I wrapped my legs around him, the water making our bodies slick, and I slid down his abdomen until his rigid hardness nudged me, entered me, completely filled me. His hands splayed over my buttocks, pulling me tightly against him, preventing all thoughts of escape, and he kissed me again. Hard. Demanding. Possessive. I nearly came again.

Without any more words, Eli moved through the water, back to the shore. At the quilt he’d laid on the sand, he followed me down and kissed me as slowly as he made love to me. The only time I could see him was when the lightning flashed, and even then for only a split second or two. But I felt him, inside me, surrounding me, and I knew then that making love with Eli was unlike any other experience I’d ever had, or would ever have. He reached a place so deep and hidden within me, that it frightened me, and I wasn’t prepared to name it yet. I clung to him as we climaxed together, beneath an almost-moonless September night in the sand on a random Gullah barrier island. When our movement slowed, Eli’s hands searched first my body, then my face, and he held me close, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You’re mine forever, chérie,” he said, his accent thicker than usual. “I want only you.”

Before I could respond, his lips claimed mine, settled, tasted slowly. With his knuckles he grazed my jaw, traced my lips, then wrapped his arms and legs around me, pulling me close. I accepted the fact that while Eli had the courage to say the words out loud, I didn’t. But I felt them just as strongly as I’d felt anything. One day, hopefully, I’d be able to tell him. Nestled against his chest, I hugged him and closed my eyes.

He kissed me again, whispered something French in my ear—I had no clue what it meant. I figured he’d just read my endearing thoughts and that my unspoken words were enough for him right now. Finally, exhaustion claimed me.

I confess, love—it pains me to know you’ve had another inside you. That you seem to enjoy it so fully excites me, though, and as I promised, one day you shall be no longer his, but mine. You will have me inside you over and over until you beg me to stop; and after, you’ll never want another. There is no escape—you are meant for me. He may be inside you for a while—as long as it takes him to fuck you—but I live inside you. My blood is mixed with yours, and no amount of hoodoo magic can change it. We are one and I promise, I will come for you. Until then, I drown in thoughts of you, of touching you, of your mouth sliding over me. Soon, love. Very soon …

I bolted up from the quilts and gasped. I glanced around; I was alone. A hazy light filled the canvas tent, the sun not yet risen but still light enough outside to see. The pungent brine of low tide wafted through and rustled my hair, and I inhaled deeply. Oh Christ Almighty. Another dream.

Another message, rather. From Victorian. He was close. I could feel him.

“Eli?” I called out, and crawled on hands and knees to the tent opening.

The man I sometimes had a difficult time remembering was a vampire sat hunched down at the shore, watching the sun rise and picking at some random shell in the sand. The slightly tanned skin of his muscular back looked shiny in the peaking sunlight, the black-inked Dupré crest standing stark between his blades. He was buck naked. He turned and waved. “Come here, you,” he said, and gave me a grin.

Pushing the fear of Victorian aside, I, also buck naked, left the tent and joined him at the water’s edge. And as he took me in his arms, I flushed my mind of the other. He’d not ruin this. I simply wouldn’t let him.

And I’d die making sure of it.

Part Two

VOICES

“There are such beings as vampires, some of us have evidence that they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of the past give proof enough for some people.”

—Bram Stoker, Dracula

“Swear to God, I thought I could handle this. Truly. I mean, the power of my tendencies is freaking amazing. I can do some outlandish shit. Even Gilles is impressed. But in becoming fearless, I’ve become reckless, and that’s not so good. While Victorian looks deceiving—I mean, he’s absolutely beautiful—I know the depth of his desires. He freaking tells me all the time—inside my head. He wants me as badly as Eli does, and I’m scared it’s going to come down to an all-out war. The thing is, what am I willing to risk to stop it?”

—Riley Poe

My back hit the sand as I dropped to the ground, avoiding the blade Eli’s mother had freaking flung at me. Before I could blink, Elise was over me, her tiny bare foot to my throat. As my eyes met hers, she shook her head and sighed.

“Riley, sweetheart,” Elise said, her voice even, sweet, her heavier French accent enticing. “Never drop to your back. Crouch, oui. Jump, oui. But as you can see, being on your back leaves you vulnerable.” She wiggled her toes against the sensitive part of my throat, then removed her foot and extended a hand to me. I took it and, with amazing strength, she helped me up. “In any situation.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, mortified that a very proper lady in her late fifties with delicately painted pink toes and weighing no more than a hundred and ten pounds could kick my ass. I brushed the sand off my skin. “Crouch. Don’t drop.”

