“I didn’t sleep well. I fucking feel like shit.” She sighed and pushed her hair out of her face and then glanced at the coffeepot. The smell of it was rich and she could use the caffeine, but she didn’t care for the taste of it.
Jazzy picked up the pot and wiggled it. “Decided you still have a taste for it after all?”
“No.” Morgan wrinkled her nose. “I’ll make some tea.”
Jazzy made a face as Morgan went about doing just that. While Morgan made her tea, Jazzy started getting out stuff for breakfast and talked about their plans for the day.
“He’s a good mark. Seriously. I’m talking money. And he’s a wuss—I’m talking major chicken. All you need to do is throw a few illusions at him, maybe a couple bursts of fire, and he’ll do whatever we want. Trust me—he is not getting that money in nice legal ways . . . so we don’t really need to worry about him running to the cops.”
Morgan’s lips twitched in a smile and she shrugged. “Well, it’s not like he could really file a report about how somebody had stolen his money using magic, right?”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a quiet voice argued, This isn’t who you are—a con artist, a grifter.
Morgan ignored it. After all, it wasn’t like she had a whole lot of opportunities at her feet. She couldn’t even produce a high school diploma so she could pick up a minimum wage job.
She had responsibilities. Her sister depended on her.
Taking care of Jazzy was more important than the morality of how she was able to do it. It wasn’t like she was bilking honest people out of hard-earned money.
But you know this isn’t your way.
Damn that voice, anyway. Little wonder she was always so tired.
She poured herself a cup of tea. With a massive headache pounding at the base of her skull, she turned to watch as Jazzy started whipping up some scrambled eggs. Jazzy caught sight of the mug of tea and grimaced. “I don’t know how in the hell you can drink tea like that.”
“You Americans went and ruined a fine drink,” she said, her voice cool, crisp . . . unfamiliar, but not.
The cup fell to the floor and shattered. Shaken, Morgan spun around and rested her hands on the counter. Shit.
The kitchen was silent, save for the hiss and crackle of the bacon as it cooked. Then a soft step, Jazzy coming toward her. Glancing over her shoulder, Morgan scowled, “Stupid bitch, you want to cut up your feet?”
Jazzy went pale.
Appalled, Morgan clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shit. Shit. Damn it, Jazzy, I’m sorry.” She looked away as blood crept up her neck to stain her cheeks red. She grabbed a broom and dustpan. From the corner of her eye, she watched Jazzy.
“I . . . I’m sorry. Honey, I’m so sorry.”
Jazzy sniffed and wiped the back of her hand over her eyes. But her voice was hard and cold as she said, “Yeah, sure you are. You know, here I was actually thinking maybe you did love me after all. But you sound just like the mean bitch who left me alone with Mom.”
A nasty, biting, cruel voice whispered inside Morgan’s head, grating and harsh. “And you sound just like the annoying, whiny brat I was desperate to get away from.”
But under that cold, uncaring voice there was pain, and regret. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she cleaned up the mess. Jazzy remained where she was, motionless by the stove.
On her way out of the kitchen, she paused. Looking back at the kid, she said quietly, “I am sorry, Jazzy. Really.”
Then she retreated back to her small, dank room and huddled on the bed. Hours passed, Jazzy left, and sometime later returned. And still Morgan hid.
She didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her.
Her head. It had something to do with her head . . . that vicious, pounding pain. And her mother. Jazzy’s mother. Their mother.
There’d been a fight. Morgan didn’t know what happened. She couldn’t remember that night—hell, try as she might, she couldn’t remember anything. Not even Jazzy. Somehow she knew she was responsible for the girl, but she didn’t remember her.
She just knew she had to take care of the girl.
“Lousy job you’re doing,” she whispered to herself.
Yelling at the kid, looking at her and feeling so angry.
So lost.
So unlike herself.
At least, that’s the way she felt. But since she could barely remember who she was, how did she even know?
