Eventide: The Dark Ink Chronicles (12 page)

“Is that what you’re into?” a voice says close to me. “Geeks?”

I turn and look up. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Lean build. Sluggish heartbeat.

“Maybe,” I answer, and lean closer. “I’m into a lot of things.”

The stranger’s pupils dilate, just a fraction.

Just then, a siren goes off overhead, followed by an announcement over a loudspeaker. When I search the room, I notice some guy wearing a
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE
T-shirt and a big goofy-ass grin standing at the mic. “We’ve had another sighting! This one near Mobile, Alabama, and more than twelve people saw the lights!”

A huge roar went through the crowd as they cheer. I can’t help but glance around at the people packed into the club.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I mutter.

A large hand skims my hip. “You wanna leave?” the guy says against my ear. “With me?”

I brush his stomach with my fingertips. Not an ounce of fat. Nothing but rigid muscle. “Hell, yeah,” I say in a low voice. “And don’t make me beg.”

The stranger stares at me for a moment, grins, then grasps my hand. I allow him to lead me through the crowd of
X-Files
dorks and to the front door. We push out into the night, and I only vaguely notice it’s warmer
than usual. Warm and muggy, as though rain is close, hanging in the air. Threatening.

I like threatening.

The swoosh of his blood through his veins echoes inside my head. I hear it. Feel it.

Taste it.

And goddamn, I want it.

We’re walking beneath the shadows of the overhanging oaks now, and in midstride the stranger stops, turns, and slides his hands over my hips, pulling me against him. “What’s your name?” he asks seductively. His fingers trail up my ribs. In the darkness, I can’t see anything but his silhouette.

As I stare at him, a blank, hollow feeling washes over me. Forcing my brain to concentrate, I think. It’s no use. I’m empty. Tapped out. In other words, I have no fucking clue who I am. Why can’t I remember my own name? I look around me as if I expect my name to be written on something, like the trunk of a tree, the side of a building. I see nothing. I know even less.

“Hey,” the guy says, leaning his head close to mine. I am still staring at him, but blankly. After a few moments, his features focus. “It’s okay.” He begins to walk backward, pulling me along. “Doesn’t matter.” He stops, turns, and backs me against a moss-covered brick wall. It’s dark. No lights. A few sparse drops of rain fall through the canopy of oak. The scent of brine and wet vegetation permeates the air. The stranger lowers his head and kisses me.

I kiss him back.

Unfamiliar hands slide up my stomach and over my breasts, and I moan and push into him. We kiss, grope, touch until we’re both breathless. He rests his forehead against mine. “Wanna go for a ride?”

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I’m doing. I want something. And it’s something he’s not going to want to freely give. I’ll have to take it.

I will take it.

“Yeah,” I say breathily. “Let’s go.”

I see a white flash in the darkness, and it’s the stranger’s smile. Without words, he pulls me away from the wall and leads me down the sidewalk, around the corner to a row of historic townhomes. On the street, a motorcycle is parked. He pulls me toward it and hands me the spare helmet strapped to the back.

As I pull the helmet onto my head, a vague familiarity washes over me. I’ve done this before. With this guy? Another? Whatever, I’ve done it enough that I don’t even hesitate. The stranger eases onto the bike, I slide on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. In moments we are on some street, heading in some direction or another. I don’t really know or care.

In the end, what I want will be waiting there. Away from the crowd. In private.

I lean against the stranger’s back as we ride, and I feel his heart beating against me. A craving gnaws at me, stirs something
feral within me that is almost uncontrollable. I slowly lower my hands from his waist to his crotch, and the hard bulge I find lets me know he’s ready for me.

Only, he’s not. He’s so fucking not.

His hand leaves one handlebar and covers mine, pressing mine hard against his cock. I can feel anticipation, smell his pheromones, and hear his heart rate increase.

I wait. We continue.

Down a winding two-lane road we travel, and I’ve no idea where we are. Huge mossy oaks drape the street, and we’re hugging tight curves and the river as we go. The bike speeds up, dangerous, reckless, and I find myself liking the feeling.

After one more curve the bike slows and veers right; we pull into a long oyster-shell drive. A small, older concrete house on the river sits beneath several trees, and a long front porch lies open to air. All is dark, save the single yard light high on a power pole. It casts shadows that dance and play with the slight breeze rolling in off the marsh.

