I tucked the vials of blood into my leather satchel and walked toward the intersection to hail a cab. The alley Sevris and the others had hidden within was the same alley I’d crawled through to escape from Kaden several weeks ago. God, had it only been weeks? It seemed like just yesterday, yet somehow, I felt years older.
I peeked inside the alley as I passed, and a pair of glowing blue eyes stared back at me.
I jerked back instinctively, tripping on the edge of the sidewalk and back onto the street.
A taxi honked. Its headlight blinded me, and I screwed my eyes shut, braced for the impact twice in one night.
Dominic’s arms wrapped around my waist, and before I bit asphalt, the ground fell away from my feet. We launched high across the cold night sky, leaving the danger of speeding taxis and their headlights miles behind us.
Chapter 8
We landed on a rooftop. As soon as my feet were firmly beneath me, I pushed away from Dominic, and just like Sevris, he let me.
“What the hell? Are you trying to kill me?” I snapped, clutching my heart.
He raised an eyebrow. “I saved you from the taxi, did I not?”
“Saving me from the taxi doesn’t do much good if I die from heart failure. What were you doing in that alley? Were you following me, too?”
Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Is hiding in the alley to hear your conversation with my vampires without interrupting considered ‘following’?”
I blinked at him. “Actually, yes, that’s the exact definition of following. That actually crosses the line into ‘eavesdropping’ and ‘stalking.’”
“If Neil had attacked you again, as he is prone to do, or if Sevris had smelled the absence of your night blood, I would have intervened on your behalf to prevent them from harming you. In that scenario, how would my actions be defined?” Dominic asked, cocking his head to the side.
I blew wild strands of hair out of my face and regarded him noncommittally. His question was serious, but I could tell by the glint in his eyes and the smirk pulling at the corner of his lips that he was enjoying himself.
I crossed my arms. “You’re arguing semantics.”
Dominic shook his head. “I’m arguing intent. I was protecting you, not stalking you.”
“Except that you didn’t make your presence known when Neil, Sevris, and Rafe left. You just stared at me from inside the alley with your creepy, glowy eyes.” I glared at him, making my point. “Like a stalker.”
Dominic’s expression broke into a full smile, the scarred half of his lip and chin remaining stiff in a downward pull, so his smile was lopsided and charming, nearly endearing, if one could see past his fangs. Which lately and unfortunately, I could.
“I didn’t expect you to look in the alley. Most people would have simply walked past, and I would have gone unnoticed,” he said, still smiling and shaking his head at me. “My mistake for expecting you to act like most people.”
“Right,” I muttered, trying to hold onto my indignation, but his smile, which was so rare and fleeting, was like a blanket over flames, suffocating the source of my anger. I lifted my arms and waffled my hands at our surroundings. “What are we doing here? This isn’t my roof.”
“No, it’s our roof.”
I raised my eyebrows. “We have a roof?”
He nodded, and the anticipation in his expression was unmistakable.
I studied it, but besides the view, the roof itself was unremarkable. I shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“I suppose you were distracted at the time.”
“What was distracting me?”
Dominic’s smile widened. “Me.”
He grabbed my waist and dipped me back in one swift motion, so I was lying prone in his embrace. A squeak escaped me—a high, girly, scared little squeak that made me hate myself—and then Dominic’s face was buried in the hollow of my neck, tipping my face to the side to gain better access.
I struggled because I’d hate myself even more if I didn’t, but even as his growl hummed low and steady, like the constant undertone of a well-oiled motor, goose bumps puckered over my neck and down my side. The cool softness of his lips against my skin sparked a deep, burning heat that scorched me from cheeks to toes. My eyes rolled back from the sensations he forced me to feel, and I wanted more.
I could deny my feelings and pretend that I wasn’t attracted to a monster, but the monster I’d labeled him as at first sight wasn’t the monster he’d proven himself to be. He was still dangerous and devious and oftentimes more instinctual than intellectual. He was probably manhandling me for personal gain, but God help me, I wanted his hands handling me.
