Afterlight - Elle Jasper [118]
Just then, a figure moved from behind a large oak. I stopped in my tracks; my breath shortened; my heart slammed hard against my ribs. I met his gaze as I grasped the blade and yanked hard. I hissed as pain shot through me. I had the most potent of blood sliding from my palm and landing on the dirt and gravestone I stood by. But my gaze became utterly transfixed on him. Victorian. I prayed the newlings would get a whiff of my blood and come after me.
“I knew you would come,” he said, and stepped into the moonlight. Like in the dreams, he was beautiful; he wore nineteenth-century clothing: dark breeches laced up the front, a billowy white shirt, and tall black boots, and his dark hair was pulled back in a loose queue. Moonlight spilled a hazed glow across the cemetery and cast shadows across his stunning face—flawless, pale, just like in the dream. I felt catatonic, awed. He smiled, and his face became even more exquisite. He seemed a lot older than twenty-one.
“Let us leave,” he said, and held out his hand.
“No,” I said, managing to find my voice. “You said you could stop this. My brother—the others?”
“Your Duprés have it under control. All will be well; I vow it. Now, let us move. If my brother—”
“If your brother what?” a dark, menacing voice said from behind me. He was so close, his voice racked my insides.
I turned quickly and faced another almost equally beautiful young man. Modern clothes, though. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, but different all the same. Harsher. Merciless. That I could tell immediately. Silently, I screamed for Eli. Thankfully, he heard.
“Riley!” Eli’s voice shouted from the river. I knew, even as fast as he was, he’d never make it to me in time.
Valerian’s gaze suddenly shifted, his eyes rolled back, and he inhaled the air. Immediately, he spied my bleeding hand. “Thinking to keep this pet for your own, Tory?” he asked his brother. Two sharp fangs dropped from Valerian’s jaw, and he moved toward me, his eyes turning opaque, boring into me. “He never did like to share.”
“No!” Victorian shouted, and lunged at his brother.
Too late, Valerian had my hand to his mouth, sucking with all his might. Victorian pushed him off, and Valerian flew against a headstone. Before I could blink, he was up and advancing toward me, eyes pure white, no pupils. I reached for the blade jammed into my belt, and by the time I had it palmed, Valerian had grabbed my wrist so hard I felt—heard—my bones snap, and I gasped. The blade dropped, and pain gripped me, causing stars to flicker behind my lids. I had no time to move or shift; he had complete power over me. With one arm, he held me, and his mouth dropped against my throat. The moment his fangs pierced my skin, I screamed. They sank deep into me; I felt every inch, and my body convulsed. He sucked hard for all of three seconds.
Suddenly, Valerian was off of me. Eli stood there, facing him, his transformation complete, terrifying. “Leave her,” he commanded, and moved forward.
Valerian laughed and transformed, but he was different. Very different. Winged and silver skinned, he looked . . . hideous, not even humanlike, and he lunged at Eli; Eli lunged at him, and they met, midair, and fought. Valerian threw Eli against a crypt; he was up and had Valerian by the throat in under a second.
“Come with me,” Victorian said at my side, his voice darker than before. His eyes had also turned and were now staring at the holes in my throat left by his brother. “Forgive me. I . . . cannot resist,” he said, and in the next second, sharp, long fangs dropped. Like his brother’s, they pierced my skin and sank deep into an artery; I was completely powerless