Blood Ties, Love Binds

by Alexa Whitewolf

  “But I thought you came by to see the place?” Her question fell on deaf ears, as Fabio was already disappearing down the stairs.

  Shaking her head, Cassandra decided to hop back onto the dance floor. She’d barely made it a few meters when a muscled chest blocked her way. Before she even looked up, a whiff of his cologne warned her it was Damon.

  “What do you want?” She tried to scowl, but his dark expression made her waver.

  “Interesting company you keep.” Before Cassandra could answer, Damon reached out and grabbed her elbow. “We need to talk. Now.”

  “I don’t think so.” Cassandra yanked her arm out of his grip, shouting to be heard over the music.

  Damon’s jaw clenched, and in the dim light his eyes reflected the cold tinge of neon. “I insist.” When Cassandra still didn’t move, he glanced to where Renzo was dancing away. “It’s about your friend.”

  His words took her by surprise, enough so to wear down her resistance. When Damon sensed the shift in her body, he grabbed her elbow once more and dragged her away. Cassandra had to give in, or risk falling down.

  Damon walked as if on a mission, going down to the lower level and into one of the hallways that led to a back exit. Just before they got to the door, he pulled them into an alcove and pressed Cassandra between him and the wall.

  “You’re impossible!” Cassandra’s shout got lost in the music, but Damon’s face darkened enough to confirm he’d heard.

  She tried to move past him, unwilling to sit behind and listen further, but his grip on her wrist caught her by surprise. In full reaction mode, Cassandra lifted her free hand to hit him. Damon caught it, too, then pressed both her hands against the wall, the movement bringing his body flush against hers.

  “I’m impossible?” Even in the dim light, his glare pinned her as effectively as iron hold. “Since I’ve come back, all I’ve tried to do is make amends. But you’re so damn wary of me for reasons I don’t know, that you don’t even realize how much danger you’re in!”

  Cassandra opened her mouth to retort but Damon’s was on hers in the next breath, and she lost all air in her lungs. It was nothing like the kiss they’d shared as kids. Fierce, possessive, his lips moved against hers with urgency, filled with years of held back passion.

  Her mind pushed her to fight it – evidently, she wasn’t as inebriated as she’d thought. Instead of listening, her fingers curled into the hand pinning her, and her body arched towards his. Even as Damon continued to plunder her mouth, her brain stopped working, analyzing, and all she could do was surrender to the feel of his lips against hers.

  Tasting her surrender, Damon let go of one wrist and used his now free hand to place on her hip, pulling her against him. Cassandra moaned softly into the kiss, but Damon kept going.

  When he finally pulled away after a long moment, he rested his forehead against hers. Before Cassandra could say anything, shadows moved behind Damon and he froze, all senses on alert. Cassandra glanced behind, but already Damon moved, facing the newcomers and shifting his body to protect her.

  “How nice. Sorry to interrupt the reunion.”

  A flash of metal glinted, and Cassandra dug her hand in Damon’s. He’s got a gun!

  He squeezed back in reassurance, then said, “What the hell do you want?”

  “You know what we’re here for.”

  Damon curled his fist, unwilling to believe he’d been so careless and let them become exposed, all for a damn kiss.

  “Let them take my cash,” Cassandra’s soft whisper came.

  “It’s not money they’re after.” Even with the dim light, he could tell by their stances the men were trained.

  Damon waited until the closest one took a step forward, opening his mouth to say something. The gun in his hand was close to Damon’s chest, enough so that an accident was waiting to happen. Damon smacked the man’s wrist, and at the same time shifted his body to the side, pulling Cassandra with him. The gun didn’t leave the attacker’s grip, but once Damon let go of Cassandra, he was free to wrestle him.

  He elbowed his opponent in the nose, and felt the bone give way. The man howled in pain, loosening his grip on the gun enough for Damon to take control. He followed with a punch to the jaw, slamming the guy against the wall.

  Damon whirled around, eyes scanning the darkness for more attackers. Shuffling from behind reached him despite the loud music, and he turned to Cassandra. He’d expected to see her under cover, not wrestling the gun from the second man – in heels, to boot.

  “Cassandra!”

  His shout passed unnoticed by both, and he started to head over. Cassandra dragged herself out of the man’s hold, stumbling backwards. Despite her inebriated state, she caught herself and moved with impossible speed in her getup.

  A swift kick caught the guy in the knee with the heel of her four-inch stilettos. As he lost his balance, she grabbed his wrist with both hands and moved forward, ducking under his arm. Half-wobbling, half-falling down, the manoeuvre worked. The man went flying over her head and landed on the ground, unmoving.

  Cassandra straightened up with his gun in her possession, smoothing her dress and tossing her hair back. Catching Damon’s bemused stare, she smirked. “What? You can’t have all the fun. Now what’s this about me being in danger?”

  Damon crossed the last of the distance separating them and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to his chest. For a brief moment, Cassandra allowed the contact, breathing in the safety his hold provided. Then her eyes fell on the two unconscious men, and the adrenaline high she’d been in slipped away.

  She took a few steps back and met his gaze. “Talk to me, Damon.”

  He ran a hand over his face, then pointed to the two men. “They weren’t here for money. They were here to kill me…and get you.”

