Dark Heart of the Sun (Dark Destinies Book 1) (9 page)

When he reached the beach behind the cottage, his disposition turned ugly.

“You are most entertaining, young one,” Serge greeted. He sat cross-legged in the sand.

Dominic realized that the old blood-drinker must have witnessed him feeding, a profound violation of privacy.

“Did I not tell you never to come near me again?”

“Will you club me with your catch?” Serge wondered with a glance at the reeking bag of fish Dominic clutched. The silly grin faded into uncertainty. “Poor feeding, those. Not much blood, you see.”

“What? Does your vision fail you? Don’t you know their purpose?”

Serge looked Dominic’s nude body up and down, his head cocked. At length he nodded, gently at first, then with vigor. “I see the ember of her light in you, blood-child.”

“Speak sense,” Dominic snapped, crushing the unease quivering up his spine. Whatever else this lunatic may be, he was perceptive. Or were the nerves his ramblings struck mere coincidence? “I have no patience for your riddles.”

“I told you. She is the key, the light that casts the shadows,” Serge said as though explaining a simple lesson to a slow child. “She is everything. But you need my help, or—”

“None of our kind ever helps anyone but themselves.”

Serge’s shoulders twitched in the ragged flannel shirt. “Sadly true, that. Mostly.”

“Why are you hounding me? Because you tasted her once, and you want more?”

Serge unfolded his legs beneath him, rising to his feet in the same motion. “Well . . . no. Yes. But . . .”

Dominic had heard enough. This filthy old beast had enjoyed what he denied himself so ruthlessly—Cassidy’s blood, her life, her spirit, her mind. Serge knew them as Dominic never would. In a flash of anger, he seized one of Serge’s arms, eliciting a surprised yelp. An instant later, the nuisance blood-drinker landed on his back with such force sand clouds puffed up around him. But by the time Dominic would have stomped his bare foot against his throat, Serge had already slithered off. Wary, he crouched a short distance away, a sandy, bedraggled mess not unlike an old stray dog watching for the next savage kick to come its way.

“Go anywhere near her again, I will end you,” Dominic promised. Or sooner. This lowlife would have to die before Dominic did if Cassidy was to remain safe.

“You believe
I
threaten her?” Serge chortled. “What do you imagine
you
will do to her?”

The words were a hard slap to Dominic’s raw nerves. He knew well what he, a youngling with tenuous control over the beast, would do to the girl if he gave in to any of his lurid lusts for her.

“She will live,” he declared for his own benefit as well as Serge’s. “She has to.”

Serge rolled his eyes. “Silly child. You see it. I know you do. You need me to stop you destroying her. Accept what must be.”

“You intend to keep me . . . from harming Cassidy?”

“See? You understand.”

“I understand you take me for a fool. She is nothing to you but a tool with which to confound me. She does not need your protection. She has mine. And I need
nothing
from you.”

The disappointment in Serge’s drooping expression was nothing short of heart-wrenching. Dominic groaned, already regretting what he was about to say. “Stay if you like, and watch. From a distance,” he added quickly when Serge’s face lit with eagerness. “She must never see you, never know you exist. And one foot inside my house . . .”

Serge mimed a blade cutting his throat and nodded. “And if you bring one sharp tooth anywhere near her, none of that will matter. You understand, yes?” he said with giddy good cheer.

Dominic understood. Though the idea of an outside force keeping the beast in check was not entirely unwelcome, he had no idea why Serge would do this. Older and stronger, he didn’t need an excuse to destroy a youngling without a sire’s protection. If Serge caught him off guard and without weapons, odds would not be in Dominic’s favor. He could have done so half a dozen times tonight alone. As for his so-called gifts of premonition and visions of a meaningful future . . . giving this any credit at all was the way of madness.

Inside, Cassidy still lingered on the sofa, the makeshift ice pack limp on her forehead, her breathing indicating that she was awake and suffering. One small light cast the room in soft shadows. An open bottle of Perrier sat on the floor next to her.

“Back already?” she mumbled.

“Passing through.”

“Great. Have fun.”

He crouched down beside her, removed the bag of soggy peas, and put his hand on her forehead. “Not much better, is it.”

“A little.” She didn’t open her eyes, but her head pressed against his fingers in a gesture of unconscious trust that tied a knot in his throat.

“You should be in bed.”

“I should have air conditioning, too.”

Dominic’s jaw tightened. He had no need of climate control and was leery of strangers in the house during the day. Then again, what was more foolish than letting an unsuspecting human live with him? Not much.

He touched her chin with one finger. “Look at me,
chérie
.”

