Her golden hazel eyes watched him with sympathy. She lifted a hand.
Uncertain what she wanted, Dominic eyed her warily.
“It’s okay,” she drawled, grinning at him. “I told you earlier, I don’t bite.”
“So, what? You want to shake my hand, is that it?” Dominic gave her a dubious stare.
Kelsey sighed. She continued to stand there, holding her hand out patiently. “You took one hell of an injury. Malachi bashed your brain in, you know. Wouldn’t have surprised me if it had come leaking out your ears. It takes a lot of energy to heal, you know that. That’s part of why you’re so edgy, so restless right now. I can help.”
Dominic stared at her as though she had lost her mind. “I’m not going to feed from you. Do you want him to kill me?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Kelsey reached out and snagged his hand.
The second her hand touched his, the turmoil inside him eased. It didn’t disappear. Dominic suspected only two things would rid him of it completely—finding her or dying. But it no longer dominated his mind. He could think. Somewhat.
She let their hands remain linked for a few seconds and then she pulled back. But that sense of peace lingered.
“The dreams,” Malachi prodded.
Dominic scowled at him. Then he leaned back against the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. Once more able to think, he studied the older vampire and then turned to examine the witch. Malachi’s face gave nothing away, but the same couldn’t be said of Kelsey’s.
She stared at him, her pretty, pale face unsmiling. Her expression was somber, but there was a light in her eyes and he could hear the rapid beat of her heart. She was excited, anxious or worried . . . maybe all three.
Tell them. That was what his gut insisted, that was what his heart screamed. Blowing out a breath, Dominic rested his head against the wall and said softly, “The dream started changing on me a few years ago—sometime after I Changed. I really don’t remember when. She still looks close to the same. There is just something different, subtle things. Her hair is blond—up until a few years ago, she had always had brown hair. Still got blue eyes, but her eyes are sadder. The shape is just a little different, too. Face shape is similar, almost the same, but not quite. The physical differences aren’t big, but they are there. They don’t mean jack. Not to me. She’s the same woman, but she isn’t the same.”
“What else is different?”
Turning his head, Dominic looked to Kelsey. “In the dreams when I see her, it’s like I haven’t seen her in a hundred years. Two hundred. It doesn’t make sense, I know, and I can’t explain it. But it’s like I lost her in one dream and I found her in another.”
“It makes more sense than you realize,” Kelsey muttered under her breath. She toyed with the end of her braid and started to pace.
“And you’ve always had dreams about her?” Malachi stared at him, that gaze focused, intense.
Dominic closed his eyes. “Always.”
“But the dreams didn’t really change until the past few years?”
“No.” Absently, Dominic rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest. He ached, deep inside.
Malachi asked, “These older dreams of yours, do they change much?”
“Hardly at all.” That phantom ache began to throb, starting in his back, radiating forward. He flexed his shoulders, trying to ease the pain.
Cold. Cold pain, followed by the heated rush of blood as it pumped out of him. Then the cold was gone, and there was just the pain in his blood . . . and in her. Nessa. Holding him while she cried. While she pleaded with him not to leave her.
“What happens in these dreams? These older ones that never change?”
Lifting his eyes, he stared at Kelsey’s face. “I die. I die, and I leave her alone.”
Lowering his lashes, he pressed his hand to that phantom ache in his chest. He could feel the blade. He could feel the blood. He could smell the blood.
And her tears, he could feel them falling on his face.
He could remember the pain, as clearly as though it had truly happened—just days ago. He could remember the shock of it, then the burning, followed by the icy maw of death as he bled out.
He could remember clinging to life, so desperate not to leave her. Making a promise. A promise he had no way of keeping, but damned if he wouldn’t find a way.
“Dreams.” That rational voice in his mind tried to fight its way to the front. “None of this makes sense. No way could this have happened.”