His tongue flicked against my throat, and I felt the thrill of his touch shoot down my spine.
I gasped.
“Do you notice anything familiar?”
He breathed on my neck, and my wet skin, slick from his tongue, sizzled.
I moaned in response.
“What do you see?”
Considering that my eyes were closed, I was seeing the back of my eyelids, but he was trying to prove a point. I should oblige before I melted into a mindless puddle. Pulling my concentration away from his lips and tongue, away from the delicious pressure and movement of his hands, I opened my eyes. Strangely enough, the view was familiar. Granted, I saw the cityscape from my rooftop every day, but something about this particular view—the position of the buildings, the lights, the angle of my prone position beneath him—tickled a faint memory.
“Have we been on this particular roof before?” I asked, doubtfully.
Dominic nodded, and I tried and failed to repress the shiver that engulfed me from the movement of his stubble scratching against my neck.
I frowned, questions cutting through my desire. “Do you shave?”
Dominic paused mid-nuzzle. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt your five o’clock shadow. Your cheeks are usually smooth, and I guess I assumed—” I swallowed, hesitant to voice my question.
“Please, don’t censor yourself now.” Dominic lifted me upright, setting me back on my feet. When he stepped back, the space between us left me feeling oddly bereft. “Finish your question.”
He was annoyed, but he was also right. I started my question. I should see it through. “Does your hair grow?”
He stared at me.
“It’s just a question. You know I need to ask questions. I think of them, and they nag me until—”
“Does your hair grow?”
I blinked at him, thrown off by the question. “Well, yes, but—” But I’m alive, I thought. I shut my mouth.
We’d had this conversation before, and I’d debated the nature of Dominic’s existence in my mind since meeting him. By human standards, he was dead—he didn’t breathe and he didn’t have a pulse. By every other standard—walking, talking, bleeding—he was alive and well. Better than well; Dominic was Master of his species, and if his species happened to have hearts that didn’t beat and lungs that didn’t breathe, I suppose a different measure of differentiating life from death was necessary.
Or at least, that’s what Dominic would say.
The man in question raised his eyebrows. “But what?” he asked, waiting to hear how I’d finish that sentence before reacting. He was keeping his expression deliberately blank, so I couldn’t tell if he was amused or angry.
I sighed. “But I also don’t burn in sunlight or drink human blood to survive. We are fundamentally different creatures. I’m just curious.”
He shook his head, some of the tension seeping from his stance. “Your never-ending curiosity,” he murmured.
“Is trying your never-ending patience?” I finished for him.
He smiled, reluctantly. “We’ve come a long way, Cassidy, you and I,” he said.
I smiled back. “Really? How so?”
His smile widened, flashing fangs, and we both burst out laughing.
“Considering everything you’ve been through, at both my h
ands and the hands of others, I’m shocked by how far we’ve come,” Dominic admitted, the residual hiccups of laughter still lingering.
I nodded my agreement. “And by how far I still want to go.”
The words slipped out of my mouth so fast, I hadn’t realized I’d uttered them aloud until they lingered like a blade between us. Part of me wanted to snatch them back from the air and hide them in the dark, unfathomable depths of the box where I locked all my secrets.
The other part of me—the ridiculous, asinine, foolhardy part that loved risk far more than its reward—saw the muscles shift in his expression, how he lost the last of his laughter and stared at me like I was more than a woman or a meal. He stared at me like he was consumed by me. To want him back with such force would be more than asinine and foolhardy—it was deadly—but I couldn’t help how I felt, and God help us both, he could sense it.
I opened my mouth to try to take it back, but Dominic wouldn’t have any of that. He took advantage of my open mouth, and his tongue locked with mine before I’d uttered one syllable.
Whatever I’d been about to say was scorched from my mind. His lips rocked against mine. His hands wrapped around my back so every inch of me, from thigh to chest, was pressed against him. I bit him, needing to fight, to feel like there was still a woman inside of me that I recognized and respected, but he bit me back. I gasped from wanting more—more tongue, more lips, more teeth, more hands—more than I’d ever imagined wanting. Most especially, more than I’d ever imagined wanting from him.
