Elle Jasper - Eventide

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I say, and climb from the tub. Quickly drying off, glad I’d pinned my hair up instead of washing it, I change into a pair of sweats, long-sleeved Inksomnia T-shirt, and my black Adidas sneaks, pull my hair into a ponytail, and head downstairs with Chaz. He lets out an excited yelp as I grab his leash and hook it to his collar. We head outside.

The chilly bite sinks into my skin and we take off up the merchant’s drive. As Chaz inspects every little thing, I scan our surroundings. We’re all alone. I allow my hearing to open full blast. At first chaotic, with sounds and voices and music all overlapping, soon it filters, becomes selective as Eli has taught me. I listen for anyone who signals distress—a tinge of panic in their voice, or excited talking, pleading. All I hear is swearing, ice clinking in glasses, idle chatter, a fight between angry guys. Drawing in a lungful of air, I taste the inhalation. Allow it to settle against my tongue. Newlings, I’ve discovered, have a unique scent. Slight though it may be, if I concentrate, I can detect it. It’s not smelly, or pungent, but it’s definitely different from anything else. Tonight, I smell nothing. So far, anyway. I have no idea of the distance my wolflike capabilities and senses are able to travel. Guess I’ll eventually find out.

Chaz takes care of his doggy business, but I’m in no mood to head back inside. Something pulls me, something inside of me. The crisp night and unusual tranquility of the city lure me, and we cross Bay Street and head into the squares. There are scattered tourists on benches or strolling along the walk, a few locals. Time slips by—how much, I don’t know. It has become unimportant. Along with the crispness of October, there is dampness in the air that suggests an approaching storm. Soon, the crowds thin. Loud, drunken laughter spills from The Boar’s Head on River Street. Although I’m on Broughton, it sounds as though I’m right in the bar. I can feel the heat from the patrons’ bodies. Smell their cigarette smoke, their breath, their sweat. Almost taste the alcohol they’ve consumed emanating from their pores on my tongue. Irritation and disgust consume me, and I try to tune those senses out. It doesn’t work. The sounds of the city, the scent of humans, suffocate me. Wait, I’m still human. Aren’t I? Hell if I know what I am anymore. All I know is that I’m unsettled. Confusion makes my brain hurt. I begin to run. To escape.

For a block or two, it’s a slow run, and I’m still vaguely aware of Chaz on the other end of the leash I’m still gripping. At some point, though, I drop it. He follows for a while, but soon he can’t keep up, and I feel glad to be alone. As his single bark echoes off the brick buildings surrounding me, I slip farther into the shadows, away from Broughton Street, away from people. The night envelops me, swallows me up like some ravaged beast, and for a brief second the Eagles’ “Hotel California” plays in my mind. They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can’t kill the beast . For some reason, that line has always freaked me out. I like it. It’s my favorite verse.

The sharp blast of a car’s horn sounds to my left, and for a second I jolt out of the weird subconscious state that I’m in. A Ford Explorer has slammed on its brakes to keep from hitting me. I can’t make out the driver’s words. He flips me off. I make eye contact with him and keep on running. Soon, in the shadows of tall live oaks and wispy moss, I slow to a jog, then a walk. The sounds that plagued me earlier are now a dull hum, and within minutes fade to nothing. Have I run so far that I’ve escaped the city? People? Am I finally alone?

Then, a heartbeat. Not mine. Someone else’s. Steady. Strong. Ahead of me.

I follow.

The small town of Thunderbolt. That’s where I am. As I move beneath the sparsely spaced streetlamps, I watch ahead of me. Male. Young. Early twenties. His tall, lanky figure casts a long shadow as he jogs. A rain begins to fall. Light at first, then more steady. It lifts the jogger’s scent and wafts it to me. I inhale deeply. Sweat. Soap. I inhale again.

Blood.

I grow closer. Twenty feet. Ten feet.

A strong hand encircles my arm and jerks me to a stop. I’m aware of very little around me, save the jogger getting farther away. Rain slides down my cheeks, drips off my nose, plasters my hair to my scalp. My eyes remain fixed on the jogger.

His scent remains fixed in my nostrils.

“Riley!” an angry voice growls in my ear. The grip tightens on my arm. Shakes. “Riley! Look at me!”

When I don’t, the hand belonging to the voice grips my chin and physically turns my head. Large hands grasp both sides of my face, tilts it up. Uses his thumbs to brush the water from my eyes. He’s standing close, intimate. I’m staring, but not seeing. All I can hear is the sound of a heartbeat growing farther and farther away. It fades to nothing, and for a split second, my mind goes totally blank.

Slowly, the sounds of the city, the scents surrounding me, filter in. The blankness lifts. A horn blasts. A door slams. Somewhere, someone is whistling. I blink several times. These sounds are familiar.

“Riley?”

Eli’s face comes into focus. Dark brows pulled together, the streetlamp’s shine winking off the silver hoop. His face has hardened in anger. Or is it worry? His hands caress my face, so I guess it’s worry. Why he’s in that state, I haven’t a clue.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Eli’s look is…invasive. I know he’s probing my mind. Yet it seems he struggles this time. “What are you doing out here, Riley?” he asks. “Chaz showed up at Inksomnia alone.”

I glance around. How’d he get away from me? I shrug. “Went off chasing a squirrel. Yanked the leash right out of my hand. He’s done it before.” I give Eli a reassuring smile. “See what a smart boy he is? Went straight home.”

Eli’s frown deepens. “You’re out in the rain,” he says, “your mind is blank and you’re stalking some jogger.” He peers down at me and a wet hank of shaggy midnight hair falls across his eyes. “You weren’t aware of your surroundings, Ri. Or of me walking right up on you.”

Again, I shrug. And chuckle. “So now I’m a stalker? That’s just crazy, Dupré.” I sigh and give him a long look. “I’m fine, Eli. I was just lost in my thoughts is all.” I play-punch him in the arm. “You worry like an old lady.”

Eli’s eyes don’t leave mine. Even as we both stand in the rain, he studies me. “Did you know that guy?” he asks.

I glance around, my eyes seeking the dim streets beneath the lamps. I see no one. “What guy , Eli? I was just out for a run. Nothing more. Nothing less. Can we get out of the rain now?”

Eyes on fire search mine. The black T-shirt Eli’s wearing clings to his body from the rain, and every muscle there is perfectly etched beneath the thin cotton material. I look at him. He looks at me. His eyes narrow.

Finally, he drops his hands, lets my face go. “Home. Now.”

Home. Eli has pretty much moved in, and it’s worked out so far. We take off at a jog in the now steady drizzle, Eli purposely one step behind me. Within minutes we’re crossing Bay and easing over the cobbles to the merchant’s lane, then to Inksomnia. As I move to open the door, Eli stops me. I look up at him.

“What?” I ask.

After several silent moments, he shakes his head. “I’m having trouble reading you,” he says. A frown still tugs at his mouth.

I smile. “And that’s a bad thing? Hmm. I get my private thoughts back. How…ordinary.”

With his knuckles, he skims my jaw. “I don’t like it.”

I grab his hand and lace our fingers together. His are, as always, lukewarm, steely-strong. “Tough.” I open the door and pull him inside. Chaz is there and immediately barks. Next, Seth and Josie are in the foyer, right behind him.