Elle Jasper - Eventide

The moment my words sink in, I can tell. Eli’s eyes glaze over as he stares at me. I know he sees me, knows I’ve used something on him, and that he hears and knows everything around him. He’ll be pissed. I can’t worry about that now. I waste not even a second. I turn and run from my apartment.

Pelting rain slashes in stinging bullets as I kill the motor of the nineteen-foot skiff I borrowed from Bell’s Landing and let it slide onto the deserted beach of the research facility. One of the smaller barrier islands, it was purchased years ago for the sole purpose of using it for the facility. I can’t imagine what Valerian is using it for. Doesn’t matter. He knew exactly what to use to get me here, and it worked just as well as if he had used mind control on me. Grabbing the rear anchor, I plop it into the water and tie it off. I pull the drain plug and jump out.

No sooner do my feet hit the sand than six newlings descend from the trees. I sense them before they drop to the ground. Crouching, I whip out two blades and down two newlings before they attack me.

Surprisingly, I’m not killed.

Ah, you trust me, Riley. That touches me deeply. It truly does. So to show you my good faith and word, I’ll send your beloved surrogate grandmother back to the mainland with a trusted servant. You’ll remain here. With me. Understood?

“I want to see her,” I say, and I glance around, searching for Valerian. Instead, a newling emerges from the palm fronds and scrubs, leading a slow-walking Estelle.

“Baby, why you come here?” Estelle says angrily. “I told dat evil boy you wouldn’t do it.”

I struggle against my attackers. I have to stop and think about what’s inside of me, what grows and changes daily. I’m strigoi. I’m Arcos. I’m Dupré. I’m Gullah.

A deep breath, and I summon all of my strength. Although it takes four newlings to hold me, I knock them all in different directions. I take off, send the last newling sprawling, and pull Estelle into a fierce hug. “Grandmodder,” I say, checking her over. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, girl, yes,” she says, and I can hear the relief in her voice. “I’m fine, now, stop all dat.” She looks at me, her ebony face smooth, her eyes searching mine. “You shouldn’t have come here, dat’s right. You shouldn’t have.”

I hug her again, drawing in the familiar scent of Downy and Gullah herbs. “No way would I let them keep you out here, Grandmodder. No way.”

I’m waiting, Riley. I don’t like to wait.

A newling appears—young, no more than nineteen, wearing ripped destroyed jeans and a leather jacket. Although not morphed completely, his eyes are white, pupils pinpoint and fire red. He looks to be in a trance as he moves toward the skiff.

“No way am I letting my grandmother get into a boat with him,” I say out loud. “Hell no, Valerian.”

He’s perfectly capable, Riley. Trust me. I’ve instructed him to take her straight to River Street. He’ll help her up the dock and off to her home she can go. I give you my word.

“No, baby,” Estelle says. “Come with me.”

I kiss my surrogate grandmother on the cheek. “I can’t.” I smile at her. “But it’ll be okay. I promise. Now go quietly, please. I’m begging you.”

Without another word, the newling grasps Estelle by the arm and leads her to the skiff. As though he’d been around boats all his life, the newling pulls the anchor, plugs the drain, and starts the motor. Estelle’s gaze stays on mine until they’re out of sight.

The moment I let down my guard, something plunges into my neck. A pinprick. A needle. A dart. I don’t know. But in seconds, I’m slipping to the ground…

Something hot and wet trails my cheek and rouses me from a drug-induced slumber. Forcing my eyelids to open, I squint into the near darkness. I try to move, but I’m shackled to a cot. The room is cold. Damp. Smells moldy. I turn my head.

And stare into a pair of dark eyes. Human. With tendencies.

“Awake now, are ya?” the man, apparently a guard, whispers in my ear. “‘Bout goddamn time.”

My first reaction is to bite off his damn ear, then head-butt him into oblivion. He can see me in the moonlight, but I can see only his shadowed shape. With my arms and legs bound, I can’t budge.

Instead, I slide him a slow, sexy smile. I trace my bottom lip with my tongue. “God, you smell good,” I lie. “Come closer.”

The guard pauses, probably stunned from what I’ve said, but then his brain cells rush to the winning muscle and he leans over me, just like I ask. “Yeah? You think I smell good?”

“Um-hm,” I croon, thanking God above that the man indeed didn’t smell overly stinky. “I bet you taste even better.”

Again, he pauses—but only briefly. His mouth moves to mine. “Why don’t you find out?” Moving a hand to my breast, he squeezes it hard and shoves his tongue in my mouth.

Biting back the urge to barf, I kiss him back, a furious, fast kiss, just to turn him on. It does. He gropes at me then, lifting my shirt and pushing my bra up, ignoring the tape wrapping my ribs, and grasping my bare breast and squeezing. He moans, and starts to climb on top of me. “You’re gonna like this, baby,” he grunts.

Fighting back the urge to kill him now, I move my mouth to his ear. “Wait,” I whisper, licking his earlobe. “Slow down.” I bite the shell of his ear to get his attention. “This would be a lot more fun if I weren’t tied up. Don’t you think?”

The guard, silhouetted by the light coming down from the ceiling, grunts. “You might get away. Then my ass is fried.” He bends his head and tries to kiss me, but I move my mouth.

“I’m just a girl. I can’t possibly get away from you. Besides,” I say, breathing hard, “why would I want to? I’m wet and horny as hell.” I move to his ear once more and give a whispered moan. “And I want to fuck your brains out.”

“Jesus God, woman,” he says after a second. Fast as he can, he pulls something out of his pocket. “Hold still.”

A pair of cutters clips through the thick plastic tie-wraps binding my wrists and ankles. As soon as I’m free, he throws them to the floor and falls upon me. Again, I give just enough to keep him interested, then push him away.

“Wait a minute,” I say in a fake, excited breath. “Not so fast.” I reach between his legs, grab his arousal, and give an even faker moan of sexual impatience. “Let me get on top.”

“Kinky bitch, ain’t ya?” he says. “With that weird tat on your face. What other tats you got, babe?” He chuckles. “Okay, whatever you say.” He rises, allowing me to move out from under him, then he takes my spot, on his back. He gropes himself impatiently. “Hurry up. I’m about to spurt in my goddamn pants.”

The moonlight spreads over him now, illuminating some of his features. Crew cut, mid-forties—an average-looking man. A pervert. A pervert with tendencies.

Internally repulsed by the disgusting threat of spurting, I sling one leg over his hips and straddle him, wriggling against his rising erection. He grabs my hips, shoving me harder against it.