Afterlight - Elle Jasper [109]
“Yes.”
I sat up and stared at him. “Why?”
Eli’s gaze darkened with concern. “Because. It sounds like one of the Arcoses.”
My stomach twisted at the thought. “How is he invading my dreams?” I rubbed my eyes. “They’re so . . . realistic.”
Eli turned his head and looked at me for a long time. “He’s been here. Because he’s a direct bloodline of the strigoi. They have the power to invade the dreams of mortals.” He shook his head. “He must be very taken with you.”
“Why?” I asked, and already my insides ran cold.
Eli dragged a knuckle over a loose strand of hair and brushed it out of my face. “He could have just as easily killed you, or taken you. Although in his weakened state he more than likely can do nothing more than cast dreams.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “It must be Victorian. His brother is much too vicious to waste time with dreams. He would have taken pleasure with you, or not; then he would have killed you.”
“But his strength has grown, right?” I asked, and Eli laced his fingers through mine. “Why is he still making me dream? And how can he do it with you sitting right beside me? How does he even know who I am?”
Eli’s gaze searched my face. “I don’t know. But he’s taken with you. And the strigoi are powerful beings, Riley.” He pulled me to his chest and settled against the pillows. “Do you dream more than once at night?”
“Not so far,” I replied, draping my arm over his stomach. “And taken isn’t quite the term. More like obsessed.”
“You’re right. Now, go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.”
I was quiet for a while, my thoughts rambling, and finally, slumber took me again, and Victorian blessedly left me alone.
When next I woke, bright morning sunlight streamed through the French doors. I was on my stomach, and the gentle, erotic touch of Eli’s fingers dragging across my spine, tracing every intricate detail of the inked dragon, aroused me. We explored each other, touching, kissing; while we began against the softness of the down topper on my bed, we ended up on the hardwood floor, and we finished in the shower. Eli washed my long hair, and I washed his crazy-sexy black hair. I gave him a soapy Mohawk, and we laughed. I can’t remember ever having a man wash me with such . . . enthusiasm before. And I’m pretty positive I haven’t had a man stick around long enough to have a laugh with me the next morning. Eli was an anomaly, one I feared my heart was laid wide-open for.
I finished first, and Eli wanted to enjoy the hot water a little longer. So I pulled on a pair of hipster shorts, a cami, and flip-flops, and ran down to the shop to turn off the iPod home system and gather a few things I’d be taking to the Dupré House. I was flipping through the supply books when a knock at the back door made me jump. Not so much to my surprise, Detective Claude Murray in all his too-tight-suit glory stood there, a smirk on his face.
“Mind if I take a look around?” he asked. “You’ve nothing to hide, right?”
I threw the door open and cast a hand out. “Be my guest. Shop’s this way.” I started for the front, and I felt Claude’s eyes on my ass the whole time. I heard the door shut with a click, and Claude’s stressed-out loafers crossed the floor behind me. I continued with what I’d been doing, and the detective slowly perused Inksomnia.
“I always knew you were a little freak, Ms. Poe,” he said, glancing through the art books. He looked up and smiled. “Now that you’re all grown-up, I bet you’re even freakier, huh?” He moved to the desk and computer. “No appointment book?”
“Welcome to the twenty-first century, gramps,” I said. “Everything’s on the computer.” I didn’t like him in my shop, and I didn’t like him touching my belongings. I wanted him gone.
“Do you mind?” he said, inclining his balding head toward the screen. “Just pull up the files for last Friday.”
This forced me to move closer to him, and I swallowed my rage and did so. I logged on, pulled up the client appointment file