[Dark Destinies 01.0] Dark Heart of the Sun

by SK Ryder

  Much as a cat might after a particularly satisfying meal, Dominic wiped at his face with his fingers and then licked them clean. He was doing a less than stellar job of it, though. Blood still smeared his chin when he turned to leer at her.

  “What a pity I have to wait a whole month to do that again.”

  “You fucking son of a bitch,” she croaked.

  “You liked that. I know you did.”

  “I asked you not to. I begged you.” With the lust abated, fury rose in its place. The back of her eyes prickled. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because I wanted to.” He cocked his head to the side and casually toyed with one of her breasts. “Because I can.”

  She shivered. “What is wrong with you, Dominic? This isn’t you.”

  “You know exactly what is wrong with me. You know the true me.” His smile was as empty as his eyes, which were bottomless pits of nothing sucking her in. “Do you hate me yet, Cassidy, ma chère?”

  She said nothing. Neither did she blink as the tears welled from her eyes.

  “Good.” His voice took on that persuasive pitch that vibrated right through her. “Now . . . go to sleep.”

  Desperate to escape this nightmare reality, she accepted the compulsion without reservation. She wanted to wake up in the morning and believe none of this had been real.

  With the last flicker of her conscious mind she felt him stir and opened her eyes one more time. He had turned away toward the moon floating over the sea. Not a trace of derision remained on his exquisite face.

  What was there instead strangled her heart even as she dropped into oblivion.

  Chapter 28

  Supernatural World

  The pounding came and went, a giant, hollow drum rising and falling. A voice babbled, too. Something nudged her shoulder. Soft bristles brushed across her face. A whiff of kitty breath.

  Cassidy rolled over, sputtering. “Goway . . .”

  The radio cheerfully announced another hour of uninterrupted music for her workday enjoyment. She blinked gritty eyes at the digital clock. Nine a.m. Monday.

  Shit!

  “Cassidy? Where are you? Answer me.”

  “What the—” De-tangling from the sheets, she staggered out of bed, Eddie underfoot, almost tripping her.

  She stopped as Jackson charged up the stairs. They spoke at the same time.

  “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

  “Why the fuck aren’t you answering your—” He raised a placating hand. “I was worried sick about you when you didn’t answer your phone. I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”

  “So you broke in?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the wide-open door. “The door was unlocked.”

  She blinked, unsure. Leaving front doors unlocked at night wasn’t her habit. But then she didn’t live here by herself.

  “Cass, are you all right?”

  Sleep and shock clouded her brain. “I need coffee,” she muttered and thumped down the stairs.

  He eyed her critically as he stepped aside. “Were you still sleeping?”

  “Mmm. What was your first clue?” She shoved the rat’s nest of her hair out of her face and made a half-hearted effort to straighten her sleep shirt, the one announcing she didn’t do mornings.

  “That’s not like you. Why aren’t you at work?”

  Cassidy cringed, remembering. Jim was bound to pee himself with glee. Not only did she not have a story, she couldn’t even manage to show up to say so. Then again, Jim and his issues seemed oh-so-trivial after this weekend.

  With an impatient flick of a hand, she slammed the front door shut and turned around. “I felt like sleeping in, okay? Obviously I had way too much fun touring strip clubs in Key West.”

  Jackson met her glower for a long moment before dropping his gaze as though consulting notes stenciled on his sneakers. “I’m sorry, Cassidy. That was a shitty thing to say.”

  “Oh, you think?”

  He nodded. “Can we talk?”

  Mystified by this conversational turn, her temper stalled. “Let me make some coffee first.”

  “I could use some myself,” he agreed, smiling, and bent down to acknowledge Eddie’s greeting with a scratch behind the tufted ears. Once she got the coffeemaker perking, she opened a can of Friskies and filled the cat’s dish. Abandoning their visitor, Eddie trotted over and dove into the serving as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

  “Greedy little bastard,” she muttered—and froze as the words triggered vivid memories of another greedy bastard. Her whole body prickled with heat. An uneasy thrill stirring her blood. Closing her eyes, she saw Dominic as she knew him—the chef who had so expertly practiced his skills in this kitchen, never so much as sampling a single thing he prepared. Not to mention a black belt martial artist, a swordsman, a Frenchman . . . a broken heart.

  She put out a hand against the cabinet to steady herself.

  “Babe? Something wrong?”

  “Um. Dizzy.” She straightened and forced a reassuring smile. “I really need coffee.”

  That surreal instant before she fell asleep, pinned beneath him . . . that was the Dominic she knew. Not the ruthless predator who had come to her bed. Wretched. He’d been wretched beyond words.

  “You sure that’s all it is? You’re looking . . . pale.”

  “Am I? Well, I’ve got my period, too. Just to add to the weekend drama.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” he murmured, instantly awkward. “Still bad?”