Quietly, Kelsey said, “You know, some people would insist that there’s no way vampires could exist. That there’s no way a man can turn from a man to a wolf and then back. The mortal world would insist that true witches aren’t real.” She gave him an understanding smile. Warmth and compassion glinted in her eyes. “A few years ago, you would’ve been one of them, wouldn’t you? Would that bright, clever medical student really believe in vampires, shapeshifters or witches? Or would he have been too logical for that?”
“Good point,” he said, his voice tight and rusty. “But how can I know? How can I know if these dreams mean anything at all? How do I know they’re not just a sign that I’m going crazy?”
“You’re not crazy, lad,” Malachi said. The ancient vampire slanted a glance at his wife, and he looked back at Dominic with a rueful shrug. “Trust me, if you are crazy, she would know. And I would’ve already dealt with you.”
“How reassuring,” Dominic said dryly. Oddly enough, it was reassuring.
The ancient vampire might be capable of compassion, but he understood necessity. He wouldn’t let emotion interfere with duty. Once more, Dominic rubbed the heel of his palm over his chest. Then he studied his hands.
In the dreams, the older ones, his hands were a little different. Bigger, broader, his palms calloused and scarred. His body had been shorter, more solidly built.
Dominic couldn’t even believe he was considering this. He stared at Malachi through his lashes. Once more, his heart raced inside his chest. He calmed it, fought to control that restless energy before it spiraled too high.
“Will you tell me her name now?”
A queer smile curled Malachi’s lips. A strange light glinted in his eyes. “Lad, you and I both know this: you already know her name. You already know who she is.”
Quietly, he whispered, “Agnes. Her name is Agnes . . . Nessa. My Nessa.”
“Indeed she is,” Malachi murmured.
While Dominic stood there, reeling, trying to force his mind to accept what his heart already knew, the big bastard just watched . . . and smiled.
DOMINIC snarled at Malachi, ignoring the shapeshifter standing behind him. “I don’t have time for this. I need to find her.”
“I know that.” Malachi waited patiently at the door, one brow lifted. “You’ve told me—a good fifty times. And as I told you—she’s not here. You’ve only a few minutes of night left and you can’t find her before sunrise, so you might as well feed and get some rest. It’s almost time for sunrise—or hadn’t you noticed?”
Oh, Dominic had noticed. He could feel the burn of it. It mingled with the restlessness and anger, adding to it. The anger was enough to help stave off the exhaustion, but not for much longer. He knew he’d have to sleep.
But he sure as hell didn’t feel like feeding.
“So you just plan on going hungry until you find her?” The ancient vampire watched him with an inscrutable expression on his face. “Not a wise idea and you know that.”
“I’m fine.” He wasn’t though. Hunger was an ugly song in his head and he knew he wouldn’t be able to wait too long before he fed. Frustrated, he glanced at the shifter standing patiently behind Malachi and then he turned on his heel. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
Malachi stepped aside to let the shifter enter but he followed closely behind. Dominic shot the vampire a dirty look.
“What . . . you’re here to make sure I clean my plate?”
Malachi didn�
�t answer.
The shifter gave Dominic an easy smile. “I don’t mind being an evening snack. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you take it from my wrist.”
Not a problem for Dominic.
A few minutes later, it was done and the shifter left. But Malachi didn’t.
Dominic licked the last few drops of blood from his lips and took a deep breath, forcing his fangs to retract. A heady rush hit his system hard, and for a few minutes, it was hard to think past that euphoria.
The exhaustion clouding his mind cleared.
But it wouldn’t last. Sunrise was only minutes away. Dropping down on the bed, he slid Malachi a glance and asked, “What are you still doing here, old man?”
Malachi gave him a tight smile. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Dominic mimicked. “That could be my new motto. I’m not entirely sure of jackshit.”
His body felt heavy, like lead lined his very bones. Heaving out a sigh, he kicked off his shoes and tugged off his T-shirt. His lashes drooped low. He rubbed his tired, gritty eyes and then looked at Malachi. He had about ten million questions he could’ve asked but he didn’t know where to start.