The sexual energy literally rolls off of the stranger. I have to wonder if he would be as turned on if he knew I could snap his head off like a dandelion bloom.

I dismount the bike, and he does the same. Immediately, he pulls me to him. Hungrily, his mouth takes mine, his hands move over my ass, up my spine, and the whole while he’s touching me, kissing me, I notice—feel—one thing: his heart. I smell one thing: his blood.

The more frantic he becomes, the more ravenous I grow.

He’s groping me now, through my jeans, pressing his hard cock against me. Somehow, we’re on the porch, and the only sounds are the rush of air through the trees, his heartbeat, and his excited, breathless groans as I press my hand against his stiff ridge. It’s all a game. To me, anyway. It’s the only way I can get what I want. What I need.

But I can’t take any more. Not one more fucking second. His blood rushes with each pump of his heart, and it’s so intense it resonates literally inside my head. Taunting me. Begging me. My head begins to pound, my mouth waters. Shards of light intrude behind my eyes as the pain intensifies, and suddenly, I no longer feel his hands on me. I see him though, barely, and through my fog of delirium, I lunge. We struggle. He screams. All is silent.

A suffocating black shadow of agony swallows me whole.

“Damn it, Riley, wake up!”

Hands on me. Loud voices. I jerk my eyes open and stare, pissed off and confused. In one fluid motion I leap, shove the hands off me, and dart to the corner of the room. So fast is the movement that I barely feel my feet hit the floor. Only now, at the far end of the room, does my vision clear and I see the kid standing beside the bed.

A boy. Dark hair. Lean. Tall. Looks familiar. My brain strains, trying to remember.

My brother
.

“Ri, what’s wrong with you?” he asks. Worry laces each word.

Slowly, I take in the room. It’s my bedroom. I’m in my apartment. Confusion webs my brain like a cocoon. Bits and pieces of memory filter in. “I, uh,” I stutter. “Had a bad dream, bro. That’s all. You scared the hell out of me.” I want to be alone, want him to go away. But there he stands, looking at me. His brows pinch together in concern. I’m sick of him worrying about me so much. It’s starting to get on my last fucking nerve.

Seth moves toward me. “You’ve been knocked out for almost twenty-four hours,” he says.

I glance around the room. How did I lose that much time? “I must be coming down with something,” I say. “Probably the flu. I feel like shit.” I blink. “Is Eli still gone?”

Seth’s eyes rake over me. Weighing me. Considering my words. “Yeah, they’re still on Da Island with Preacher. Maybe you’d better see a doctor, sis. You’re scaring me.”

A cynical laugh escapes me. “Yeah, right. A doctor. That’s what normal people do, Seth.” I give him a hard look and push away from the wall. “We’re not that anymore. Never will be, either. I’ll just sleep it off.” I throw myself back onto the bed.

“You’ve got clients waiting,” he says.

“Later,” I mumble into my pillow. “Tired.”

A few seconds go by. I feel Seth’s hand on my head, stroking my hair. “Come on, Ri. Get up. Please—”

In less than a half second, I turn over and shove him away. Hard. “Get away from me, Seth,” I say angrily. “I fucking mean it. Leave me alone.” My vision is fogging again, and I feel myself being pulled into blackness. I fight it, though, and keep my stare trained on my brother.

Hurt and anger crowd Seth’s young features. “I’ll never leave you alone,” he says with ferocity, then does exactly that and storms out of my room. In seconds I hear the apartment door downstairs slam shut.

Without another thought I turn over and fall right back to sleep. Or, into the pit of darkness. What the fuck ever. Doesn’t matter anymore. Shadows claim me, my thoughts, my memory. I’m aware of my own life force, the echo of my sluggish heart beating, but of nothing around me. Once more, I’m starkly oblivious. I like it like that.

