Free Everdark by Elle Jasper Page B

must have changed the drugs they use to mask your scent.” Light reflected in his deep brown eyes, and they studied me closely, intensely. “I’m glad. I had to see you.”
    A car turned up the street, and the headlights flashed toward us. In the blink of an eye, Victorian stepped in front of me, pushing me backward through the thick, damp grass, and into the shadows of an aged brick historic house that dominated nearly an entire block. The car passed; the headlight beams swept above our heads, and then left us in total darkness. Victorian, who stood at least six feet tall, moved slowly, crowding me and forcing me to back up. I stopped when the brick pressed into my back. I felt completely powerless, as though I possessed zero control of my actions, my thoughts, my new tendencies—almost as if I’d had a stroke. The younger Arcos took full advantage.
    He stared down at me, desire radiating off his body in heady waves. “You torture me, Riley,” he said, his Romanian accent making his words seductive, erotic. “I think of nothing else but you”—he leaned close, his mouth brushing my jaw—“and of what I want to do to you.” His soft lips grazed the skin at my neck, where he lingered, and a flash of fear mixed with an uncontrolled shiver rushed through me. “Of what I dream of you doing to me,” he said at my ear. “It causes me physical pain to stay away, Riley Poe.” His mouth moved to my jaw, dragging his lips to my chin, close to my mouth. “I want you now,” he whispered. “I want to keep you forever.”
    I was shaking, my mind numb, my limbs paralyzed, and sensations tingled across the skin where his lips moved so erotically. I didn’t want this, or his touch. I couldn’t help but crave it. I breathed, squeezed my eyes shut, opened them, gathered my strength—God only knew where it came from—lifted my hands to his chest and pushed. Hard. Victorian flew backward and landed on his back several feet away. He lay there, staring at me and smiling.
    When next I blinked, he stood in front of me, close, crowding me once more, his hands grasping my wrists and grating my knuckles against the brick wall at my back. He lowered his head, his lips whispering against mine.
    “Your tendencies do nothing more than fascinate me”—his mouth moved against mine—“and excite me even more.” He pulled back and looked at me. “What other tricks do you possess that I might enjoy?” His alluring scent surrounded me as his mouth covered mine—
    “Riley?” A hand grasped my shoulder and shook—hard. “Riley, wake up, dammit.”
    I gasped; my eyes fluttered open and I stared, confused, into Eli’s questioning gaze. Behind him, early-morning sun streamed in through my bedroom window, casting a hazy glow on his face. He frowned. “You’ve been dreaming of him again,” he said, his eyes hard and accusing. “Haven’t you?”
    I glanced down. I still wore the same black yoga pants and sports bra I’d gone for a run in the night before. I’d encountered Victorian on that run. Hadn’t I? Or had it all really been a dream? I looked at my knuckles; the skin across them was scraped raw.
    Inside my head,Victorian’s seductive laugh resonated.
    Now, either that little fucker was messing with me, or I was losing my goddamn mind.

Part Three
     
    TERRORS
     
    “Death is when the monsters get you.”
     

—Stephen King, Salem’s Lot
     
“I’ve started having . . . visions. Night terrors.
Day terrors. And they’re not of Victorian. It’s
something—or someone—else; I get the sick
feeling they’re weirdly familiar. I’m seeing in-
nocents die horrible deaths at the hands of a
vicious monster; watching it happen through
my own eyes as though it’s me doing the kill-
ing; as if I’m the monster. I even feel what the
monster is experiencing, and it’s . . . disgusting.
I’m not kidding—something’s gotta give be-
cause I can’t freaking take it anymore.”
     

—Riley Poe
     
     
    B y