There was one that nagged and tore at him, and he knew he had to have the answer. Staring at the older vampire, he said quietly, “How long have you known her?”
“Nearly as long as you have, I would say.” He watched Dominic with shrewd eyes. “She came back to the school after that day. How much of it do you remember?”
“Remember of what . . . me dying?”
A sympathetic smile tugged at Malachi’s mouth. “For a lack of a better way to put it, yes.”
Dominic sighed and dragged his hands over his face. “I don’t know if remember is the right word. I guess some part of me remembers, but all I know is what I’ve seen in my dreams.” Restless, he rolled his shoulders—that phantom ache was back.
“And what have you seen?”
“Me . . . dying.” Dominic flexed his hands and stared at them. “Those dreams aren’t very clear. I can remember not wanting her to come back. I remember this man—I can’t remember his name, but I knew I hated him. I remember him, I remember her, and I remember dying while she held me and cried.”
He shook his head and murmured, “But that’s about it.”
Feeling the exhaustion creep closer, he shoved himself upright and started to pace. He needed to sleep, but right then, he needed answers more. Needed to understand.
He paced the cabin, toward the door and then down the length of the floor, pausing by the far wall. A fireplace took up much of the wall and what was left was lined with bookshelves. Or at least, it had been lined with bookshelves. Most of them were busted now, books, dust and wood littering the floor.
Dominic was pretty sure it hadn’t looked like that when he first came into the cabin. Scowling, he asked, “Did it look like that earlier?”
“No.” A reluctant smile curled Malachi’s lips as he studied the damage. Then he glanced at Dominic and murmured, “You poor bugger. End up with a blade in your gullet in one life and here you are trying to straighten this life out, and I damn near put you through a wall.”
“Huh. Okay. Some of that’s coming back to me now.” Part of him felt like he needed to apologize for attacking earlier, but since Malachi had all but handed him his ass, Dominic didn’t see the point. He turned away from the wall and started back down the floor, but with every step, it became harder and harder to move.
Too tired. Too damn tired. When he passed the bed, he sat down. It was either sit down or just collapse. He’d done enough damage to his pride today—collapsing wasn’t going to happen.
Settling on the edge of the bed, he leaned forward. With his elbows braced on his knees, he watched Malachi through his lashes. “So you’ve known her a long time.”
“A very long time.” Malachi leaned forward, elbows on his knees, mimicking Dominic’s pose. He gave Dominic a tired smile. “She’s a friend—one of my dearest friends, certainly one of the oldest. I know her well, just as she knows me well. But she’s just a friend, lad. Never anything else.”
The knot in Dominic’s chest eased.
He had enough crazy shit in his head—he didn’t need to sit there thinking about what-ifs and other crap that wouldn’t really do much but cause trouble.
But he couldn’t help it.
She was his—deep in his gut, deep in his bones, he knew that. She was his.
“You’ll drive yourself bloody insane if you keep letting your mind wander down those paths.”
Looking up, he found Malachi watching him. A bitter smile twisted the older vampire’s lips and he said, “Bloody insane, trust me. I know.”
“Stay out of my head,” Dominic said tiredly. Fuck, he was exhausted—it pulled at him, a gaping abyss of darkness, determined to suck him under. But he fought it. He still had so many questions. Despite the fact that he knew he couldn’t leave Excelsior until sundown, everything inside him screamed—Find her!
It was a good thing his body would take the choice out of his hands soon. Otherwise Dominic would spend the day trapped in the little house, driving himself crazy and pacing the room as he waited for sunset.
“I’m not peeking inside your thick skull, Dominic.” Malachi jerked a shoulder and stared off into the distance. “We get bit—it does something to our bodies, brings all these crazy hungers. But it doesn’t change the fact that in our hearts, we’re still human. In the end, we’re still men and we have the same foibles and fallacies as every other man who’s ever walked the face of the earth. You’re wondering the same things I’d wonder, if I took a walk in your shoes.”
