by SK Ryder
“What if the Strikers are a clan of wizards?” Samantha’s already high voice rose another octave with giddy disbelief.
“Right. What would you do if you found out? If you discovered some one hundred and ten percent irrefutable proof?”
She glanced over and saw Cassidy’s intent expression. The delicate brows rose over the rim of her Ray Bans. “You’re serious.”
Cassidy forced herself to relax and not look like a candidate for the nearest psych ward. “The conference . . . something someone said got me thinking about the supernatural. And I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she tossed in for good measure and shrugged.
“Really.” Samantha looked dubious, but turned down the radio and brushed at the strands of hair the wind had pulled out of her braid. “Well then, I guess my reaction would depend on what kind of wizards they are.”
“How do you mean?”
“There are good wizards and bad wizards, right? Which one do you think Jack would be?”
“I—I have no idea.”
“That's important,” she counseled, getting into the theory that wasn’t a theory. “If he’s the kind of sorcerer who uses his power for evil, then, well, that wouldn’t work for me. But if he does good, now that would be cool,” she finished, nodding. “Maybe I should ask him.”
Which one was Dominic? Which version of him was dominant? Cassidy didn’t know. “What if he’s both? You know . . . a gray area?” Understatement of the century.
“True. Nothing is ever black and white.” Samantha bunched her mouth to one side in thought. “I guess that would depend on what I could accept. You know, where to draw the line. But I’ll tell you this. If I find out Jack is training to be an evil sorcerer, I’m moving in with you. Do you think your roommate would mind?”
Cassidy had shared with Samantha only what her brother already knew about Dominic—French, cooks, gay, infuriating. At trying to imagine the vampire’s reaction to another clueless human showing up at his door, she didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or faint. She did neither. Just stared at her friend.
“Oh, relax, sweetie. I was kidding,” Samantha cajoled with a reassuring grab of Cassidy’s arm. “I’m sure he’s no sorcerer. The French cook is all yours. But I won’t say no to a dinner invite.”
Cassidy smiled at the other woman’s carefree laughter. So clear. Black and white and a bunch of gray in between. Draw a line and pick a side.
Not so easy when it came to Dominic. It wasn’t even a question of life or death. He had killed with ruthless delight while saving her and, by extension, a number of others that Zack might have preyed on even without Aurelius. Dominic also killed to feed—to survive—following a law of nature obeyed by every predator on the planet. Though no other predator came camouflaged as an intelligent and seductive human being. Dominic did. That made him extraordinarily dangerous.
But did it also make him evil?
Cassidy looked out over the simmering tropical day and knew Dominic was right; she should be running from him as fast as she could. He gave her that option by allowing her to live in spite of what she knew of him.
Which was precisely why she would do no such thing.
The mid-morning sun already seared as it beat down on Jackson’s head, coating his face in sweat and making his polo shirt stick to his ribs. According to the custom app on his phone, the micro-tracker he planted on that presumptuous bastard of a bloodsucker last night hid at the end of a tiny lane too narrow to park in. Leaving the Audi at a curb around the corner, he resigned himself to going for a walk and dealing with the logistics of removing a comatose vampire once he had found the creature.
It wasn’t the first thing to go sideways this morning and probably wouldn’t be the last, but he could deal. Just like he dealt with Cassidy. Though he wanted nothing more than to grab her and haul her away, he knew there was no escape for either of them at this point. She was under that baby vamp’s control and would do whatever he commanded, and for the time being, Jackson couldn’t trust her not to kill him in his sleep. The youngling had it out for him, no question, and in Cassidy he had found his perfect weapon.
They won’t hesitate to turn the people you love into weapons . . . Garrett’s words still rang in his ears, mocking him.
“Fucking bastard,” Jackson spat under his breath, not sure which one he was more pissed at, his uncle for being right or Nicky for proving the point.
Never mind figuring out how to carry a vampire in a body bag to his trunk in full daylight in a beehive of activity like Key West. He should put the bloodsucker out of his misery on the spot.
Jackson throttled his bloodlust with thoughts of presenting a live capture for his uncle’s inspection—and then going on to trap the powerful sire as well. Maybe even a whole nest, including the demon that had first attacked Cassidy. The sire couldn’t be far. Anything that old and powerful wouldn’t tolerate a youngling getting away from it for long. Already brimming with his anticipated victories, Jackson homed in on one of the decrepit little houses in various stages of renovation. Just the sort of place vampires liked to hole up in during the day.
“Now let’s see who’s useless,” he muttered.
The high-pitched buzzing of cicadas rang in his ears and almost drowned out the squeak of the gate’s hinge as he let himself into the tiny yard. Several large flies hummed past his face. Many more gathered over foul smears on the ground and . . .
Jackson stopped. “What the—”
The body lying in the weeds was that of a young man, more a boy really. The paper-white face was frozen in a silent, skyward scream, and the throat gaped with a deep, savage gash. There was no blood beyond what smeared the ragged, fly-encrusted wound.
