Eventide

—Jake Andorra



The one thing that I severely notice as I run is that my heart maybe beats about ten times per minute. I’m pretty sure any cardiologist would love to see that in action. I guess I’m lucky the damn thing beats at all.



As I slip into the forest on another worn path leading up and through the dense wood, Victorian’s words echo in my head. “…although the soul and body you’re visiting can’t hear or see you, they feel your emotions. Whatever you experience, they experience.” I’ve sort of had that already. Valerian’s thoughts and actions were ones I could see, and feel, right after he was released from his tomb and started preying on innocents. I could feel what they felt, see what they saw, but I was me. I tried to warn them, to run, but they couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t control them, either. I was an invisible bystander, but I couldn’t stay out of the situation. Hopefully, with this, I’ll learn. I can’t imagine just…falling into someone’s body. Into their psyche. That’s utterly weird.



The dark bracken crackles beneath my booted feet as I run through the wood. I pick up speed—which seems to grow faster than ever with each step. I mean, ridiculously fast. So much that the trees and bushes and rocks blur. My reflexes are lightning fast, and I impress myself by not slamming into even one low-lying limb. I bound off trees and rock, and leap over anything within my path. I feel strong. I feel good. Fucking good.



I don’t know how long I run, but it’s a damn long time. What little light filters through the trees begins to fade; the mist grows thicker. I slow my pace. I’m completely lost and I don’t even care because somehow, I’m fearless, even here. I can find my way back. I glance upward, through the canopy of leaves, and watch a crescent moon begin its ascent.



I feel his presence before I see him, so I slow, then stop.



Eli emerges from behind the trunk of an aged fir tree and I feel the adrenaline surge through me. Just seeing him does that to me, and I can’t explain it other than that he makes me feel. It seems so long since we’ve been together, and to myself, I admit: I miss him. Miss the hell out of him, actually. I know that what he did, he did for me. For my benefit alone, not for him or anyone else. No way could I ever stay angry at that, and I’m not so sure why I was so pissed to begin with. No, that’s a fat lie. I do know why. Because he freaking bit me. I do understand why, though. I know he did it because he loves me. Deeply. I get that.



As Eli stands, he says nothing. Only stares. And waits. The wood surrounding us is wildly alive, yet acutely silent. Suddenly, his presence overwhelms me. It almost…crowds me.



His eyes say everything.



Instinctively, I go to him. As if I’m just laying eyes on him for the very first time, I’m drawn to his scent, his eyes, the shape of his jaw, the fall of his hair. He mesmerizes me, and yet now, I know him. I know his behavior. I know what’s in the heart he swears he doesn’t even have. I know his soul that he swears is hell bound. He’s wrong about that. Never have I met a more caring soul. I crave him even more than before.



The moon, rising higher, bathes Eli in a silvery hue, making him look like the surreal, mystical, cryptic vampire he is.



Every bit the fierce and loyal vampire he truly is.



Magnificent.



It makes my heart race.



A biting wind whips through the air, stirring the canopy above, and carrying with it anticipation, excitement, as though the wild Carpathians knew what was up, what was about to occur, and waved their encouragement.



An ancient feel accompanies that wind, and it makes a tingle cross my spine, wrap around each vertebra, and nip. I’ve gone too long without Eli, without feeling like myself, and although I don’t even know who myself is anymore, there is one constant now that feels right. Him. I shiver, and Eli grasps my fingers as though he knows, without words, without being able to read my mind, what I feel. He probably does. Silently, we walk. I’m not sure how long we walk like that, fingers laced, shoulders brushing, but it’s a while. How Eli knows where he’s going is a mystery to me. I simply trust him and soon, a small stone lodge appears. Smoke trails from a single chimney. It’s not the same place he’d taken me to before. Without a word, he leads me up the walk and through the front door. Inside, all is dark except the embers burning red in the hearth.



He retrieves a large quilt thrown over the back of a sofa, and he lays it on the floor in front of the fire. Kneeling there, he grabs a poker and stokes the embers, adds a log until the flame grows. I stand silently, watching the play of light lick his face, his jaw, and throw his eyes in shadow. To me he is the most breathtaking soul I’ve ever laid eyes on. Then Eli rises and turns. His eyes lock on to mine. We say nothing. Only stare.



Everything freezes in that moment as Eli stands, staring, the light from the fire glinting off his hungry eyes. Ancient eyes that know secrets, have powers, have seen so many things. He could have anything and anyone in the world that he wanted. A rich, high society, untarnished young woman, maybe.



