Eventide (Dark Ink Chronicles #3)

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.”