DUST and dim light.
That was what Dominic awoke to—there was a musty scent in the air, something flat and dark over him and off to the side, he could see light filtering in.
For a second, confusion crowded his mind.
Scooting out from under the bed, he glanced around, trying to place where he was. He came to his feet as he studied the golden light creeping in through the narrow slit in the curtains.
Even without the sun’s light, his internal clock told him it wasn’t quite full night yet. The sun wasn’t quite yet ready to set—it was damn early for him to be up. He shouldn’t be awake at all. But here he was, and he wasn’t even that groggy.
Just confused as hell.
Rubbing a hand down his grizzled jaw, he studied the cabin, from the windows that would let in enough sunlight to fry his ass, to the busted bookshelves along one wall.
A familiar, elusive scent tickled his nose and he looked down, realized he was holding a pillow.
The scent came from that. Lifting it to his face, he breathed it in and then shuddered as her scent hit him.
Memory followed two seconds later.
His hand fell slack to his side. He stood there, staring stupidly at nothing as those crazy, rushed minutes from the past night and morning started to spin through his mind.
He was at Excelsior.
According to Kelsey, he wasn’t crazy.
And according to his gut, the woman he’d been dreaming about was real.
She was alive.
Not a figment of his imagination.
Swearing, he dropped down, sitting on the edge of the bed. He covered his face with his hands and held still, stiff as logic tried to creep up.
You don’t know this woman.
You’ve never met her.
She’s not who you think she is.
But logic wasn’t getting a very good foothold. Lowering his hands, he stared all around the little cabin, replaying every last second from the previous night. Arriving here. Following Kelsey across the grounds to one of the rooms designed for the vampires.
But he’d caught a familiar scent in the air, and he’d followed it.
Followed it to this cabin, and the moment he’d stepped through the door, he’d been overcome by a sense of possessiveness, a determination unlike anything he’d ever met.
And longing.
Then seeing Malachi—telling him about his dreams.
There was a quiet knock at the door, and Dominic looked up with a scowl. He was still scowling when he answered the door. Automatically, he flinched against the vivid light of the setting sun but it brought him no harm, no discomfort. It caused a faint sting—the way it might after one had been in the sun a little too long, but that was it.
Kelsey stopped in her tracks and then glanced back over her shoulder at the sun. When she looked at him, she asked, “Doesn’t it hurt?”
“No.”
Her brows arched. “Wow. That’s pretty damn good . . . how long have you been a vamp?”
“Ten years.”
She whistled under her breath. “Real damn good. I thought I sensed you moving around, but I didn’t expect to really find you awake until the sun was gone.”
Dominic just stared at her.
“A man of many words, aren’t you?” she asked, tongue in cheek. Then she shoved the door shut behind her and shrugged. “That’s okay. The sexy brooder thing works for you.”
“Sexy brooder.” He snorted and shook his head. “You sound like Sheila.” He stood aside to let her enter the cabin.
Gl
ancing around, he found his bag sitting by one of the chairs, as well as his shoes. The shirt he’d worn the previous night was tossed over the arm of the chair, but he didn’t remember putting it there. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember settling down under the bed, either, although that had been the plan.
The last few minutes before the sleep hit him were always blurred, but not this bad. Pushed it too long, he figured. He had probably been operating on some level just barely above autopilot.
Snagging his bag, he tossed it onto the bed and unzipped it.
“So . . . you in here questioning your sanity?”
With a humorless smirk, Dominic muttered, “How did you guess?”
“Because that’s what I would be doing.” Kelsey shrugged and settled into the chair near the fireplace.
A memory flashed through his mind—Malachi. Before he’d fallen under, Malachi had been in the cabin, and he’d sat in that same chair.
More . . . he’d told Dominic they’d talk. He would tell Dominic where to find Nessa.
“So does this mean you’ve changed your mind?”