My leather satchel hit the concrete roof. I clutched the front of his button-down in my fists, wrinkling and ruining another one of his immaculate shirts, trying to anchor myself in the moment. He’d taught me to focus on the pressure and warmth of his hand in mine when I was overwhelmed—to anchor my mind with skin-to-skin contact while enduring extreme physical or mental pain—and I needed that mooring now. The walls he’d broken through to touch my heart had been cemented in a foundation of betrayal, abandonment, rage, and grief so deep and solid that they were long overdue for breaking. I felt as if the surrounding pieces of myself that had anchored them in place for half a decade—pieces that I’d never intended to lose—were becoming uprooted with them.
I was losing them now, whether I’d intended to or not; I could either pull away, like I probably should, and attempt to make an excuse for leading him on despite my feelings, or rip down the remaining ruins of those walls myself before he caused more damage. Since I’d always prided myself on asking the hard questions—and Dominic was undoubtedly the hardest question of my entire life—I gave him the only answer I could possibly give.
I released his shirt, curled my hands around his neck, and angled my head to kiss him more deeply.
He groaned, and the rumble of his growl wasn’t dangerous this time. I recognized it as more male than vampire, and it sparked an answering weakness in me. My knees were unaccountably shaking. My body felt unnaturally hot and aching and reliant on his strength. I didn’t recognize myself; the feeling should have been terrifying. I’d never been one to embrace change, but the change in this moment was so delicious and I was so hungry for more, hungry for him, that I didn’t care. His hands tightened around my back, pulling me closer and deeper into him. I didn’t think I could feel so surrounded by another person, nearly invaded by his touch and strength and the fresh pine scent of his skin embracing me, but Dominic was everywhere—in my mouth, around my body, flooding my nose and ears and shivering down my spine—so every nerve sparked like the brilliance and danger of an exposed, live wire. And I reveled in it.
I swiped my tongue over his, deep and soft and trembling, acting on the unexplainable urge to somehow meld myself inside him, desperate to feel the heat and texture and exposure of skin on skin, when something sliced the side of my tongue.
Blood instantly filled my mouth. I jerked back, touching my hand to my mouth. I’d cut myself on his fang. I’d lost myself and forgotten I was tonguing a vampire, and I’d cut myself on his fang.
I not only lost myself, I thought, I lost my freaking mind.
My blood smeared the seam of his lips. His tongue darted out to lick it clean.
“Sorry,” he murmured, but he tightened his grip and leaned down for more.
I turned my head and forced myself to step back from his embrace. I’d been through many difficult and heart-wrenching milestones in my life—the breakup with Adam, the death of my parents, fighting Percocet addiction, and recently, surviving the near loss of my brother—so I couldn’t honestly say that pulling away from Dominic Lysander was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t say it came close. The monstrous form he wore during the day and the danger he posed to humans at night was a danger that recently, and likely mistakenly, didn’t seem to apply to me. The strength and increasing depth of my feelings for him was more terrifying than Dominic himself.
I may have torn my lips from his, but his lips didn’t stop their torment. He trailed a blazing path of kisses and careful nips down the side of my neck to the sweet spot in the curve of my shoulder. I gasped.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” Dominic murmured between kisses.
“Well, yes, I meant what I said, but I didn’t mean more than this. We can’t continue—”
“The hell we can’t.”
He moved up to nibble on my ear, and I shivered. If he continued, I might not be able to form coherent sentences much longer, let alone argue, but my tongue was throbbing in a bone-deep ache. Blood swelled inside my mouth, and in another moment, I’d need to spit.
“Stop. I can’t,” I said, my words garbled from trying to keep the blood from welling over and running down my chin.
“You can’t or you won’t?” Dominic asked, his voice rough and short, but he did as I asked. He stopped. His lips stopped their sharp, nibbling kisses, and his hands loosened around my waist.
