Everdark by Elle Jasper Page A

could do nothing but watch—watch and be horrified.
    The girl pushed out into the night, and the air was muggy, heavy; the faint scent of salt clung to my tongue. She hung on me as we walked, and she half stumbled, half pulled me along the sidewalk, drunkenly laughing, until the lights from the club, the thumping music from within, became dull and barely there. I heard only her heartbeat. I tried to yank back, but my body wasn’t really my own. Long shadows fell across her, and she pulled me into an alley. The scent of mingled mold and urine and brine reached my nostrils, and she fell against the brick wall, staring at me with her wide, drug-hazed, lust-filled eyes. How stupid she was; how utterly freaking ignorantly stupid.
    A zipper closed the front of her leather bustier. She grasped the metal tab and pulled it down to her waist. Her breasts spilled out, and she grabbed my hands, pressing them to her skin. Inwardly, I resisted. Again, it was no use. Her head fell back, and she moaned.
    It was the very last sound she ever voluntarily made.
    The heartbeat I felt wasn’t mine, but hers, and it resonated within my head, strong, heady, and I lunged at her bared chest. Her moan died in a liquid curdling sound as her body fell hard to the cobbled ground; I followed her down. Blood, bone, and flesh flashed before my eyes, a vicious carnage that nauseated me. I couldn’t pull away, I couldn’t look away. Yet the need, the hunger—the horror—roared within me. Liquid warmth flowed down my throat, sweet, intoxicating, and my throat constricted as I sucked.
    “Riley!”
    My head snapped, hitting something hard, and my cheek stung as a hand smacked it. My eyes fluttered open, and I stared up—into the widened eyes of Riggs. He was straddling me, I was flat on my back on the donjon mat, and his hand was raised to give me another smack. His hand never reached my skin.
    “Don’t do that again, kid,” Eli said, his voice edged with threat, a death grip on Riggs’ hand. “Get off her.”
    Riggs moved—fast, and then I was looking into Eli’s eyes as he bent down on one knee and hovered over me. He stared, hard, for several seconds, and I knew he was digging in my brain. With a stern look, his gaze traveled over my body, then searched my face. “Yeah, I am digging. What the hell’s going on, Riley?”
    Seth squatted down beside me and leaned over. “Ri? You okay?”
    “I’m okay, Seth.” I sat up. “Seriously. No worries.”
    Behind my brother stood Phin, Luc, and Josie; behind them, Zetty, Riggs, and the others. They all looked at me as if I’d grown another freaking head. “What?” I asked, glancing at all of them, then back to Eli. I stared silently, frustration and a little anger growing faster by the second. Tucking my foot under my ass, I moved to stand. Eli pushed me back down. In the next second Zetty was standing there, pinching dust from his protective pouch and sprinkling it over me.
    He muttered something in Tibetan.
    “Zetty, stop it!” I said, waving my hand in front of my face. “What the hell?”
    “You got some bad stuff in you, Riley,” he said in his heavy Nepali accent. “It needs to come out.”
    I glared at him. “Well thanks, Zet-Man. I’ll see what I can do.”
    Zetty glared back, then moved away. Eli was there, doing his share of glaring.
    “Tell me,” he said, his frown deepening and his blue eyes growing dark. “Now.”
    I frowned back. “Jesus, Eli. Chill.”
    He continued to stare, waiting for an answer.
    I sighed. “It was another daydream. Very realistic—”
    “How realistic?” he asked.
    I looked at him, blocking out everyone else from the room. I focused solely on Eli. “Very. I see a kill. Feel it. As if I’m the killer.” With my thumb and forefinger, I rubbed my closed eyes, digging hard into the sockets, trying to erase the images, the feelings. “I ... feel his emotions, his desires, and they’re so gross—”
    “Is it Victorian Arcos?” Eli asked.
    The