Her voice was carefully devoid of any emotion and her face was a smooth, expressionless mask. But there was a scent in the air, one he recognized. Humans learned to read facial expressions. Vamps and shifters took it a bit deeper than that. They could even read the faintest shift in body chemistry—fear, worry, excitement.
Kelsey was worried.
Looking at her, he said softly, “No. I want to see her. Hell, if nothing else, maybe I’ll look at her and realize this is nothing but bullsh . . . bull. That I’ll look at her and not know her.”
“You don’t really think that’s going to happen, though, do you?”
Those eyes of hers saw too much, Dominic thought sourly. Shooting her another glance, he shook his head. “No. I think I’m going to look at her and realize I’ve spent my whole life waiting to find her.”
Something hot and painful crept through his gut as he added in a rough whisper, “My whole life—thirty-four fucking years. It seems like forever. But if this is real, if all this is really happening, then it’s been a hell of a lot longer.”
His gut in a tight, hot knot, he looked at the silent witch. “How many years, Kelsey? Do you know?”
“Yes.” She sighed, watching him with sad, sympathetic eyes. “I know.”
“How long?”
For one long, strained moment, she didn’t speak. Then finally, she looked away and murmured, “Five hundred years.”
Blood began to roar in his ears. His legs went numb and he sagged against the bed. He curled one hand around a carved wooden post. If the bed hadn’t been close, he damn well might have ended up on his ass.
“Five hundred years,” he repeated, his tongue thick in his throat. “I left her alone for five hundred years?”
“You didn’t leave her.” Kelsey drew a knee to her chest and rested her chin on it, watching Dominic with a compassionate gaze. “You were taken from her—you didn’t have a choice. Not in how you were pulled away, and not in how you ended up back here. How . . . why . . . when. You had no say in the matter.”
Dominic closed his eyes. “The past few years, something has changed in my dreams. She changed. I don’t know why, don’t know what caused it, but she’s different. I feel it. The pain . . . the pain I feel inside her, it’s worse. I feel her more. I feel her pain more, and that pain . . . God, I don’t know how she lives with it.”
Lifting his lashes, he stared at Kelsey. “How long has she been like that? Has she spent every day feeling that empty?”
Kelsey looked at him, her pretty face unhappy. But she gave him no answer.
Dominic shoved a hand through his hair and looked away. Grabbing his duffel bag, he headed for the bathroom. “I need a shower.”
When he came out of the bathroom ten minutes later, Kelsey was gone. But the room wasn’t empty—Malachi was there.
He rubbed his damp hair with a towel as he met the older vampire’s gaze. “Where is she?”
“And good morning to you, too.” A faint smile curled Malachi’s lips.
Dominic bared his teeth. That restless energy was back, and he’d be damned if he waited around here—not even for another ten minutes, another twenty. Hell, he’d be out the door this second if he knew where to go. “You told me you would tell me where she was. Tell me.”
“Now that isn’t exactly what I told you now was it, lad?” Malachi arched a dark red brow.
Dominic snarled at him. “You damn well did. This morning—right before I passed out.”
“No. What I said was that we would discuss it when you awoke. Now you’re awake—we’ll discuss it.”
Dominic clenched his fist, and just barely managed to keep from jumping the older vampire. It didn’t matter that the guy would pound his head in. What mattered was that he was keeping him away from her. His voice was a low growl as he bit off, “What’s there to talk about? I just want to know where to find her.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” Malachi settled on the edge of the chair and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Dark red hair fell forward, shielding his face as he stared at the ground. One big pale hand curled into a fist.
Dominic wasn’t as good at reading emotions as others. He couldn’t rely on his nose, not with non-mortals. Some of his fellow Hunters could have read a vamp’s emotions the same way others read a book.
Malachi was a very closed book, but that one clenched fist gave him away.
The bottom of Dominic’s stomach fell out. His legs turned to water. For a minute he thought he just might go to his knees. In a low raspy voice, he demanded, “Tell me. Enough with the bullshit. Tell me what’s going on.”