I turned my head, unable to hold in the blood any longer, and spat.
Saliva, thickened and darkened by my blood, dripped in a long rope from my mouth and hit the cement rooftop. I cringed and wiped the back of my hand over my chin.
“I can’t,” I said, honestly.
Dominic’s face lost its edge as he searched my face. I don’t know what he saw in my expression, but his own softened. He leaned in for another kiss.
I shook my head. “I said no.”
“Just one last kiss for tonight. Don’t let it end on blood and pain. We are beyond that now.”
His eyes were so blue, nearly white toward the pupil, and so otherworldly and fascinating that seeing such raw emotion in his gaze was spellbinding.
We shouldn’t, last kiss or not, but hell, when did I ever do anything that I should?
When he ducked his head down, I didn’t pull away this time. I was wary and uncertain, and if I was truthful with myself, still hungry for him—which only made me more wary and uncertain—but he was careful this time. We both were. He pressed his lips gently to mine, coaxing and softly asking permission. I opened my mouth slightly, and his tongue darted inside, smooth and sure, to swipe along the side of my tongue. I held still, afraid to participate, knowing that if I lost myself in the whirlwind and raging fire of our heat I’d hurt myself again.
The sizzling burn of his healing saliva enflamed my mouth. He kissed me again, just the soft press of lips and lingering heat, before pulling away.
The silence was suddenly awkward between us. Our eyes met, and for the first time, we both let our eyes slide away.
“Good evening, Cassidy DiRocco,” he murmured.
I felt the burn of tears sear the back of my eyes. I was an idiot. He was only saying good-bye for tonight—I knew better than to think he would bid me a permanent farewell—and yet that’s how this felt, like we were on the edge of something gaping and if neither of us bridged that distance, we never would. In coming physically closer, we’d somehow pulled further apart. And why did the thought of his p
ermanent good-bye make me feel the keening regret of grief?
“Enjoy your article,” he added. “I know it’s long in coming, and I dare say, you deserve this one.”
I snorted. “Right. Will you be using the wolf pendant again to fool everyone into thinking this was a gang hit, or should I prepare a different lie for the public this time?”
Dominic shook his head. “Meredith took pictures of the animal-like bites and dismembered bodies, did she not?”
I blinked at him. “Of course she did. She’s under the misguided impression that she’ll get to print the truth, since she doesn’t remember otherwise from our last animal-attack article.”
“Write the animal-attack article.”
I blinked at him, sure I’d misheard him. “You want me to write the truth? I thought you didn’t want me to expose Jillian. I thought you didn’t want me to encourage the Day Reapers to come for us.”
“No, I don’t, but with my waning strength, it might be helpful to have the Day Reapers come for her.”
“That’s your plan B now that I’m out of the game?” I asked, shocked. “The Day Reapers?”
“Do you want to write your article or not?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Only write the evidence you have based on the scene, not on what you know based on your experience with Jillian and the Damned. Write your original animal-attack story, and I’ll let it be printed unredacted this time.”
“I can’t write about the missing hearts anyway,” I admitted. “Greta wants to keep that information out of the press again. The story is the animal attack.” I met his gaze, feeling the wonder of receiving presents from Santa on Christmas, a joy that I hadn’t experienced since childhood. “I can write my article, and you won’t alter the evidence?”
“Write your article without revealing Jillian, the Damned, vampires, or the missing hearts,” Dominic nodded, “and I won’t alter even a fingerprint.”
I breathed in sharply. Hope was a powerful thing. It could save a person from the edge of despair as easily as it could prevent that same person from facing the hard truth of reality. I gazed into Dominic’s eerie, otherworldly eyes, the hardest truth I’d ever had to accept, and felt hope. He was encouraging me to write this article, maybe not the exact article I wanted to write—I still couldn’t reveal the existence of vampires—but this article would warn the public against a very real danger in the night. Did leaving that danger unnamed make it any less real?
Eternal Reign Page 8
