I fall against a crypt and slam her body against it, once, twice. She lets go, and I turn and dive for my scatha. My fingers touch it, but Carrine grabs my ankles and she flings me away from it. I roll, and she hits the ground I just vacated. Leaping up, she faces me. We’re both crouched, eyes trained on each other. Slowly, we circle.

  “You won’t survive me, Riley Poe. I thought I’d never escape that hell Valerian entombed me in.” She laughs, but her gaze is locked solid on to mine. “Much to my surprise, he set me free. Thought his power over me was enough to make me obey his commands.” She laughs again. “What a foolish, selfish little prick he is.”

  “What do you know? We finally agree on something,” I say.

  I stare at Carrine, her lips pulled back into some weird catlike gaping-hole-of-a-mouth specter as an unfamiliar language pours from her lips. A curse? Black magic? I don’t know, and I honestly don’t give a damn. Forcing all of my energy to the center of my body, I draw a deep breath, pulling the energy from my core to my fingertips. I . . . throw it at her.

  And her arms rise, too, and her energy is thrown right the hell back at me.

  Together we stand, our energy forces colliding in an electric punch, and I can feel her severe witchpireness. It’s strong. Tough as shit.

  But she doesn’t have a fiancé. A life. A family.

  Somewhere deep inside me, it all collides together, and like a tornado it rips from my body. Carrine is flung back, far, and her body crashes against a contorted Celtic cross.

  I dive toward the scathe, palm it, and roll to my back. Carrine is in the air, almost upon me.

  I fire. Direct hit, right in the heart.

  Carrine’s scream pierces the air as her body bursts into shards, and by the time the pieces hit the cemetery ground, they’ve turned to dust. It’s like a volcanic ash fallout.

  My body is thrown to the ground, and my head hits hard. Stunned and shaken, I take a second or two to realize Eli has moved. He stares down at me now, has me trapped.

  For some reason, I’m only worried about Carrine. Not once does it occur to me that Eli would be a danger, regardless of whether he knows what he’s doing.

  I know it now.

  I’ve misjudged him.

  Eligius Dupré, my love, my fiancé, may not be under Carrine’s control any longer, but he’s in full-blown bloodlust, and he hovers over me now, fully morphed, his face contorted and disjointed. His red gaze focuses on the pulse at my throat. I dive left, and his hand encircles my ankle and yanks me down, my head slamming into the ground. I feel his hand go around my throat, squeezing, lifting me off the ground. For a split second, I’m eye level with him. His bloodlust ones stare hard into my human ones. He doesn’t see me, Riley Poe. He sees what he craves, what surges within my still-human veins, and his body is propelled by the desire to have it. My blood. Yet he cocks his head to the side, studying me. Again, hesitating.

  Dread fills my insides, even as I slide my hand to the back of my pants and grip the hilt of a silver blade. I ease it out. Without changing expression, Eli’s fingers tighten around my throat, and my eyes bulge from the pressure. His other hand covers mine holding the blade, and he squeezes until the pain is too much and I drop
it.

  He’s going to lunge. Sink his teeth into me. Drain me of blood until I’m an empty shell, then throw me aside. I can’t move. I’m paralyzed. With fear, dread, and an overwhelming broken heart. My brother’s face flashes before me, Preacher’s and Estelle’s, Nyx’s, even my dog Chaz’s. I’ll never see my loved ones again. . . .

  My eyes close. I’m powerless to move him.

  I’m going to die by Eli’s hands. . . .

  Then, unbelievably, he loosens his grip, and I’m free. . . .

  My eyes snap open, just in time to see Eli smash into a tree.

  Standing before me, Valerian Arcos stares down at me. His face is unmorphed, aristocratic, and beautiful. Perfect. He smiles at me, reaches a hand toward me. “Come to me, my love. At last.”

  My feet begin to move. Toward him. His full lips pull over perfect white teeth in a victorious smile. “That’s right,” he croons. “Come here, Riley.”

  I focus. Concentrate. Imagine my core a fireball of energy.

  Valerian merely smiles at me wider. “Stop that, Riley. ’Tis a waste of time. You should know me well enough by now. When I desire something, I get it. Just like I desired Carrine’s power to coerce you into killing Dupré,” he sighs. “Although I didn’t count on him fighting her control so much. Nor her being so rebellious.”

  I glance at Eli, who is standing now. Shaking off his injury.

  “Oh, wait,” Valerian says. “You took care of her rather well, my darling. You have quite the power within in. But trust me. I have full Strigoi in my veins. You’ve got . . . simply a dusting of it. And by the way, your little message to my idiot brother? He always was a weak one. He didn’t have the balls to tell my father.” He shrugs. “Just so you know.”

  I stare at him. Hatred pools inside me. Not a feeling I relish, but I can’t help it.

  “Let’s see here. Ah yes. Let me finish this . . . distraction.” He glances at Eli. “Shall you do the honors?” Valerian asks me. He grins. “Yes. I think you should. I can’t very well be the cause of a vampiric war, can I?”