I’m at a party. A ball? A charity? Everyone’s in tuxes and evening gowns, me included. Must be something big. Can’t imagine why I’m here. With a furtive glance, I check out my dress in the mirror I’m standing next to. Long, form fitting, garnet, thin jeweled straps and a plunging neckline. Backless. Slit from the floor to my thigh. Black peep-toe heels. The only jewelry I wear is a garnet velvet choker with a black
stone inset. My hair is pulled up into a loose sort of sexy something, and someone curled my hair leaving long, spiraling hanks of midnight and fuchsia. The makeup is a little heavy, with my lips as garnet as my dress. I barely even look like me, except for the ink. My dual dragons running the length of my arms look wickedly out of place here. I like that.

A man appears beside me in the mirror, and I stare as he glides close to me. I’ve no idea who he is. Hell. I have no idea who I am.

“You came,” he says excitedly.

“Not yet,” I say, and I check him out from head to toe. A little young, but gorgeous all the same. Tall. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Perfectly structured face. “But that could change.”

He blinks in surprise, then gives me a seductive smile and offers me his arm. “Let’s dance.” Inclining his head, his grin widens.

I shrug and accept. “Lead the way.”

He does, and we make our way through a crowd of tuxes and gowns twirling around the dance floor to the music of a live orchestra. Once in the middle, he slows, turns, pulls me close, and immediately and with more grace than I credit him for, begins an unhurried, intimate dance. I let him lead, and I meet his gaze. His brown eyes sear into mine and he studies me with a burning, curious intensity.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he inquires. The hand resting modestly against my back moves lower, urges me closer with the slightest of nudges. His fingers interlace
with mine. His whole presence exudes seduction. He’s very male. Very determined. And very, very horny.

“Not a clue,” I finally answer. “But you seem to know who I am.”

Brown eyes soften as he looks at me, and he smiles wide. “Let’s pretend neither of us knows the other,” he suggests. His accent is…I can’t place it. But it’s unusual, and sexy as hell. “To make it even. Yes?”

I give him a slight nod. “Why not.”

The orchestra plays some old tune I don’t recognize, and my dance partner lowers his head to my ear. Soft, firm lips brush the shell.

“Since we don’t know one another,” he whispers, “let’s go for a walk and get some air.” His lips brush the skin right below my ear. “Become acquainted.”

“All right,” I respond. “Let’s go become…acquainted, then.”

Wordlessly, he slips his hand to my lower back and leads me through the throng of partiers, to a set of French double doors near the back of the hall. Flanked by giant urns of green leafy ferns and marble statues, I can’t for the life of me figure out where I am. Cotillions and soirees aren’t exactly my thing. At least, I don’t think they are. I make eye contact with very few, but it’s because no one wants to look at my eyes. Instead they are fascinated by my dragons. I do notice that although the setting and music are both old-fashioned, most of the dancers are younger. Mid-twenties, maybe?

In the next breath we’re outside. It’s almost as though I somehow changed scenes in a movie. Literally. One second I’m standing inside. The next second, I’m beneath a canopy of moss and oaks, on a stone path through the garden. I glance up and around. The night is dark, starry, and moonless. A marble fountain spurts delicate sprays of water, pink from the lamp beneath the surface. A couple sits on a stone bench close by, their words whispered, muffled. My unknown date leads me past them, and as I glance down I see the woman’s hand grope the man’s crotch. His barely restrained moan reaches my ears. I notice he’s looking dead at me. I also notice his eyes have a sort of…glow.

Soon, we leave the horny couple behind and I find myself completely alone with a total stranger. The slight strains from the orchestra carry along the breeze until it seems we’re miles away from the ball. Shadows fall longer, the wood around the path grows denser.

“Are you afraid?” he asks. We stop. He rounds on me, facing me.

“Of what?” I return.

His hands ease to my hips, skim my bare back, and pull me close. I feel weird, as if I can’t really help my reaction to him. Even when his head lowers, I’m unable to pull away.

“Of loving me more than you love him,” he answers, his lips brushing close to mine, yet not touching them. “I think you are.”

Of him? Who? I can’t seem to help myself. I turn my
mouth to his, and immediately he groans and covers my lips with his. The kiss is slow, erotic, and he takes his time to explore my mouth thoroughly, as if this is the only chance he’ll have. It feels like he’s waited for this moment a long, long time. I find myself kissing him back, and my hands thread around his neck and hold him tightly. Again he groans, and his kiss heightens. His hands slide down my bare back, over my ass, until he finds the slit in the dress and grazes the exposed skin of my thigh.