Jackson’s gorge rose. Ferocious memories of his brother’s death pounded over him. His feet refused to cooperate as he scrambled back, getting tangled in the clanging carcass of a bicycle. He managed to stay upright long enough to grab at one of the posts holding up a sagging porch roof. Compared to Justin’s death, this was surgically tidy, but the cause was unmistakably the same.
He stood, taking deep, calming breaths until the panic subsided. Sweat poured down his face and neck. He wiped at it. “Okay, buddy. You’re done.” When he found the bastard, there’d be no need for the body bag.
But the tracker wasn’t inside the house. According to the app, it lay behind it. Jackson squashed a spike of anger. If the tracker had come off, he was screwed.
Jackson picked his way through tangled, tropical vegetation into the backyard. There was a fire nearby. He could smell an acrid stench that got stronger the farther he pushed into the jungle. Mosquitos whined around his head, hungry for blood.
Baffled, he came to a stop before several small mounds of pristine white sand. Some shreds of fabric poked out of them. The micro tracker sat right on top, its black coloring blending in with the yellow and black floral pattern of what remained of a Hawaiian shirt.
A cool quagmire opened somewhere deep at the bottom of his mind. Something wasn’t right. Reluctantly he bent to tug at the shirt remnants, retrieving the tracker. As he did, the sand shifted, spreading almost like a liquid. Feather-light particles drifted into the air around him. No, not sand . . .
Ash.
And not just any ash.
The piles had a shape to them, unmistakable now that he allowed himself to see what he was looking at. Jackson swallowed hard, tasting ash, smelling fire—wood fire, old fire—and the complete disintegration of an ancient vampire.
An ancient vampire tagged with his tracker.
A tracker he didn’t remember placing.
A tremor shook him. He scanned the yard, desperate for any clues that could shake lose his obviously altered memories. His eyes fell on another, smaller pile of ash a few paces away. Hidden in deeper shadows, it still retained its original skul
l outline. Something had separated the head from the body, something like a sword maybe.
A sword like the ones in the youngling’s lair.
Jackson’s heart pounded in his ears. Traces of ash glittered all around, glinting even in the vegetation swaying overhead and along the edge of the roof. Vampire blood in the light of day. Deep gouges pockmarked the weathered wall. He could almost see the tip of a sword hitting there, powered by an inhuman strength locked in a battle to the death between two utterly mismatched opponents.
And Cassidy . . . between them.
The fog in his brain cleared before a storm of memories, crystal clear and all at once. His encounter—no, alliance—with his target, the youngling. His struggle to wrest Cassidy from an ancient monster, and his complete failure to do so. Yet she had survived the night. Because of Dominic. Who had not failed.
Jackson’s legs buckled, sending him crashing to the ground. He stared at the ash shifting around his knees.
It moved as fluidly as the truth.
Chapter 27
Alone in the Dark
Cassidy woke with a start. Silver moonlight flooded the room. Eddie lay beside her, paws tucked under him, his round eyes and swiveling ears keyed toward the door and the sound of the downstairs shower running.
So I’m alone in a house with a vampire. At night.
She had spent so much time imagining this scenario during the day it almost didn’t register as extraordinary. By the clock on her nightstand, it was 4:32 Monday morning, and her limbs felt nailed to the mattress, her brain sluggish. She wanted to see him. She wanted to talk to him.
She wanted to sleep.
Cassidy put her hand on Eddie’s back and closed her eyes.
She woke when the massive cat scrambled across her in a mad rush to get off the bed. Muttering, she rolled over . . . and came face to face with Dominic. He lay on his side, his head propped on one hand, wet hair slicked away from his luminous face. His sudden appearance seemed more like another dream than reality. She glanced down the lean, muscled length of him, poured there with such grace. He wore the black gym pants, the new skull-and-crossbones pirate shirt, and an expression of amusement.
“Very sneaky,” she said. “Didn’t you promise to stay out of here?”
“Do you want me to leave?”
Déjà vu swept over her together with the velvet timber of his voice. “That depends. Have you eaten?”
Small smile. “Oui.”
“I see. Did you kill anyone tonight?” Might as well get this over with.
His eyes became enormous pools of darkness. He blew out an exasperated breath. “Why are you still here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“After all you have seen? It did not occur to you during the safe light of day to pack your bags and go?”
“I didn’t say that.” She propped herself up on one elbow, facing him. “But I decided not to.”
“You are insane, Madame,” he declared with a quiet vehemence that rippled down her back.
“I’m going by history. You haven’t hurt me yet. I don’t believe you will. What I know or don’t know doesn’t matter.”
“You know nothing.”
“Maybe not.” That not-quite-human hiss in his voice should have made her flesh crawl, yet she felt remarkably unperturbed, and not because she knew her life depended on remaining calm. Her faith in him was absolute. She didn’t quite know why, but understood that now was not the time to question it. “I know enough to have my theories.”
His brows shot up. “More theories? Vraiment?”
“I know,” she said, heaving a dramatic sigh. “That last one was way off base. But given what I know now . . . well, now I think you hunt—and probably kill—every night. I think you kill those with the most guilt because they are the most terrified of what they must think is the devil himself coming for them. And . . . I think that deep down, when you feed the beast . . . you enjoy it.”