She turned her head, exhausted from her battle with the headache, too exhausted to maintain her defenses or her temper. She blinked, trying to focus on him, her eyes dilated and glassy like those of the fish in his bag. “Out skinny dipping?”

“
Oui.
”

Her nose rumpled. “You stink.”

“I caught dinner,” he explained, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. In her presence, he seemed almost absurd to himself.

“How nice for you. Hope it was good.”

“You will have to be the judge of that.”

“Me?”

“
Oui.
Dinner tomorrow is on me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I intend to prove my culinary skills to you.”

“You . . . cook?”

“Surprised?”

She studied him for a long moment. “I just don’t know what to make of you, Nick.”

“Sometimes neither do I,” he admitted only half in jest. “You should get some sleep now.”

“I can’t. Everything hurts.”

“Nothing hurts,” he told her, pitching his voice with care to drive the compulsion past what remained of her resistance. She didn’t resist. She welcomed the relief. “Sleep now.” As her eyes drifted shut and her breathing deepened, he couldn’t resist one last whisper. “Dream of me.”

Chapter 9

A Matter of Trust

Dominic cocked a brow at the figure hovering in the shadows on the front porch. “Not a foot.”

Serge glanced at his bare feet then around the porch. He backed down the stairs, slow with reluctance. Getting tripped up by the broken step, he tumbled off into a sprawling heap.

Dominic sighed. “I do not trust you.”

“Mutual, blood-child.” Serge sat up, making no attempt to brush off the sand and dry weeds clinging to his rags. “Dream of you? Devious.”

Without comment, Dominic went to the shed and prepared to go out. Serge followed. “You can’t . . . must not influence her. You’ll ruin everything.”

“Truly? What am I ruining?” He had rolled out the bike and put on his gloves.

“I told you. Everything.”

Dominic straddled the bike and pulled the helmet over his head. “Do you even hear yourself?”

The old one paused his erratic gesturing to take careful notice of him. “Are you leaving?” The bike hummed to life. “But you already drank. And you shouldn’t leave her.”

Dominic couldn’t agree more. “I’m not leaving,” he said, clapping down the visor. “
We
are.” He struck with lightning speed, twisting around, grabbing Serge by an elbow and hauling him across the back of the bike. Then he sped out of the lane and gunned the engine once the tires touched smooth asphalt.

His hijacked passenger’s shrieks overpowered the bike’s high-pitched whine. Frenzied, Serge clamped onto Dominic with bone-crunching force and wailed like a siren for a mile before Dominic freed one of his arms enough to slam an elbow into the body barnacled to his back. He felt several ribs snap outright and the crushing hold loosened. By the time he turned into the Publix parking lot ten minutes later, Serge was reduced to quiet trembling.

“How many centuries have you seen, old fool?”

Serge held up three fingers.

“Things have changed,
non?
”

With a vigorous nod, Serge staggered off the bike and looked the machine over with a wary eye. It was completely black and aerodynamic, built for high-speed stealth. “Faster than a frigate,” he said, thoughtful. “Drier, too.”

Dominic popped off his helmet and tried for patience. He knew there were blood-drinkers like this, creatures who stopped keeping up with progress in the human world, their minds as locked in the era of their making as their bodies. But he never thought he’d find himself spending time with one, and he wasn’t sure why he bothered with Serge.

“Can we do that again?” Serge wondered, an odd excitement sparkling in his eyes.

“
Malheureusement
,” Dominic muttered. Unfortunately. They would do this again and again for as long as Serge lived and Dominic needed to leave Cassidy and the cottage to hunt.

Or shop.

He eyed the brightly lit store with some trepidation. It was his habit to compel someone to supply him with Perrier water while he waited outside, but tonight’s list was rather more complicated. He would have to enter and blend in. Given his black leathers and pale skin amidst the tanned tourists in summer dress, that would be a challenge. He almost reconsidered his ludicrous offer to the girl.

Serge hung close by his shoulder. “Easy pickings?”

“
Merde.
No pickings. Stay out of sight,” Dominic ordered. “And I need cash,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Find some.” That should keep the nuisance entertained scouring the lot for dropped change.

Dominic swiped a pair of dark sunglasses from the rack by the door, snapped off the tag and put them on to stop his eyes from watering in the artificial glare. Then he maneuvered a cart through the store with as much haste as might be considered humanly reasonable. He deflected curious glances with dazzling smiles and compelled the cashier—after two attempts and removing the sunglasses—into accepting the pack of gum he handed her as payment in full.