  “No. Much better.” She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand, wishing she could forget Dominic’s unorthodox methods as easily.

  The coffeemaker still gurgled, but there was enough in the pot for two half cups. She left Jackson’s strong and black, the way he liked it, and added sugar and skim milk to hers. As he sipped, she took several gulps from her mug and tried not to fidget as she watched him from the corner of her eye. He was dressed in shorts and sneakers and a polo shirt, not the suit and tie the office demanded of its future president. He glowed with health and easy confidence.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “So what did you want to talk about?”

  He studied the mug in his hands. It was emblazoned with a French flag and a silhouette of the Eiffel Tower. Her own boldly proclaimed ‘I (heart) St. Barthélémy.’

  With a stifled sigh, he put the mug on the kitchen counter. “Did you hear about the body they found in Key West yesterday morning?”

  “I did,” she replied and decided there was enough new coffee in the pot to top off her serving.

  “The official story is animal attack. Feral dogs.”

  “Official?” Cassidy clutched the mug with both hands as though it could anchor her to solid ground that no longer existed. The back of her neck prickled with dread.

  Jackson walked to the mouth of the hallway leading to Dominic’s room and stared into its dim depths, hands on hips. “I’m the one who found the body. I know better.”

  She stopped breathing. The news report hadn’t mentioned any names. Just some anonymous ‘real estate agent’ who discovered the gruesome scene.

  He turned back to her now, speculative. “You know what happened, don’t you? I can see you do. I’m guessing you had a front-row seat.”

  The mug slipped a little in her grip, and she put it down. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  Jackson hurried to her side and closed his large hand over her icy fingers where they splayed on the counter. “I know, babe. I know everything. And I remember what happened at Sloppy Joe’s. I know the mortal danger you were in.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I tried to save you, but I never had a chance. Because I’m . . . I’m only human.” The last was so low, she barely caught it, yet it thundered in the room and shook her to
her core.

  “My God, Jackson. You know?”

  He gave a tight, grim nod. “I do.”

  “Since when?”

  “I . . . knew what he was when I first met him.”

  “Oh.” Extracting her hand from beneath Jackson’s, she picked up her mug and drained it. He watched her, hawk-like as she tried to gather her darting thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I had no idea how you’d react. Or how he—”

  “No. No, that’s not what I meant. You didn’t just realize that . . . there’s this whole other reality out there when you met Dominic. You must have known about it. And judging by how you reacted, you knew plenty and probably for a while. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  Jackson looked as astonished as she’d ever seen him. “Where the fuck would you expect me to start?”

  That gave her pause. “Right. I guess I might have written you off as a nut job.” She pushed her hair out of her face again and blew out a long breath.

  “You didn’t tell anyone else, did you? Like Sam?”

  Cassidy guffawed. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Good. They’re very protective of their privacy,” he added with authority.

  “Are they?” With an askance glance, she zeroed in on the follow-up. “Just what all do you know about them, Jackson? About . . . vampires? And since they’re so secretive, how do you know it?”

  She knew she’d hit a nerve when he reared back, his face darkening. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again, obviously reluctant. “The Striker family has known about vampires since the sixteenth century. It’s strictly on a need-to-know basis because, as you may have noticed, interacting with them is risky.”

  Cassidy nodded. “So why do you?”

  Again he hesitated. “Business.”

  “So all that money . . .”

  “Look. I didn’t come here to discuss Foundation business with you. Now that you know what’s going on—”

  “The Striker Foundation? So that’s like a vampire financial management company?”

  “You need to get out of here.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You can’t stay here. You know that, right?”

  “Why not?”

  Jackson paced a small, frustrated circle and shoved the fingers of both hands through his spiky hair. “Do I have to spell this out for you? You’re living with a killer.” He indicated the hallway. “He killed his own father and sister, for fuck’s sake. And his girlfriend.”

  Cassidy’s knees felt a bit buttery and she locked them tight. “I know,” she whispered.

  “You know?”

  “He told me.”

  Jackson stared at her. “I see. And—what?—that’s okay with you?”

  Again she remembered the unspeakable misery that was Dominic’s face this morning. “There’s more to it than that.”

  “No, there isn’t. He’s a youngling. Self-control is not in his skill set.”

  Cassidy bristled. Jackson may know about vampires in general, but he knew nothing about this one even though he had obviously done some digging.

  “He can’t be that bad at it. I’ve lived here for weeks, and I’m fine.”

  “And you’re going to stay that way.” He turned and headed up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

  “What? Jackson, what are you doing?”

  “That bastard’s done a number on your head, babe,” he called from her bedroom. “Obviously you’re not going to listen to reason right now, and later it’ll be too late.” Drawers opened and slammed, punctuated by the sound of zippers being torn open.

