A few groans go through the crowd, and Nyx waves to them. “Hey! We have a few postcards over here with Riley and me. You can see the dragon perfectly!”
Everyone moves to the sales counter, and Nyx shows the rack of postcards. She glances at me, and I mouth thanks.
I don’t understand it, but the rest of the day passes smoothly. I have no further episodes. No further cravings. Heartbeats recede. Only normalcy.
I don’t break for lunch but work through instead. By six p.m. I am wrapping up my last client: a Savannah College of Art and Design, better known as SCAD, student with a dainty black butterfly arm cuff. Her arm is as big around as a pipe cleaner, so it doesn’t take me long. I apply her ointment, cover with gauze, and give her instructions. In the fading light falling on Savannah, she walks down the sidewalk, happily chatting on her cell, stretching her arm out and admiring her art through its gauzy cover.
My memory skips back to the past, when Nyx inked my dragons. I remember not being able to stay away from mirrors, I wanted to look at them all the time. To me they meant struggle, conquering demons, strength. Empowerment. I was so proud of them. I am proud of them.
A ping of envy hits me. I used to have a normal life, where a little body art made my day, made me happy beyond belief. I enjoyed Sundays with Seth, with Preacher and Estelle, and chillin’ on the floor of my living room with Nyx, sketching designs. Cramming slice after slice of pizza in our mouths. Taking Chaz for walks. I want it all back. I want it all the hell back.
I’ll never have it back.
“How are you feeling?” Eli asks. His hands move to my shoulders and he squeezes gently.
Moving out of his grasp, I start cleaning up my station. “Better. Are we heading out tonight?” Meaning, are we tracking newlings.
“Are you up for it?” he asks.
I glance at him. The lines of worry mean he really doesn’t want me to go. But I’m going anyway. “Absolutely.”
Nyx’s client leaves and she shuts and locks up the shop behind him. My friend, dressed in the style of a street mime from the fifties with black skinny jeans, black loafers, and a white and black striped shirt, minus the white painted face, turns to face me. Her high ponytails on either side of her head swing with the movement. “Riley, are you sure? I don’t think you’re well. You could”—she waves her hand in the air as if trying to imagine something—“fall from a building or something if you have an episode.”
“I don’t have episodes, Nyx,” I say, and move to the back and head upstairs. “I’ll be okay. Promise. See ya in the morning,” I call down.
“Bye,” she returns, but I’m already in my room changing.
In nothing but my bra and panties, I stand before the floor-length mirror and start fitting the blade sheaths to my waist, thighs, ankles. In the next second, and so fast that I didn’t even see him enter the room, Eli stands next to me, my shoulder harness in hand. He helps me into it, adjusts the straps, and secures it in the front. One by one, he fills the sheaths with pure silver blades. His eyes are on mine the entire time.
The fact that he’s so close to them makes me pause. “I can do that,” I say, but Eli continues anyway. I let him. When the last blade is secure, he pulls my face to his and kisses me. For a moment, I lose myself in his possessive seduction. His tongue on mine. Teeth grazing and tugging my lips. Strong hands drag across my abdomen, my hips. Then, he envelops me in his embrace. My blades press tightly against my skin at his weight. Everything he does, I realize, proves his love for me. Proves his possessiveness for me. And I can’t even return the verbal sentiment? Worse yet, his over-protectiveness is starting to really grate on my nerves. God, I’m such a bitch. A messed up one at that. Damaged goods to the nth degree.
“You’ll run with me tonight,” he whispers against my temple. “Until I’m sure you’re okay, the only thing you’ll do alone is pee.”
I laugh, because Eli knows how I love my bathroom privacy. “I’ll run with whomever I want to, and you bet your ass I’ll pee alone. Goddamn, Eli, give me a freaking break, will ya? I’m fine. I can handle myself. Your own parents have taught me how. So, seriously. Step off a bit. Okay?”
Eli pulls back, holds my face in his hands, and studies me for several long moments. His eyes search mine. “I won’t lose you, chère,” he says, his French accent thicker. Demeanor determined. “I won’t. But you can have your space. As long as everything goes smoothly.”
I’m not that kind of girl who enjoys being the victim. I don’t need the stereotypical knight in armor to rescue me. I am a strong, independent woman who has no problem handling her own goddamn self. But, I admit—this feels…nice. Eli is the epitome of strength, and I trust him completely. I revel in his embrace for a few more moments because somehow, I have another feeling, boring deep into the pit of my stomach, that this won’t last.
Or at the very least, I won’t remember it.
