Darklove (Dark Ink Chronicles #5)

Darklove (Dark Ink Chronicles #5) Page 33

“You know I will,” Luc says, and he disappears from my room. I give Phin a silent nod, and he’s blurring with rage. Pulling my legs up, I grasp the ledge and push hard. My body flips upward and I land on the roof. Crouching, I search the darkness. Phin lands beside me, and together we move over the top of the Crachan, keeping low.

I see them.

It’s almost too many to believe.

It’ll be a goddamn bloodbath.

Just then they swarm. From the wood, the surrounding trees, the street. And at the same time, Noah, Luc, Seth, Rhine, and the Ness boys fill the Crachan’s courtyard.

Like a medieval war, both sides charge.

Without waiting for Phin, I leap down, draw a blade, and jump in. Just as I land, I’m grabbed, and as curses and screams fill the air, I’m forcefully dragged into the shadows.

Part Nine

    CHAOS

We’re gonna need a bigger boat.

—Sheriff Martin Brody, Jaws, 1975

Of course I fucking love her. What kind of a dumb-ass question is that?

—Noah Miles, when asked if he loves Riley Poe

A strong, rock-hard biceps is wrapped around my throat, dragging me back into the shadows behind the Crachan. His familiar scent, burned deep into my memory and sensory, hits me in waves. So much that, for a second, I’m powerless to defend myself. Powerless to escape. It’s tempting to just let him drag me off and do . . . whatever.

At least it’s him. Eligius. And for a split second, we’re together.

Eli goes stone-dead still, turns, and looks down at me. He hesitates. In the half shadows, I see his face. Conflict and confusion war in the depths of his red eyes.

I stretch my hand out to graze his jaw. “Eli—”

Oh no, you don’t, Riley. Fight. Get away from him. He’s not your love right now. He’s your enemy. Run. Now. Or all chances of saving him are gone.

Athios’s words hit me in the gut; it doesn’t take much. I’m not suicidal, or so awash with grief that I don’t want to survive in this chaotic world I live in without Eli. The faces of Seth, my Gullah family, the Duprés, Noah, Rhine—they all flash before me.

I focus, forcing all of my energy to my core, and when it gathers, builds, and then explodes, Eli is thrown back. I don’t turn around, and I don’t stop to wonder where he was thrown to. I run. Haul ass, straight for the back entrance of the Crachan.

I’ve got to get the scatha.

Carrine’s voice catches my ear. “Go after her, imbecile!”

I know what I’ve got to do.

When I reach the door, it’s partially open and I hurry inside. The lights are out, and darkness and shadows stretch and distort my surroundings in a building I’m already not overly familiar with. I’m in the kitchen, and the sounds of the fight outside waft in from several broken windows. I push the thoughts and visions aside and make my way to the staircase.

I’m not alone.

Eli’s right behind me. There’s no use in hiding from him. I know he can sense me, smell me, just like I can him. On my way through the hall, I grab an iron poker from the hearth, leap over the sofa, and dash for the stairs. Just as I reach them, my arm is grabbed.

Eli has a tight grip on my wrist.

Without hesitation, I swing the iron poker and clobber him. His head snaps to the side, and his grip loosens just enough for me to break free. I run. Through the darkness, I take comfort in knowing that, no matter how hideous it sounded and looked, that iron poker didn’t do anything to my fiancé except stun him for a second.

It’s not like I poked him with silver.

I’m running up the corridor to my room when I’m slammed into and I hit the wall. A newling. Female. Face distorted, ragged teeth dropped and snapping at me.

I drop the iron poker, yank a blade from a sheath, and ram it into her heart. As she falls, I leap over her and into my room. Grab my scatha off the bed where Luc left it, and just as I’m slipping the newly packed duffel filled with cartridges over my head, Eli grabs me and yanks me around. His grip is tight. And I’ve dropped my nonsilver weapon.

He starts to drag me now, back toward the door. Eli’s eyes are bloodred, his expression blank. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, and his biceps bulge as he yanks me hard. My heart plummets; confusion webs my brain, and part of me wants to scream, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him, or hit him, until he wakes the fuck up! Recognizes me!

“Eli! Please!” I holler.

For a split second, he hesitates. His grip is still tight, but he stops. Studies me. And confusion flashes in his eyes.

I don’t waste time. Instead, I focus my energy. It’s happening faster now. I’m gaining more control over my Fallen powers. In the next second, Eli is tossed across the room. I’m stunned at the force and exactness of my powers, but I don’t hang around. I head straight for the window and leap out.

At the bottom, I land, crouched, and in the middle of . . . chaos. There’s fighting all around me, Ness boys fighting vampires. Blood. Piles of quivering dead newlings. I catch sight of Noah, and Seth and Rhine are close by.

