I gave myself a quick reminder to think V8 if I ever watched him drink. Another thousand questions hit my brain at once, and yet my body screamed to get some sleep. I glanced at the clock hanging above the small stone fireplace — almost two in the morning. “I’m in overload,” I mumbled, then glanced at Eli. “I’ve got to get some sleep or I’ll be worthless tomorrow.” Reaching down, I picked the damp towel up off the floor. “Do you sleep at all?” He looked refreshed and ready to go.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just like in the movies, only not all day long.” Again, he smiled. “Just a couple of hours, and it’s when the sun is at its highest.”
I nodded. “Is that the same for the Arcoses? Seth?”
“No. Our genetic makeup is different, and a lot of it’s altered because of the hoodoo. The Arcoses will sleep from sunup to sundown, every day. Seth and the others aren’t fully transformed; they might wake up, and they might show up here.”
“Okay.” I moved toward my bedroom. “Do you eat?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder. “Other than your . . . Red Cross donations, I mean.”
“Yeah, I eat. It’s strictly for pleasure, though. We get no nutrients out of it, or feeling of fullness.”
Stifling a yawn, I motioned to the kitchen with my hand and continued down the hall to my room. At my door I stopped and looked out at him. “Do I have to bolt my door?”
Eli’s stare pinned me to the floor, and I was once again reminded that I didn’t see a third of what he really was. “It wouldn’t do any good.”
I stared at him for a few seconds. “Don’t piss me off.”
He grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Get some sleep. You’re gonna need it.”
Without another word, I left Eli, brushed my teeth, pulled my hair into a high ponytail, and climbed into bed. In the dark I lay there, my eyes fixed on the beam of light from a streetlamp on River Street streaming in through the French doors of the balcony. Despite how exhausted I was, I knew I’d not find sleep very fast; there were things my brain refused to accept with such little explanation, and vampires were one of them. That one was parked in my living room watching NCIS was inconceivable. Yet . . . it was true. I believed it. Without having seen any proof other than, well, Gilles’ face totally contorting into something out of a friggin’ nightmare, his children and wife moving so fast that my eyes couldn’t follow, and Eli’s impossible strength.
Okay, I take it back. I guess all that was proof enough. It was weird, and for me to think that was something. I’d spent the last seven years under the influence of dark African magic; weird and unusual weren’t strangers to me. But when something like this happened — like what happened with Seth — hit so close to home, its in-your-face reality. My brother was — God, I hated to even think about what he might be doing this very minute, what he was going through — and I couldn’t help but wonder if he even knew he was going through it. Tears welled in my eyes when I thought about the last time we spoke, saw each other — minus the incident in my bedroom. He’d been so cold and disjointed, so . . . not Seth. Yeah, Preacher might slap old newsprint all over his walls to keep the wudus busy, but he was an herbalist and conjurer, first and foremost. He’d brought me to the Dupré House because it’d been a last resort. He and Estelle had never forced their beliefs on Seth and me; they’d simply offered explanation and left it up to us to do the believing or disbelieving. And you can bet your sweet ass I now believed it all. In three weeks, my little brother could turn into a vicious killer.
I wasn’t going let that happen.
With an exasperated sigh, I turned onto my side, punched the pillow, and tried to settle down. Somewhere below, in the street, two loudmouths were laughing it up and talking trash — one of the drawbacks of living on River Street, I supposed. Rolling out of bed, I moved to the dresser, grabbed my iPod, and jumped back into bed. I popped in my earbuds and ran through the selections until I found 30 Seconds to Mars. Maybe their music would help drown out not only the drunks on the river walk shouting perverted names at each other, but my constant, nonstop thoughts of what exactly was happening. Although I fought it, I finally drifted off, and a restless sleep claimed me.
Sometime during the night I woke from what would be the first of many dreams. In the dream I was waking from a dream. But my room wasn’t my room; my apartment wasn’t my apartment. I was somewhere completely different and unfamiliar, and I immediately knew it was a place where I was definitely not welcome, a total stranger. As if I inhabited some weird apocalyptic world, I lived in a derelict warehouse with rats, flaking paint, and broken windows, and when I looked outside, everything was gray, bleak, and lifeless — except for me. Then I saw them — vampires — and at first they were on the street below, maybe eight or ten of them; young, raggedy punks. In the next second, they’d leapt onto my balcony, and I stumbled back, then started to run. All through the warehouse I tried to escape, but they were all around me, leaping from the rafters overhead, toying with me, laughing; I knew then I’d never outrun them, so I turned to fight. I was surprised to find a small silver blade strapped to my thigh; it hadn’t been there before. Against a wall I turned, drew my weapon, and aimed. One flew toward me, face contorted into monstrous bloodlust and hatred, jaw hyperextended. It was Seth. My fingers froze on my weapon. I couldn’t do it. Then the others joined him as they descended upon me, merciless and horrific, and I screamed my brother’s name so hard the lining in my throat was scorched.
In the next second, a pair of iron hands shook me out of my nightmare, and when I came to my senses, Eli Dupré’s face was the first thing I recognized. In the shadows of my room his eyes were angry, illuminated; at least I thought they were. He sat on my bed, facing me. Everything was confusing to me now, and for the second time in my adult life I felt helpless and out of control. “I can’t stop shaking,” I muttered, and was — freakishly so. I was now sitting up, Eli’s hands still grasping my shoulders, and I wrapped my arms tightly around my legs and pushed my forehead to my knees.
“Breathe, Riley,” Eli said, a bit rough, then crooned in French, and it totally changed his voice. “Calme-toi.” I was clueless to the meaning, and swear to God, I didn’t care. The sound soothed me, and within seconds, the shaking stopped. His hands stayed on me. I wanted them there.
“I hate this,” I said quietly.
With a grip only slightly less ironlike than the one on my shoulder, Eli grasped my chin and made me look at him. “It’s not going to be easy,” he said, “but you’re going to have to try.”
Through bleary eyes I studied him. “That dream was horrible and . . . so realistic. My brother wanted to kill me; they all did — like I was effing dinner.”
“You’ve no idea how potent your blood is,” he said, still grasping my jaw. “Just knowing it’s there, masked though it may be, it is a heady temptation.”
I blinked, and to be frank it was getting harder and harder to concentrate with his hand on me. “And Gilles sent you to guard me because . . . ?” I let the question hang, anxiously awaiting a decent response.
Eli laughed softly. “Because while I’m probably the most lethal of my siblings, I also have more control. And your Preacher would have no less.”
I nodded, he dropped his hand, and I was completely aware of how close his body was to mine. I drew a breath and boldly met his steady gaze. “I learned a long time ago not to depend on anyone’s shoulder to cry on, so all this . . . consoling is very weird for me.”
Eli’s eyes left mine and moved to my shoulder. Without permission, he lifted my left arm, leaned over it, and traced my dragon’s lithe body from my collarbone to my index finger, inspecting it closely. My skin warmed immediately. “I think you hide behind your art,” he said evenly, then set my arm down and looked at me. “Just because you curse, fight like a dude, and ink your skin” — he lifted a forefinger and traced the wing at my eye — “doesn’t mean you don’t need a shoulder.” He rose. “Everybody needs one of those, Riley. Even . . . us.” He gave a slight smile. “I think you’re bullshitting. Beneath all that tough-ass exterior you really want someone to rescue you.” Crossing my bedroom floor, he stopped at the door while I remained speechless. “Lucky for you I’m not exactly busy at the moment.” With a final look of victory that I wanted to smack right off of him, he left the room.