Malachi sighed. Slowly he looked up. Through a curtain of hair, his dark blue eyes gleamed. “She’s missing, lad. She left here nearly a week ago and I wasn’t worried about that. But a few days ago she . . . well, it’s like she’s gone off our radar, so to speak, and none of us have any clue where to find her.”
“What do you mean she’s missing?”
“Just that.” Malachi leaned back in the chair, big body slumped. “She’s missing, and not a one of us know where she is.”
“You mean you can’t fucking find her? Don’t tell me none of you have any way of tracking her down. Damn it, she’s one of us. Somebody has to be able to find her.”
His eyes troubled, Malachi replied, “Under normal circumstances, yes, one of us should be able to sense her. I can sense Tobias almost as easily as I can sense Kelsey—I’ve worked with that old wolf for a long time. Almost as long as I had worked with Nessa. But she’s not the same woman she was—you don’t know Nessa. She’s the strongest witch we have—the oldest witch we have. She’s one of the oldest among us. And trust me—age will grant you a few tricks. Nessa knows how to use them. If she doesn’t want to be found, she will not be found. At least not by us. Going to take some tricks I just don’t know.” Now Malachi leaned back in his chair and eyed Dominic, a sly smile curling his lips. “We can’t find her. But I suspect you can.”
I suspect you can . . .
Those words circled around in Dominic’s head. Could he? Could he really?
But he didn’t even have to think it through. Yeah, he could find her. That’s why he was so fucking anxious to get out of here—something was pulling at him, drawing him toward her. Damn straight he could find her.
So what in the holy hell was he waiting for?
With that thought in mind, he turned away from Malachi and started to pack.
“I need wheels.”
“Wheels?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Yeah. Wheels. As in something to drive. I wasn’t planning on sightseeing when I left Memphis and I didn’t bring my bike with me. I don’t have a vehicle with me. I need wheels.”
Malachi lifted a brow. “Well, I imagine we can find something that will work. So . . . does that mean you’re going to try to find her?”
“I’m n
ot going to try. I will find her.”
“You sound sure of it.”
Humorlessly, Dominic smiled. “What other choice do I have? This is why I’m here, don’t you think? Why I’m here, why I’m here now.” He shook his head. He hadn’t ever been much of one to spend a lot of time thinking about fate, or things meant to be, but he also wasn’t one to ignore something after it had been all but thrown in his face.
Fate couldn’t have been much clearer on this if it had wrapped it up in a shiny red bow.
“Before you go, perhaps we should talk a bit. There is some . . . information you should know.”
Dominic shook his head. “Whatever is it, I don’t care. I’m going after her, and I’m going after her now.” There was an urgency in his gut, one that was just now making itself known, and rather loudly.
Slanting a look at Malachi, he said, “I have to go. I have to go now.”
“Do you even know where you’re going?”
“No.” He had no clue. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He could feel her. Feel her pulling at him. He’d just follow.
“WELL, that was a good night’s work.”
Morgan swallowed, her throat dry. Nausea roiled in her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to find in her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to find someplace dark and quiet so she could hide. From the rest of the world, from her sister and herself. The pain at the base of her skull was back, dancing and twisting around and around. Jagged, ugly streaks of nauseating red flashed through her line of sight, obscuring her vision.
She couldn’t believe what she had just done.
“Would you just stop your bellyaching? You did good. Bastard is out of business, you can’t say that’s a bad thing.”
Desperately, she slammed up a mental wall. She couldn’t listen to her own self-doubts, her own self-recriminations right now. She was having a hard enough time staying on her feet.
Pain throbbed inside her head. Bile began to churn its way up her throat and she swallowed reflexively, determined not to throw up.
Not here. If she started, it would be a good long time before she could stop. No. They had to get far away from here. Back to the safety of their home.
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