When he arrived back at the bike in the far corner of the lot, there was no sign of a derelict blood-drinker. He put down the bags, shoved the sunglasses up into his hair and surveyed the area. Nothing. He inhaled. No blood. No blood-drinker. “
Merde.
”

He listened. Over the hum of the lot’s lights, he heard the
booping
of the ATM where a line had formed. The woman just finishing rounded the side of the store. He took several steps to his left to watch her. “Here you go, you poor dear,” she told a huddled figure with a bright cold aura. “Get yourself a warm meal and a clean bed.”

“God bless you,” replied a familiar voice, teetering on the verge of giggles. “You never saw me.”

Dominic stood beside him an instant later. “What are you doing?”

“This is an amazing time, blood-child. So much treasure, so quickly.” He pulled a thick stack of bills from his pocket. “Much money, yes?”

A thousand dollars at least, and here came the next good Samaritan.

“God bless you,” said Serge the decrepit panhandler. His head bobbled and eyes sharpened. “You never saw me,” added Serge the blood-drinker, and the benefactor turned on a heel and left, oblivious.

Serge sighed with contentment. “So much drier than a frigate.”

Dominic let Serge finish collecting his loot, took it without comment when the old pirate presented it to him—apparently uninterested in anything but gold and blood himself—then shoveled him back onto the bike and hung the grocery bags on his arms.

At the cottage, he let Serge wait with the bike while he stashed the perishables in the refrigerator and ghosted up the stairs to check on Cassidy. She was still in her bed where he had deposited her earlier, but the bunched sheets bore mute testimony to restless sleep. Even the cat seemed to want nothing to do with her thrashing limbs. It perched on top of the dresser, watching him with wide, worried eyes.

Dominic arranged the money for her to find in the morning, complete with a brief note of explanation. When he looked up, Serge’s bearded face stared from the other side of the curtains draping across the open window. He growled a warning. Serge pointed to his feet, which, being on top of the porch roof, were technically outside the house.

“Nick? What’s wrong?” Cassidy still sprawled across her sheets, her eyes closed, dreaming. Of him. Brows creased in consternation. “Oh, right,” she mumbled. “Everything.”

No doubt of that. And there was nothing he could do about most of those wrongs. Most but not all, he decided as Serge poked his head past the window frame to see the girl, his feet still outside as ordered. Dominic almost went for his swords, but the look of awe on Serge’s unkempt face stopped him. Unhinged he may be, but Serge was as enchanted by Cassidy as Dominic, and he wouldn’t hold against the old one what he couldn’t conquer within himself.

Pushing Serge back, he slipped out the window with him and dropped them both off the edge of the roof. “Another ride?”

Serge’s eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning.

Dominic did not disappoint. As they streaked up I-95, ribboning around traffic and construction, his passenger’s initial shrieks of surprise soon gave way to yelps of delight. By the time they reached Jacksonville, Serge had taken to riding the bike surfboard style by standing on his tiny seat, swaying with the movement, his laughter uproarious.

When he tried to climb over Dominic to stand on the handlebars, Dominic deemed the moment right. He swerved the bike hard toward a semi, throwing Serge off balance. But instead of spilling under the churning wheels, Serge leapt, jabbed his fingers into the aluminum side of the trailer, and clung like a demented bat. Dominic would have preferred him incapacitated, but this would do as well. The imbecile was off his bike and two hundred miles away from his lair. Mission accomplished.

Riding low, Dominic shot past the truck and aimed for the next exit ramp when the bike lurched beneath him.

“Blood-child, this is glorious,” Serge shouted as he dropped on top of him from the semi’s cab. The truck’s brakes squealed, the driver panicked by the acrobatics unfolding in his headlights. “Again.”

Dominic nearly took the bike off the road with the frustration roaring through him. Remoras suckered onto the underside of sharks were easier to dislodge than this
putain idiote.
He veered toward another truck. Serge sailed off on his own, blurring across the trailer’s roof and launching himself into space off the cab at the perfect instant to slam back on top of Dominic. He howled with glee. The bike would go no faster, could not outrun the lunatic as he surfed three more trucks, whooping and laughing.

Dominic aimed for the back of the next semi and lost his passenger the second he came within range. But this time, instead of trying to pass the truck quicker than the old blood-drinker could move, he slowed and dropped out of sight behind a service van heading onto an exit ramp.

Two minutes later he was moving again, the highway blurring beneath his tires, going south this time, going home, and he allowed himself a sigh of relief. The fool could go get lost in the city now. He might even forget all about Dominic and Cassidy. With any luck at all, Dominic had seen the last of Serge, he who sees nonsense.

He tried not to recall that as of late luck was rarely on his side.