Countless emotions flitted across his face. “This does not frighten you?”
“Would I be here telling you this if it did?”
“Your cat is smarter than you.”
“Eddie knows what you are?”
“He recognizes me as the superior predator.”
“Huh. And you haven’t hurt him either. Interesting.”
“He has wisely avoided me. As should you,” he snapped.
Cassidy chewed on her lip, considering. “You’re being more of a pain in the ass than usual. This isn’t you.”
“And you are being more foolish than usual. You only think you know me.”
“Then why don’t you start by telling me how close I am with my theory?”
“Your theory is not nearly grim enough.”
“Enlighten me.”
He didn’t hesitate. “The first body I drained was my own father. And my beloved baby sister, Anastasie, for whom I committed murder with my bare hands.” He shrugged. “Her, too, I killed.”
Cassidy swallowed hard. She’d asked for it. “That’s . . . grim.”
“And Jeovana, my beautiful Italian love,” he crooned. “I buried my cock between her thighs and my fangs in her throat until she lay dead in my arms.”
Cassidy couldn’t quite suppress the shiver rattling through her. How had Dominic gotten so close? He tilted his head as if he might kiss her. The tip of his nose brushed hers. Her senses swam with his clean masculine fragrance, his tremendous leashed strength. She couldn’t move a muscle.
“You see, ma petite fou, I am deadly to everyone near me,” he whispered. “Everyone . . . is . . . prey.”
“Did—” She swallowed again to wet a mouth gone dusty dry. “Did you have a choice?”
The vampire in her bed became so motionless he might as well have been painted there in moonlight. Cold, mesmeric beauty. Still, lethal grace.
“Answer me.” She gulped. “And don’t start lying to me now.”
“I am a greedy bastard. I always have been. I take my pleasure where I find it. I leave the bodies where they drop.”
She shook her head. “No. No, I don’t believe that.”
“But it is the truth.” Raising his chin, he narrowed his eyes and sniffed at the air, looking much like a leopard seeking the scent of prey. “Tell me, ma petite. Do you still wish to feed me?”
“Didn’t you say you already . . . ate tonight?” A thin shard of apprehension slid through her.
“I’m in the mood for dessert.”
She became aware of how her heart pounded against her ribs. Judging by his sharpening regard of her, he heard it, too.
“I’m guessing you’re not really giving me a choice. Are you?” And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. If he drank her blood, they might rekindle that strange mental connection, and she could get to the bottom of this bizarre mood. She turned her head, exposing her throat.
But instead of taking the anticipated bite, the vampire slid a hand beneath the sheet and caressed her bare thigh. Lightning forked along every nerve.
“Don’t do that.”
“You were so much more agreeable last time.” His fingers circled around the back of her knee.
“Last—?” She felt faint. “That . . . wasn’t a dream?”
He shook his head slowly, looking every kind of smug. Cassidy rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling, recalling their encounter the night of the storm—the hard lines of his body against hers, the strength of those arms around her, the silk taste of his mouth in hers.
The soul-deep hunger for more.
Real, all of it—and nothing at all like this.
Leaning over her, Dominic feathered his fingertips up the inside of her leg, sending unwelcome sensations rippling through her belly. His eyes, full of empty darkness, regard
ed her like the meal she clearly was about to be. Pulling back the sheet, he lowered his face to her crotch and inhaled.
Cassidy made to scramble away, but he caught and held her hips with both hands.
“You can’t be serious, Dominic. No!”
“Blood is blood.”
“It’s disgusting is what it is!”
“A matter of opinion.” He subdued her struggles with laughable ease as he rucked up her sleep shirt and divested her of the utilitarian underwear and pad.
“I’m hurting, you bastard,” she hissed. “This is not fun for me.” He pushed her legs apart. She tried to kick at him, but she might as well have been battling steel ties. A sense of helplessness gripped her, morphing into panic, driving tears to her eyes. “Do you hear me? Stop! Please!”
“But this is entertaining for a greedy, bloodthirsty bastard such as myself. And you will feel better once you relax,” he added on a bland note.
Then he helped himself to ‘dessert’ as though enjoying a most delectable scoop of ice cream.
She gasped and clapped her hands over her face. She didn’t want to see this, didn’t want to know it. She didn’t want to be here. But she couldn’t stop feeling what he did to her, and her aching body responded with astounding fervor. She bit her lip against the pitifully needy whimper shuddering through her, but couldn’t stop the throaty cry that followed hard on its heels.
Dominic moaned with pleasure. Relentless in his pursuit of what he craved, he used all his considerable erotic skills to get it without so much as pricking her skin. By the time the second wave of ecstasy washed through her, Cassidy ceased to care. He had been correct—physically, she did feel better. With each release, the lingering cramps unraveled like knots in a satin rope. Nothing but a deep, powerful hunger remained which only he could satisfy, and satisfy it he did.
She didn’t know how much time passed before he decided he had enough or that maybe she had had enough. She lay panting and numb, staring unseeing at the ceiling, her hands fisted in the sheets. He moved up between her legs, holding her pinned with his weight. Not that she possessed either will or energy to resist anything at this point.