  Cassidy reached the bottom of the stairs when Jackson appeared at the top carrying her duffel with a pile of clothes erupting from the gaping opening.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered, coming down.

  She backed away. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “We just talked about this, remember? You’re not safe here, so you’re coming with me. I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”

  He held out a hand to her. That tense grimace masquerading as a smile made her feel like she was looking at a younger version of Garrett Striker. Cassidy crossed her arms and let her voice ring with outrage. “Put that bag down and get the hell out of my house.”

  “It’s not your house, babe. It’s a vampire’s lair.” Jackson came closer, his voice soft as though talking to a toddler with a tantrum. “A young and dangerous vampire. You’re nothing but the current favorite plaything.”

  He snatched at her arm. She managed to duck out of reach and retreat into the kitchen.

  “This is my home.” It was true. Her refuge in the middle of nowhere had become her haven from the world. She felt safe here, and always had. Because of Dominic, she realized now, in spite of what he was—or maybe because of it. On some level she had always known, always felt at home here. “If a vampire can’t chase me off on day one, you’re sure as hell not going to drag me out now.”

  “Don’t be stupid. When he gets bored with your attitude, he’ll kill you.”

  “Dominic is my friend.”

  Jackson dropped the bag and rounded the counter. “Bullshit. That’s what he wants you to believe.”

  Cassidy backed up to the sink. “He can’t compel me without my permission,” she argued, borderline panicked now that he might actually drag her from the cottage kicking and screaming.

  “You’ve had no training to resist compulsion. He’s messing with you.”

  “No. He’s not. Believe me. I’ve seen him—”

  “You can’t trust him,” roared the six-foot-plus male mountain before her.

  She knew he was capable of a temper, but he’d never directed it toward her. When he started forward with grim purpose, her stomach dropped into her knees. Her hand groped frantically in the sink behind her, snatching up the first thing she found, which turned out to be an impressive-looking bread knife.

  Jackson stopped in his tracks.

  “I trust him, Jackson. I trust Dominic because he put his life—his immortal life on the line for me. You on the other hand, couldn’t even be bothered to open your freaking mouth on my behalf when your father and uncle shredded my dignity at a dinner table.”

  He raised both hands in a gesture of calm that stood in stark contrast to the jaw-clenching fury distorting his face. “Listen, babe, you’re a little confused right now. You don’t want to do anything that can’t be undone.”

  Cassidy gripped the knife harder as all her wobbling nerves settled into quiet certainty. “Get out.”

  “Babe . . .”

  “And stop calling me that. Do I look like something that needs to be coddled?”

  “No. You look like someone who’s out of her mind.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen things more clearly.”

  Jackson made a sudden lunge for her, but those lessons about maintaining total awareness of her environment paid off when she anticipated the move and turned in time to put the knife tip directly to his throat. He froze instantly.

  “I’m done letting anybody tell me what to do, be they human or not. This is my home, and this is where I stay. Now, get out.”

  He held her furious stare, assessing, then took several slow steps backwards. “If that’s how you want it. We’ll talk about this some other time. If you live that long.”

  She didn’t lower the knife until Jackson was halfway out the door. Then she sidestepped to her bag sitting on the kitchen table. “Wait. You forgot something.” Unzipping the side pocket, she pulled out the Striker family engagement ring and tossed it across the room for him to catch out of the air. “Eddie doesn’t want to marry you either.”

  As usual, Dominic listened for her heartbeat as he returned to
consciousness. Tonight he found it in the living room. He inhaled, seeking her scent as well, and found this all around him. With a powerful shock, he sat up. The instinctual panic quickly gave way to anger.

  “Cassidy!”

  “Sleeping beauty awakes.” She made no effort to raise her voice in the living room. “Bad dream?”

  He didn’t bother with clothes. He was out the door and in her face a second later. She almost spilled her laptop to the floor in surprise, but to her credit—and his relief—there was no hint of fear. “Why am I still here?”

  “Where else would you be?”

  “You were in my room today.”

  “Oh.” A pink blush infused her freckles. “You knew I was there?”

  “You touched me. I. Can. Smell. You.”

  “Yeah, okay. No use denying it then. I checked on you.” She shrugged and closed the computer in her lap. “Your door was unlocked.”

  Frustration still gnawed at him, but the fury subsided in the face of her wide, innocent eyes glistening with unshed tears. Watching her disintegrate under his betrayal of her trust last night had torn him apart. He did it for one reason and one reason only—he didn’t expect to have to live with that memory for long. But he still existed tonight, and he still remembered. As did she.

  Feeling drained and almost humanly weak, he sank onto the sofa beside her. “Why?”

  “I was curious,” she whispered.

  “And what did you find?”

  “You were sleeping.”

  “I was defenseless,” he growled, making her flinch.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”