“Yeah, we are,” I answer. Then I throw the empty plastic soda bottle at the trash can. I throw it harder than I mean to, and I completely miss the can and hit the wall instead. It bounces and flings across the kitchen. I sigh and rub my eyes.
Noah grabs me by the shoulders and steadies me. Calms me. “Look at me,” he says.
With another sigh, I open my eyes. “I don’t get it, Noah. How can Eli look right at me and not know me?” I feel energy surging up inside me from the thought of Eli and the female together. Like a soda that has been shaken, and the lid is cracked and all the liquid fizzes out. That’s me, right now, despite having seen the hesitation in Eli’s eyes. Almost there . . .
“Riley, you have to get a grip, darlin’,” Noah says, and ducks his head to make me look at him. Liquid silver glimmers. “Because, when we have human bloodlust, that’s all there is. It consumes us. No matter what’s occurred, that becomes the focus. To somehow, no matter the means, get that human’s blood inside our bodies.”
I look away, because it hurts to think about this. He grasps my chin and pulls my gaze back to his. “All reason, morality, humanity—it all goes away. Memories? Gone. Our vision sees nothing but blood. We taste it in our mouth by just the scent of it beneath the surface of a human’s skin.” He smiles. “You know this. You experienced it, Riley. I’ve got the memory of a sore neck to prove it. Remember? You ripped into it when you were blood-lusting.”
Again, the need for comfort overwhelms me, and I slide my arms around Noah’s waist and lay my head against his chest. I’m not very fond of this neediness I have lately. It sucks. Makes me feel so useless.
His arms go around me, and his hand cups the back of my head. “I’m not going to lie and say I got all the answers,” he says gently. “But I will fight to the end to save Eli.”
It’s at that exact moment, it happens.
It’s weird that it hasn’t happened before now.
One moment, my cheek is pressed against Noah’s chest; in the next second, I’m standing in a mist-shrouded forest, the white vapor slipping through tall trees and underbrush. I look around me; nothing looks familiar. Ravens startle and fly away in a rush overhead. I glance around. At first, I see no one. Then I hear footfalls. Running. Breaking through brush.
Then I see Noah. He’s on foot, running through the trees. He’s wearing brown pants, boots, a cream-colored long-sleeved shirt, and a brown vest. His hair is different—long, gathered at the nape of his neck, no dreads. He wears a tricorn hat, and is hauling ass. In one hand, a hatchet. The other, a rifle. Three men in red coats are chasing him.
Revolutionary War. Noah is a militiaman.
A shot rings out through the wood, and when I look at the redcoats, one of their rifles is smoking. The other two fire at Noah. One misses. One hits him in the shoulder, knocking him sideways and down. I fight not to run to him; it will do no good. I’m a bystander, watching a memory that’s already happened.
Just as fast as he fell, Noah rolls and gets back up. He’s now rounded and running directly toward the redcoats. All three are on their knees reloading their guns. Noah throws down his gun and with a wide arc, swings and sinks his hatchet right into the British soldier’s chest. With his foot, he shoves the soldier off the blade and runs right at the other two. Blood is oozing from Noah’s shoulder, but he ignores it and takes a lethal swing at the first soldier’s throat. His head nearly comes clean off.
One redcoat left, and he’s waiting for Noah and uses his gun to reflect Noah’s powerful swing. The two fight, struggle. It’s only now that I realize Noah’s not a vampire. He’s mortal. Impressive fighter. I can feel his rising adrenaline as the pair struggle to gain control.
Out of nowhere, another redcoat appears, and with a sword drawn, he runs it straight through Noah’s back. Noah’s scream pierces my ears, and every ounce of pain and anger coursing through him, I feel inside me. He sinks to his knees, his hand still tightly gripping his hatchet.
From the canopy above, a figure falls from the mist. The moment he drops and lands on his feet, I see it’s Eli. He’s dressed like Noah. His hair is longer, pulled back at the nape of his neck. His cerulean blue eyes almost glow through the mist.
In a blur, Eli moves, and he is suddenly at both men. He grabs one redcoat by the throat. The other, by the front of his shirt, and pulls him close. As I watch, Eli’s jaw extends, his teeth drop long and jagged from his gums, and he rips into the soldier’s throat. He throws him down and does the same to the second redcoat. The bloodlust that rushes through Eli also rushes through me; I can feel it, the scent, the craving, almost as if I were experiencing it instead of him. Motionless, I stand there and watch as Eli drops to the forest floor to Noah. Eli’s no longer morphed as a vampire. He’s Eli. And I can see pain etched into his features as he stares at Noah.
“I won’t make it,” Noah says. His accent is still tinged with Southern drawl, but it’s older. “Find Elana. Take—” Noah starts coughing, choking. He grabs Eli’s arm. “Take care of her, brother. I promised her I would care for her always. I . . . have to break this promise.” He coughs some more, and it’s more of a crying cough than anything else. It’s filled with pain. Not physical pain, but emotional. I feel it inside me, too. “Do this for me,” he begs Eli. “Please.”
All of Noah’s emotions run through me. He loves this girl, Elana. Was it his wife? His fiancée? Either way, the sorrow he’s experiencing is mind-numbing. It’s a different Noah than I know. I watch as Eli lowers his head closer to Noah’s.
“I can fix this,” Eli says. “I can fix you. You can take care of Elana yourself.”
Noah’s breathing quickens, and he chokes.
“You must hurry and decide,” Eli urges. “Now.”
“I’ll be like you?” Noah asks.
“Yes.”
Noah closes his eyes for a moment, and his lips are moving. He’s praying. Suddenly, his eyes open again and he’s staring at Eli. “Do it.”
Eli doesn’t ask if he’s sure; nor does he hesitate, not even for a second. He moves so fast I don’t see Eli’s face change. Don’t see his teeth elongate. I only see his mouth move over Noah’s throat and stay there for several seconds. When his head lifts, and he wipes his mouth across his sleeve, his face is Eli’s. Not vampire. Noah is deathly still. I see no breath rising in his chest. His mercury-colored eyes stare blankly skyward.
Suddenly, Noah jerks, his body begins to quiver, convulse. Eli grasps his shoulders, holds him down. “Be strong,” Eli growls, and his French accent is heavier now.
Noah’s painful scream rips through the misty forest. Then his eyes flicker open.
Voices, footfalls in the forest. Eli’s gaze snaps up, his hands still holding a now-ferocious and fighting Noah down. It’s like . . . he’s crazed, and those emotions soar within me, too. I can barely stand still.
I look in the direction Eli’s staring, and I see what he sees. More redcoats. A lot of them. Like a rag doll, he throws Noah over his shoulder and starts to run. I try to move, to follow, but I can’t. Moments later, the British soldiers rush by me. They’re so close I can see the whiskers on their faces. They’re chasing Eli and Noah, and before long, the mist swallows them all up. Gunshots ring through the air. Screams. Terrified screams—