Without words, Eli pulled me up, cradled me in his arms as he lay back, and together we drifted, content; I couldn’t remember ever having felt so thoroughly absolute. To the feel of his strong fingers dragging softly against my skin, I allowed exhaustion to claim me, and it pulled me under in a swift, shadowy, slumbering wave. I hoped that if this was an isolated moment of lucidity, I’d remember it later. I mean, damn.

In the dark recesses of my subconscious, I cherished Eli Dupré as though we were spending our very last moment together.

Three days later …

“We’re not stopping until you get it right.”

I glared first at Eli, then at my opponents: Jack and Tuba, two young, healthy, very large Gullah guys—both heavily muscled and bare to the waist. Tuba gave me a closed-mouth smile. Jack’s face remained unreadable. “I am freaking doing it right,” I said, the words coming out between clenched teeth. I bent over at the waist, grasped both knees with my hands, and breathed—hard. We’d been at it for hours. The sun blasted down, not a single cloud in the sky to filter its strength. Sand gnats buzzed around my head. I swatted at them irritably, stomped my feet, then rose and pushed the sweaty bangs that had escaped my ponytail off my face. Maybe I was PMSing. I was irritable as hell and just felt … bitchy. “How much more right does it have to be, Eli?”

“Blades seized and bodies down.”

“You’re freaking crazy,” I muttered under my breath.

He smiled.

I swore loudly in Romanian—a nasty habit I’d unwillingly and inadvertently picked up after having been bitten by those two strigoi Arcos assholes. “Are you freaking kidding me, Dupré?” I kicked the sand, said a few more choice expletives (one day I’d have to learn what they exactly meant—for now I just knew they were bad, and that made me feel better), then walked toward the surf, hands on hips. The salt water licked my bare feet, the crushed shells and coarse sand abrasive between my toes and against my soles. The low-rise board shorts I wore were navy and black, as was the string bikini top—too damn dark for midday, that was for sure. The material sucked in the sun’s sweltering rays, literally frying my hineisca and boobs. No lie, my ass was on fire. I rushed into the water, dunked under, and emerged. Water rolled off my skin. I may have even seen steam.

“Are you going to spend the rest of the afternoon whining, or are you going to get it right? They both have their weapons, Riley. You have to do more than jump over them,” Eli said, now standing in the water, arms crossed over his bare chest, and with a look so smug I wanted to throw him into the surf. One dark brow—the one with the silver hoop—lifted. He’d read my thoughts again. “Really?” He chuckled. “Come on, Poe, if you think you can take me.”

I turned, rushed, dropped to a crouch, shot my leg out, and swept Eli’s ankles, leaving behind an arc of water. Without looking, I knew I’d gotten him; I’d heard the splash and curse as he’d landed. I ran directly at Jack and Tuba, who, for the most part, stood, stunned at what I’d done to Eli. I grabbed Jack’s blade, leapt, pushed off his shoulder with one bare foot, and as I flipped over Tuba, I relieved him of his blade, too. I landed on my hands and feet in a kick-ass, impressive crouchingdragon position—all in under five seconds. I flipped my head cockily, swinging my sopping wet ponytail out of my face, and found Eli’s gaze penetrating mine. We stared for a handful of seconds. A burst of pride filled me at my conquered tendencies. God—I’d felt so … Matrix-y. And it felt good. Maybe being tainted by strigoi DNA wasn’t so bad after all.

“Again,” Eli said, still sitting in the water. “You didn’t take them down.”

“Screw you,” I replied with a grin. “I took you down. That counts for both of them.”

Jack and Tuba laughed.

With lightning speed I kicked out and swept both of their ankles. Two very large Gullah guys hit the sand. Still crouching, I flung their blades hard. Each stuck in the sand no more than an inch from their crotches. They both made a noise that highly resembled a tire with an air leak. I rose, brushed my hands off on my ass, and turned toward Eli. I grinned.

He stood, sunlight reflecting off his bare wet skin, and swaggered toward me. He bent down to pick up a shell, and I caught a glimpse of the family crest I’d inked between his shoulder blades, just before all hell broke loose. Not only was it sexy schmexy as hell, but his brothers now wanted one, too. I’d created a gang—a vampire gang. How exciting.

Eli made his way toward me. I was surprised that his shades had stayed on after I’d knocked him down. Wet board shorts clung low on his hips, those sexy lines of muscle on his sides and abdomen that disappeared beneath the waistline; I noticed every detail, appreciating them all. And he knew it. With long fingers, he shoved the loose wet hanks of dark hair from his face, put his hands on his hips in a total cocky-guy manner, and, his shades still on, stared down at me. I waited; I didn’t have to wait long.

The corner of his mouth tipped upward. “I’m impressed.”

I nodded and pushed his shades up onto his forehead. Pale blue eyes regarded me. “Turns you on, doesn’t it?” I said.