Dominic cocked a brow at Malachi. “You have foibles?”
Malachi didn’t bother responding. Coming off the chair, he prowled the cabin, studying the windows and then turning to look at the door. “Not the place for a vampire to bed down, you know. It’s safe enough, Kelsey saw to that, but your instincts won’t like it. You won’t rest well.”
“I’ll be good. Going to crash under the bed. It’ll be dark enough, and it’s not like I move around much when I’m out.” Absently, he reached for a pillow and brought it around, holding it in his lap. He could smell her on it. He’d just missed her . . . by a few days. Bringing it to his face, he breathed her scent in. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
A wave of exhaustion rose up, slammed into him. Outside, the sun began to breach the horizon. Dominic fought against the siren’s call of sleep. His tongue felt thick in his mouth as he glanced at Malachi. “You’ll tell me where she is? When I wake up?”
He swayed forward and if Malachi hadn’t been there, he would have fallen flat on his face. “Sleep, lad. We’ll speak more when you’ve rested. Come on now . . .”
Sleep pulled. Beckoned.
Vaguely, Dominic was aware that he was no longer on the bed, but under it. Dim light surrounded him, and he caught the scent of something dusty. Blindly, he flailed around, not even aware of what he was searching for.
Then something soft was pressed into his hands.
Lavender and vanilla . . . it smelled of her.
Peace surrounded him, and then he was lost to the darkness.
CHAPTER 11
MORGAN knew one thing.
She seriously hated mornings. With a passion. It might be a new development, but somehow, she doubted it. She suspected she had always hated mornings.
She woke up with a skull-splitting headache. Weakness plagued her, and the dream she couldn’t remember haunted her.
If she had her way about it, she would just stay in bed. But she couldn’t do that. So she sighed and rolled out, her body aching, her head pounding.
Stumbling in the small, shabby kitchen, she dropped into the chair and glanced at Jazzy. Her sister stood at the stove, singing along with her iPod as she fried up some bacon.
Jazzy caught her eyes and then tugged out her earbuds. “Wow, Morgan, you fucking look like shit.” Her voice
was heavy with the drawl of the Deep South.
Morgan wasn’t sure, but she thought Jazzy had lived in Georgia or Alabama for a while. She didn’t remember which—big surprise there.
She didn’t remember anything important.
Oh, she remembered the simple things—like how to tell time, how to tie her shoes, how to turn the TV off and on.
She’d started to remember more complicated things as well. Like the fact that she was a witch. She wasn’t even surprised by that fact. She wasn’t disturbed by the fact that witches existed. She remembered how to cast illusions, how to make fire, although both left her weak. She also remembered how to bolster that weakness by drawing strength from others using her magic.
And she also knew that doing so made her feel . . . dirty. Dirty in a way she couldn’t explain, so she didn’t do it, even though Jazzy insisted that was how Morgan had taught her to use her power. Why drain yourself dry if you didn’t have to, right?
All Morgan knew was that it felt wrong. Off, in some way she couldn’t explain. She knew she should know why it felt wrong . . . but it was another one of those things she couldn’t remember.
There were too many of those things. Her life was nothing but one gaping black hole. Anything, everything personal, it was all gone. Her life. Her sister. Her mother.
The lost memories of her mother weren’t any tragedy, though. She didn’t need those memories to know the woman was bad news. All she had to do was look into Jazzy’s haunted blue eyes when the girl even mentioned their mother and she knew. More, she felt it. In her bones. Bad news? No, the woman wasn’t just bad news.
She was a catastrophe.
Morgan wasn’t going to forgive herself anytime soon for leaving Jazzy alone to deal with their crazy, mean bitch of a mother. That crazy, mean bitch of a mother wasn’t in the picture now, though. For all Morgan knew, she was hell’s problem now.
But sensing Jazzy’s concerned stare, Morgan looked at her sister and forced a smile, reminded herself—Jazzy had said something. What had she said . . . ? Oh, yeah.
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