Afterlight - Elle Jasper [121]
His gaze grew serious and bored straight through me. “Mine,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You’re mine, Riley Poe.”
My insides seized, and I didn’t think a man could ever say another thing to me so incredibly possessive or romantic at the same time. I smiled.
Eli knew exactly what I was thinking.
Estelle’s hoodoo medicine kicked in, and my eyelids grew heavy. I fell asleep with Eli’s fingers entwined with mine, but even after my body slumbered, my brain continued furiously. At least, I thought it was my brain. At first. Until a familiar voice crowded my thoughts.
I will come for you, Riley Poe. That potency which rushes through your veins has lain against my tongue. It’s inside of me. You’re now a part of me, like my venom runs through you. We are meant to be together, forever. I will come for you. . . .
Read on for an excerpt from the next book in the Dark Ink Chronicles,
EVERDARK
Coming in June 2011 from Signet Eclipse.
“You’ve been dreaming of him again,”Eli said, his eyes hard, his voice low, accusing. “Haven’t you?”
I ignored him, extended my leg fully, and, with a quick snap, kicked the bag. I followed it with three sharp jabs. Anger and a little hurt built inside me, and after a few more kicks, I broke a sweat.
My body whipped around, and Eli’s strong hands grasped my shoulders. “Don’t ignore me, Riley.” He drew his face close to mine. “Don’t.”
I frowned, totally pissed. “Then don’t accuse me, Eli.” I shook his hands off. “You know I can’t help those dreams. You know it.”
Eli stared at me several long seconds, then shoved his fingers through his hair, muttered some French expletive, and walked to the window. He looked at some distant point across the river. “You desire him.”
Anger flashed inside me, and I crossed my arms over my chest. “How freaking old are you, Eli?” I asked. “Sixteen? Oh, no, that’s right. You’re over two hundred.” I walked up behind him, grabbed him by the arm, and turned him around to face me. Brilliant blue eyes searched mine, and I knew he was reading my thoughts—digging through them like a madman was more like it. “You’re acting like a jealous high school boyfriend,” I said, a little gentler. I grazed his jaw with my index finger. “Seriously, Eli.”
Another handful of seconds dragged by before his face went emotionless, his eyes dulled, those beautiful full lips that worked magic against my body thinned. “You don’t deny it, do you, Riley?” His voice was low, even, tinged with a heavier-than-usual bit of French. I’d learned fast that the heavier the accent, the more pissed off Eli Dupré was.
“Victorian forces the dreams on me,” I said harshly. “Just like he forces the emotions within them.” I stepped closer. “I. Can’t. Help. It.”
Anger pulled his features tight. “Do you think this is some game? He is deadly, Riley. He will drain every ounce of your blood. Regrets will come after it’s too late.” His eyes grew somber. “I think you enjoy the dreams a little too much,” he said, moving past me. At the door, he stopped, staring straight ahead. “You could have come to me.”
“What would you have done, Eli?” I said. “You can’t go into my subconscious and change anything. You can’t make him stop.”
“You don’t know what I can do,” he said angrily. “You didn’t give me a fucking chance.”
He moved so fast, I didn’t see him actually turn and leave. Only the sound of the back door closing alerted me to his absence.
I walked to the window overlooking River Street, propped a hip against the ledge, and stared out into the growing darkness. Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead against the cool pane. He wasn’t right, not by far. I did not enjoy the dreams, nor did I desire Victorian. In the dreams, I want him to stop, to leave me the hell alone, but he never does. He returns to me, time after time, with the most erotic, out-of-control dreams that make me respond to him in ways that mortify me.
Worse, Victorian had begun speaking to me during my waking hours. Somehow, he’d gotten inside my head outside of the dreams. I thought I could handle it. I wanted the bastard dead;