She smiled. “One hundred and four pounds,” she clarified, reading my thoughts as the Duprés frequently and freely did. “Seth,” she called out.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, leaving the gathered group, including all of the Dupré siblings, by the surf and running up to us.

“Join your sister.”

Seth glanced at me and wagged his dark brows. “Yes, ma’am,” he repeated.

I scowled at him. Suck up, I mouthed. He merely grinned.

Elise, dressed in a pair of knee-length white Bermuda shorts, a pale pink tank top to match her toes, and her hair pulled back into her signature stylish ponytail, studied us. The late-afternoon sunlight winked off the various rubber practice blades (we didn’t want to get stuck) sheathed around her slim waist, her thighs, and over both shoulders. She looked too petite to have the ability to carry such a load, but I knew she had the strength to toss me two hundred feet into the sound if she wanted. She was wicked strong, wicked fast, and wicked lethal, despite her sweet looks.

“Phin, Luc,” she called, grinning at me. “Come here.”

My eyes met Eli’s briefly as his brothers jogged across the sand. He offered no smile, no cocky grin—only that profuse stare that seemed to pierce my insides, clear to my soul. It made me shiver.

Phin and Luc circled Seth and me, as Elise barely seemed to shift in the sand. Their eyes bored heavily into us, like hunters stalking prey. The boys were just as armed as their mother, and this was nothing more than a test of reflexes. Seth and I had no blades—just our wits and superfast tendencies. Hopefully, they were superfast enough; neither of us wanted to get nailed on the noggin with a rubber blade. With our backs pressed together, Seth turned his head.

“No dropping,” he whispered. “I got Phin and Mrs. Dupré. You take Luc.”

“And now they know our master plan,” I hissed. “Clear your mind, Bro. They freaking cheat.”

All the Duprés on the beach laughed, and in the next breath, Phin and Luc lunged.

Seth leapt; I crouched. After that, I could keep track only of what I did and hoped my brother could handle himself. Luc got too close; I relieved him of three lower body blades before he realized it. I heard the whir of another rubber blade through the air and I turned, gauged the weight and distance of the sound, then raised my hand and caught the blade Elise had thrown by the hilt. Three more followed, rapid-fire, and with a speed that amazed even me, I caught each one and flung it into the sand before the next one reached me. Luc lunged again. I leapt over him, grabbed the blade sheathed at his shoulder, and landed in the sand behind him. A dull pain in my thigh made me drop. Luc had thrown the one remaining blade at his hip at me. Prick. I winced, and he grinned. Good thing I healed fast these days. Whatever bruise appeared would be gone within an hour. And because of my mixed Arcos blood, my own wasn’t quite as potent as it was before. In other words, the Duprés didn’t continuously want to latch on to a major artery as much as before. Lucky me. I turned to watch my brother.

Seth jumped over Phin and had both his shouldered blades flung into the sand. Phin already had the rest of his blades removed. Seth landed, swept Phin’s shins with blinding speed, and had those blades out of their sheaths, too. I blinked, and by the time my eyes focused again on my brother, he was circling Elise. The intense look of concentration, determination, and intimidation on his face was more than shocking. Seth was a guy raised to respect not only his elders, but all women. Presently, he looked as though he wanted to take down little Elise Dupré in her pressed white Bermudas and pink toenails.

By now, the crowd gathered at the surf had come closer, and the boys who had once been almost-newlings cheered and whistled as Seth and Elise circled each other. Jack and Tuba, Zetty, Estelle and Preacher, as well as Eli, Gilles, and Josie, drew close. Elise still had two blades—one on her hip, the other on her shoulder. With wicked speed, she whipped the hip blade at my brother. He crouched, reached up, and grabbed it, in midair. The boys hollered.

In the next instant, Elise threw the last blade, and this time, Seth wasn’t as lucky. It nailed his shoulder, and I winced as he did. Then, so fast, swear to God, he lunged at Elise, grabbed the blade before it landed on the ground, and hit her full force, taking her to the sand and flat onto her back. He had the blade in his hand, the tip at her throat.

Wow. Freaking, wow.

The Lord of the Flies boys cheered, and I glanced at Eli. He gave an approving nod. I couldn’t see his eyes—they were covered by his shades—but I’d be willing to bet they shined with pride for my brother.

“Hey, punk,” Luc said, pulling my thoughts back. “Get your ass off my mother.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Dupré,” Seth said, jumping off Elise and extending a hand to help her up. She took it, and his cheeks turned red.