Yet, he chooses to be here, with me. With me and all of my tarnishes.



My pulse quickens, as fast as it will anyway, and blood rushes on powerful thrusts in my veins as I lock eyes with his. Eli’s muscular chest rises and falls in a rapid, irregular rhythm, his jaw flexing, making the shadows jump on his face.



“Take off your boots and socks.”



I blink. Before, my first reaction to the blatant, male command would have been go fuck yourself. Only Eli all but quivers with forced restraint, and he doesn’t command me as a domineering barbarian or a mind-controlling vampire, but as a wild, hungry Alpha who’s just found a delectable morsel he wishes to savor, make last, instead of gobbling it up.



Without a word, I toe off my boots. Since I have no socks, I now stand with bare feet on the smooth wood floor.



“Your jeans.”



Heat pools in my lower stomach as I unclasp each button, keeping my eyes on Eli’s. So erotic a feeling, him watching my fingers work the buttons loose, that when my thumb brushes my panties, just inside the fly, it makes me shudder. I stifle a gasp, and wish it was Eli’s hand there instead. Now. Not later.



Eli’s nostrils flare.



The last button undone, I ease the material over my hips, the feel of soft worn denim scraping my permanently smooth legs, giving me goose bumps. I drop the jeans to the floor, then step out of them.



“Kick them aside.”



I kick them.



“Take off your shirt. Slowly.”



With a ragged breath, I unsnap my long-sleeved shirt, pull my arms out, and drop it. Grasping the hem of my tank top I lift it, one inch at a time, over my stomach, ribs, then over my head. I drop it atop my pile of clothes.



For a moment, Eli simply stares. He licks those full, sensual lips, catches the bottom one between his teeth, then swallows.



“Your bra. Don’t take it all the way off. Just unclasp it.”



I glance down and reach for the clasp.



“Look at me.”



Lifting my head, I keep my gaze on Eli’s as I finger the small metal clasp between my breasts. My breathing becomes more rapid, watching him stare at me like a ravaged animal, his sexy French accent deepening to a primal, barely controlled tone each time he speaks a command.



Wetness dampens my panties, so turned on am I by Eli’s blatant display of desire and control. I throb with need, just below the very thin surface of the silk material covering me. I wait, watch, anticipate. I want.



Eli steps closer, then slowly circles me, the air stirring from his body’s movement the only part of him touching me. His alluring scent envelops me, drugs me, and I fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head with desire. God, I want him yesterday.



He leans close and smells me, but keeps moving in a slow, predatory ring, almost as though he was staking his claim, marking his territory, stalking his prey. Then, in a deep, purred whisper, tinged with French, he brushes my ear with his lips.



“Are you wet for me, Riley?”



“Yes,” I answer, my breath ragged.



He keeps moving, his boyish fall of dark hair brushing my bare shoulder as he leans close, making me shiver. “It’s been a long time, Ri. This time, no interruptions.” He stops behind me, his head close to my ear, his whisper a deep purr. Yet we’re still not touching, and it sends vibrations of pleasure across my skin. “I’m going to bury myself deep inside of your tight wetness, feel your muscles grip my hard length as you take all of me in,” he whispers erotically and licks my lobe, his breath caressing my cheek. “Make me come. But first,” he says, his raspy words vibrating against my throat, making me shiver with excitement, “I’m going to make you lose control right where you stand.”



Never have I been so worked up, so turned on. Every nerve ending hums with power, ready to unleash the energy simmering in my veins. So erotic are his words, his voice, his promise, that sexy accent, I have to clench my female muscles to keep from coming right then. I reach for him.



“Don’t touch me, Riley. Just feel.”



He moves behind me, still fully clothed, and brushes my hair to the side. His mouth hovers over my skin, his breath coming in light puffs, and then the wet velvet of his tongue strokes me where his breath has just been. He trails my spine with his lips, his teeth, his tongue making small circles against each vertebra, and I clench my fists, aching to touch him, but I manage control and keep them by my side. Fiery liquid pools between my legs, making me pulsate with desire. “Eli, please…”



Finally, he touches me. His hands skim my calves, up my outer thighs, over my hips, inches up my ribs. Not the place I want to be touched. I’m nearing the breaking point, and at any second am going to use whatever powers I have to throw his ass on the floor.



“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he whispers close to my ear, sending another wave of shivers through my taut body. His hands move to my shoulders and push my bra straps down, the soft silk cups catching on my breasts. Slowly, he slides them over the tightened peaks.



His sharp intake of air is a small victory.



I don’t know how much more I can take.