Darklove by Elle Jasper Page A

me ten minutes,” I say. “I need to shower.”
    â€œTen,” he agrees. “I threw your bag in the first room.”
    I leave the kitchen without another word, hurry to the first guest room, and toss my duffel onto the bed. Riffling through what small amount of belongings I packed, I pull out a clean pair of black skinny jeans, a long-sleeved black Under Armour shirt, panties and socks, and a clean sports bra. Grabbing the smaller bag containing bathroom stuff, I head to the room’s en suite bath. Within seconds I’m stripped and standing beneath a steaming waterfall. Soapy water runs down my body, my arms, and for a moment, I stare at the dragon’s tail that’s wrapped around one of them. I skim my hand over it, remembering the day my best friend, Nyx, inked it there. Starting at my lower spine, the dragon winds up and over my shoulder. The tail curls around my index finger. It was the last part to be colored in. Hurt like a mother, right there over my bony knuckle. And it seems so long ago. A whole life ago.
    Rinsing the conditioner from my hair, I turn the water off, wrap my hair in a towel, and climb out. Just as I turn my head to close the shower door, the window catches my eye in the mirror. A face. My heart stops.
    I whip around and stare at the window.
    Nothing’s there.
    There’s a ledge above the toilet, just beneath the window. I leap up and crouch, tilting my head sideways and peering out. I see nothing but a streetlight, the sidewalk, and the Rover I hijacked. Nothing else.
    â€œWhat the hell, Riley?”
    I turn and glance at Noah, standing just inside the bathroom door. “I thought I saw something. A face.” I peer back outside. Still nothing but darkness and shadows. I fine-tune my hearing, and everything normal screeches to a halt. The sounds I hear now are that of a mouse’s heartbeat. The scratching of some small animal against the bark of a tree. A human’s breath easing in and out of lungs.
    Nothing else.
    I look at Noah and jump down, clutching my towel to my body. I land on the white cotton bath rug. “It was Eli.”
    â€œCome on, darlin’,” Noah says in his Charleston drawl. “That fast and you know it was Eli?”
    My head spins. “I don’t know anymore. Get out so I can get dressed and we can get the hell out of here,” I say, frustrated. I look at Noah. “It’ll only take a sec.”
    Noah says nothing and backs out of the bathroom.
    I drop the towel and throw on my clothes. Quickly, I pull my wet hair back and secure it with a silver clip. In my room, I yank on my boots and jacket and pass Noah in the hall.
    The night air is chilled; it’s early November in the Highlands. Funny, I can
tell
it’s chilly out—probably more than chilly. Air is crisp. I feel the cold, feel the wind. My breath puffs out before me as warm meets cold. But it doesn’t affect me as it did when I was solely human. My eyes search the dark, the shadows. I sniff the air. I listen.
    Many things assault my senses.
    None of them scream
Eli
.
    â€œShake it off,” Noah says. “And get your head in the game.” He glances at his watch. “Twenty minutes till midnight. Let’s get moving.” One final glare, his gaze levels mine. “Don’t take off away from me, Riley Poe. Swear to God, I’ll kick your ass.”
    With one more glance around our guesthouse, we head out to Montague Row and follow it along, side by side, at a fairly brisk human walk. It’s still early, and there are people moving about. Not many, but enough that I have to tune back my hearing. Too many human heartbeats, voices, whispers at once. Almost makes me dizzy. It’s become so easy for me now. I just . . . think it, and it happens. Kinda scary, and I believe that particular trait came from Vic’s father, Senior Arcos. In times of extreme adrenaline, though, I have to concentrate. Probably a