My annoyance dissipates momentarily, and I thread my hands through Eli’s crazy, sexy hair, pull his mouth down to mine and kiss him thoroughly. He sighs against me, a deep groan inside his chest letting me know precisely what the gesture does to him. I end the kiss, smile, and move to my closet to get dressed. Eli watches in silence as I pull on a pair of low-waist khaki cargo pants, a snug black long-sleeved spandex shirt, and my worn Vans. Strapping on my holsters around my thigh, hips, and shoulder, I slide the sharp silver blades into place. The night will hide my weapons, so no need to wear a coat over them. I redo my ponytail, pulling the band snug, and I’m ready to go. When I get downstairs, Luc is just coming inside with Chaz. Nyx is sitting in the foyer, staring at me.
“I thought you were headed home,” I say. I can tell by Nyx’s expression that I’ve hurt her feelings.
“She’s going to stay with Mama and Papa,” Luc says. “I don’t trust Valerian not to seek her out again, despite the Gullah charms protecting her place.”
I simply nod. “Good idea.”
Nyx jumps up and faces me. “Be careful tonight, okay?” she says, and pulls me into a hug. I hug her in return, but only briefly. I fear what happened earlier might repeat itself. I sense my lucidity is slipping. I really hate that.
I look at my best friend and smile. “I will. And I love ya for caring so much.”
Nyx beams. “Love you too.”
I hate that my confidence and assuredness seem so fake and put-on to me, but right now, it does. I know this other thing exists inside of me, and it grows stronger. I fear losing my loved ones. I fear losing myself.
I have no choice but to fight it.
Fight it, and fucking win.
Nyx and Luc take off on Luc’s bike. Eli and I take the Jeep. Within minutes we hit Monterey Square. I pull into the Duprés’ drive and park. Zetty and Riggs get out of Zetty’s truck. The Tibetan one-time bouncer for the Panic Room club had nearly become a newling but was also cleansed by Preacher, along with me, Seth, and Riggs. Now he’s a human with wicked tendencies. We exchange greetings and head inside.
Zetty’s eyes are on me the whole time. He’s hard not to stare at, with his unique Shiva patterns tattooed across his forehead. At the advice of Gilles, Zetty had decided to wear less attention-grabbing clothes. Out with the traditional Tibetan wear, in with pretty much all black attire. Blend in with the shadows, so to speak. His long single braid down his back still gives him that unique and exotic look. Zetty is a badass. With or without tendencies. With them, though, he’s a lethal badass. I’m glad he’s on our side.
We don’t speak. Simply bump fists as we enter the Dupré house.
I catch Riggs’s eye as I pass. He smiles. I’m surprised the prepubescent little perv doesn’t slap my ass.
He chuckles behind me. If I didn’t know any better I would swear Riggs could read my mind.
Philippe Moreau, the Duprés’ butler and all around trusted man, meets me at the door. His gaze lights over me and he gives a slight nod. “Ms. Poe. Ever so nice to see you.”
“Phil, same to ya,” I say, and it draws the slightest of grins on his usually serious mouth.
Inside, I follow the others upstairs. It’s become sort of our meeting room, along with our training room. Gilles, dressed casually in pressed khaki trousers and a white button-up shirt, stands next to Elise, in classic she-loafers, black dress pants, and a plum silk blouse that accentuates her flawless pale skin. Both bespeak old Southern charm.
“Riley, sweetheart,” Elise says, and grasps my shoulder with her petite hand. “How are you feeling?”
I shoot a look at Eli. He must’ve told her. With a sigh, I nod. “Much better, thanks.”
While Elise Dupré looks sweet and demure, trust me—it’s totally deceptive. She can kick serious, serious ass.
Elise’s brow pinches together. “Something’s wrong.”
I shrug, because I know she’s trying to read my mind and is unable. “It’s a new development I guess.”
“Here, love,” Gilles says, and moves closer to me. “Let me try.”
I almost laugh as Gilles concentrates, staring into my eyes. The only thing he doesn’t do is the hypnotic hand wiggle thing Dracula does. After a few seconds, he huffs. “I cannot believe it, ma chère,” he says. “I’m positive I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” mumbles Eli.
I say nothing but I keep my gaze locked with Gilles’s.
“Very well,” he finally says, and addresses us all. “Ned tells me several rogues have moved into the area, unrelated to the Arcoses. A body was found this morning. Ravaged, with no control whatsoever. The work of a mindless newling.”
My heart leaps, thinking of Bhing. But I’d seen her earlier, so it had to be another innocent. Or had any of it even happened? God, it hurt my head to think of it. Bhing hadn’t acted any different toward me. Maybe it’s all in my mind.
“I suggest we split up into threes,” says Phin, perched on the windowsill. “Eli, Riley, and Riggs. Me, Seth, and Josie. Luc and Zetty, you’re on your own.”