“Hell yeah,” he answered in a quiet, seductive voice meant only for my ears. In a possessive grasp, he draped his hands over my hips and pulled me close. “But Jack and Tuba are mere mortals. Estelle could take them, with the right training. I want to see”—he shook his head—“I want to know you can handle yourself against a vampire, or a handful of them, if I’m not around, Riley.” His eyes turned serious. “So, from now on, you train with me, my parents, my brothers and sister.” He tapped the end of my nose. “And maybe with Zetty.”

With the palms of my hands firmly pressed against the hard muscles of Eli’s chest, I pushed. “If you think for a second I’m going to seize blades and kick to the ground your sweet, elderly parents, you are insane,” I said. “Your siblings, sure. Zetty? Absolutely. I owe him, anyway. You? Any day of the week. But your parents? No way.”

Eli grazed my jaw with a knuckle. “Oh, you will, chérie . I promise you. You’re ready. And tomorrow, we go back to Da Island.” He grinned, making himself seem more like just a regular hot guy at the beach than a nearly two-hundred-year-old strigoi vampire who had the capability of snapping someone’s spine in half with barely a flick of his wrist. “And I’d pay good money to see you call my parents elderly to their faces. Neo.”

I couldn’t help but return the cocky grin at Eli’s reference to my new Matrix-y capabilities. I had no idea what I’d ever do with them, but one thing I did know. Seth and I, while changed with supertendencies, couldn’t stay on Da Island forever. I had a business to run. Seth had to finish school. We had lives to return to—and the sooner, in my opinion, the better, even if it did mean kicking some old, sweet-looking Dupré strigoi vampire ass.

A few days later …

It’s strange to think of all that’s happened over the past month; to grasp how much I’ve changed. Stranger still, that I’ve accepted it. I’m not a huge fan of change. Once I’m used to something, I like to stick with it. Not that I had any choice. I was damn lucky to leave Bonaventure that night with my life, instead of a new unlife. Seriously. Having both Arcoses sink their fangs into my flesh, squirt their disgusting venom into my blood, and still walk away alive? Eli had saved me; he’d killed Valerian, and nearly Victorian, as well. Preacher told Eli that half a minute longer and I would have either died from blood loss or turned completely strigoi, neither of which I had a hankering for. The screams of those innocents who’d been attacked that night still resound inside my head. Visions; flashes of bodies twisted, distorted; blood; the sound of bone snapping—I wish like hell I could forget about it, forget the sound, forget them. But I can’t. I don’t think I ever will. I’ll hear those screams inside my head until I die. And now even that would be a very long time.

So much of what happened after Bonaventure is still a blur. You know, after I was two bites to the wind and lying in a pile of graveyard dust. Once I’d been taken to Da Island (and after I’d briefly awakened), I fell into the throes of strigoi venom d.t.’s for much of the time and was, according to Estelle, one crazy-eyed white girl. She wasn’t referring to my Caucasian race. Eli had told me I’d turned white, as in literally opaque white. Weird white. Night of the Living Dead white. Zetty’s exact words, in his unique Nepal accent, had been You was one scary crazy white bitch. I believe them, too. Ole Zetty, to be such a big, frightening, knife-wielding Tibetan, was as superstitious as they came, and he gladly carried the pouch of graveyard dust and crushed black cat bones Estelle had given him. He even wore it around his big thick neck, tied to a leather cord. I guess he thought throwing the mixture at me, pouch and all, would keep him safe. He’d done it more than once, after I’d attacked him. Estelle had told him she wouldn’t give him any more if he couldn’t use it right. I still laugh when I think about it. Can’t say I blame him, though. I’d have been scared shitless, too.

A breeze blew in off the water, rustled the canvas of our tent, and brushed over my bare body. I turned to stare outside, into the varying shades of gray and black as darkness hung over the small barrier isle, and Eli’s arms tightened around me and pulled me close. I knew he wasn’t asleep; he pretended, though, just for me I guess. There were times I just lay awake, my thoughts rambling around in my head, and Eli simply let me. No interference, no smothering—just let me have my thoughts, allowed me to ponder the changes in my life, my brother’s, without interruption. He was there if I needed him, or if I grew frightened, and I have to admit it was something I could get used to real fast. After Mom’s death, I’d always had Preacher and Estelle, but never had I allowed a man inside my heart, and I damn sure never depended on one to comfort me. I can’t say for sure that I’ve let Eli; but it was definitely worth considering. Commitment of one’s heart and soul—literally—required a lot of deep thought. The problem was I’d had so much to think about and consider lately that my brain was on total overload, and, to be frank, I was a little intimidated to commit myself to a man who would most definitely outlive me. Sure—it’d take a lot longer, now that I had tendencies. Still, it was a lot to ponder.