He turns and sees me, then glances up.

Eli lands behind me, and I take off. I head straight for Rhine, and he doesn’t even look at me as he reaches into his pocket and throws me the key to his bike. I catch it and keep running, and I jump the last few feet and land, straddling his bike, jam the key in, and hit the engine. Just as Eli nears, I peel out down the drive. No time for a helmet. Eli’s on foot, right behind me. So close I can hear his grunts in my ear.

I run over two vamp bodies, and hit another one as he surges toward me; then I skid out into the street and take off. Vehicles are sparse, but still on the road, along with trash cans and plastic recycle bins as I nudge my way through and make it to the bridge. I glance over my shoulder; Eli no longer follows on foot.

But I know he and Carrine will follow me.

It’s me she wants.

And I fucking want her.

I hit the A-9 and let the throttle out. I’m heading for Dingwall, Ivy Cottage, and the standing stones. I’m going into the realm.

And I know Carrine and Eli will follow me.

I squint against the frigid Highland wind pelting into my eyes. In my rearview mirror, I see a single headlight. It’s growing closer. Faster. I look straight ahead and pray Rhine’s bike can outrun the one behind me.

The one carrying Eli and Carrine.

As I fly through Strathpeffer, then Dingwall, I’m pushing the bike to its limit. It’s pretty fast, and I’m relieved I don’t have to take the time to convince a local cop not to chase me down. Luckily, the cars are few and far between, and by the time I’m heading out of Dingwall and up the steep incline next to the car dealership, there are no cars at all. Ducking my head against the wind, I fly toward Ivy Cottage. At the drive’s entrance, I hit the brakes and skid sideways, coming to a stop. Kickstand down, I grab the key, stuff it in my pocket, and take off up the drive on foot. There’s a light in the living room of the crofter’s house, and I’m hoping he didn’t hear or see Rhine’s bike. It’s dark, and clouds obscure most of the moonlight. But I know where I’m going, and I rush past Ivy Cottage at the top of the hill, jump the sheep’s fence by the barn, and tear up the path toward the stones. In the distance behind me, I hear the roar of another motorcycle.

I’m running top speed through dead gorse and heather, the big prickly clumps catching my boots so much that I have to take large leaps to get over them without falling. Higher I climb, and before long, the moon slides out of the clouds, and the silhouettes of the stones rise before me. I stop, looking around me as I reach into my duffel, grab a handful of cartridges, and quickly load the scatha. I snap the lever in place and, without a glance backward, step into the stones.

The air shifts around me; a mist gathers and swirls up, crawling higher and winding around my legs and my torso and obscuring my vision. Then it begins to thin out, before me. Here, time is lost, from the world I just left, and this one. It’s unpredictable, and I might as well not hurry. I’ll fuck up if I hurry, and this is not the time for a fuckup. What I want is coming. Eventually. And I have patience this time. My head is clear. My will is stronger than it has ever been. And I have control.

I’m facing a slight incline: a hill, with a path walked smooth. I follow it, and notice a black iron gate ahead. As I walk, my fingers tighten around the scatha; my pack is slung over one shoulder. My arms are bare in my leather halter top, and yet the cold doesn’t bother me at all. Walking through the gate, I descend stone steps embedded into the cliffside, and at the bottom, a long, barren street. Abandoned cars line the curb on either side, tires flat, windows broken out, doors and trunks open. At the end of the street, another pair of tall black gates. A cemetery. I’m walking down the center of the street, unwilling to get too close to the buildings on either side. Some have doors; others have black, cavernous mouths. No way am I getting close enough to those, so I stay walking straight down the middle of the street. My gaze roves back and forth, up and down, searching. The building has no glass in the windows. No drapes. No lights. The lone click-clack of my black leather heeled boots against the paved street makes echoes in the silence, the solitude.

Only then do I see eyes staring at me from the shadowy windows and doorways.

Dozens and dozens of them. Red. Unblinking.

Then music. I hear it, coming from some back room in the building beside me. I glance over, the top-floor window glassless and dark, and the music grows louder. Billy Idol. “White Wedding.”

Then the eyes disappear, and a rustling, scratching noise begins, growing louder and louder, and then out of the doors and windows pours dozens and dozens—maybe hundreds—of cats. They crawl atop the abandoned cars and line the streets, and their eyes follow me as I walk, as Billy’s voice carries out through the upper window.

Cats? Am I really going to have to blast cats?

They don’t set one paw in the street; they stick to the curb. And as I slowly pass them by, they crack open their mouths and smile, their little cat lips pulling back over complete, perfect sets of human teeth.