  Cassandra’s gaze shifted from him to their attackers a few times, then she pursed her lips. “Who do you think sent them?”

  Damon’s jaw clenched and he shook his head. “No idea, but I will find out. I swear to you.” His expression shifted, melting into something softer as he took a step closer, hand extended. “Cass, about before –”

  She held up a hand, stopping him. “Not right now, Damon. Please.” Cassandra looked down at the gun in her hand, then wrapped her arms around her middle as the reality of the situation sank in. “Let me get my head around this first.”

  Damon caught on to her mood change, and his extended palm clenched into a fist. So many apologies and half-truths threatened to spill off his tongue, but he bit them back. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and by the time he reopened them, he was back in control. “Got it. But, there is something we need to talk about, and that’s your safety.”

  Cassandra met his gaze then, biting her bottom lip. She straightened from her stance with a heavy sigh. “I need a drink before I hear the rest of this.”

  Damon nodded and took her elbow, moving them back towards the safety of the club.

  “What about them?” Cassandra asked.

  “They won’t be stupid enough to stick around.” He took the gun still in her hand from disarming the attacker and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans, hiding it under his shirt.

  As they walked back into the throng of people, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “By the way, you have an interesting way of getting drunk.”

  Cassandra shrugged, her unfocused gaze seemingly miles away. “I could always hold my liquor, remember?”

  They stepped up to the bar and Damon moved down to order a drink. He made the mistake of letting go of Cassandra’s hand. When he next looked behind him, she was gone.

  ♥ Chapter 8 ♥

  They’d warned him Cassandra was a target, but Damon had no idea where the danger would come from. As he scoured the surroundings sipping a whiskey sour, he kept himself under check. No point giving in to panic, when it could be a simple case of the flight instinct kicking in.

  Still… His gaze sharpened on the exit areas, wondering
if he’d missed a third attacker that could have forced Cassandra to follow him with some threat. He was about to give in and call his team to order they track Cassandra’s cellphone when a flash of black and red caught his eye in the mass of bodies.

  Cassandra was moving of her own accord through the crowd, heading anywhere but near him. Apparently known by many, she stopped by two groups and spoke with a few people, only to be dragged onto the dance floor by an overeager youngster.

  Damon reasoned she needed space, that it was her silent wish. He tried to put himself in her shoes, having just had to defend her life after he’d practically forced a kiss on her. How many challenging emotions could be swirling in that pretty head? And how much longer until she gave in, and heard him out?

  He sighed, and voted against going after her. I can allow her some space, at least for now.

  Keeping an eye on her in the mass of people was easy. Harder than he thought possible was keeping his hands from strangling every guy that neared her. Damon slunk by the edge of the bar, keeping a wary eye out.

  He saw him too late.

  Derek had been correct in assuming his proximity to Cassandra would affect his view of the world they lived in. First he’d missed the guys following them and put them in danger, and now there was another looming threat.

  With his background, it was easy to spot the hitman. He was too well-put together, his smile a little too cold, his walk too determined as he approached his prey.

  It didn’t take him a long time to engage Cassandra. Damon’s grip tightened on his drink, a growl building in his throat. He was familiar with the man and his work, if one could call it such.

  He was known under many aliases, but his team had dubbed him Wraith. Much like the mythical spirits, he roamed from country to country, snuffing out lives. He loved to create chaos wherever he went and was on Interpol’s most wanted list for a variety of bombings that had taken place all over Europe – and the string of bodies he left lying around.

  Wraith sold his services to the highest bidder, with no loyalty or code. Women and children were not a problem for him either. But seeing him in person, close to the woman he loved, changed the game. Someone was very willing to afford him. Not to mention, how the hell had he entered Canada, when he was on every watch list possible?

  Damon vowed to find the answer. But first things first.

  He observed from afar as Wraith danced with Cassandra, knowing he wouldn’t dare anything too risky. Not in public. After a few minutes of engaging with him – and it didn’t seem to be their first time talking – Cassandra was approached by another young man.

  From the file pictures, Damon recognized Lorenzo Moretti. Apparently, so did Wraith, as he changed directions and swiftly vanished in the crowd.

  Damon frowned at the odd disappearance. Lorenzo had none of his father’s imposing stature, nor his reputation. Why would a man like Wraith be running unless… He straightened off the bar stool. Could it be he’s after both Cass and her friend? And if so, why the hell would Viktor or whoever’s paying Wraith want the kid dead?

  Damon wanted to whisk Cassandra out of there, but the chance to find out more about Wraith’s presence there was too good to pass on. With one last longing look at Cassandra, he followed the assassin out the back.

  Wraith didn’t even bother to slip past the exit door. In a corner of the men’s washroom, he pulled out his cellphone, and Damon heard the tell-tale sign of a call being made. He headed to the urinary, going about his business and staggering, pretending to be drunk.

  “Da,” Wraith spoke into the phone. “This is Anton.”

  Damon picked up the faint Russian accent, which the assassin no longer bothered to hide. The guy was a pro, a chameleon that had learned to dispose of the one trait they had to identify him time and time again. Yet here he was, leaning against the wall and making no move to hide himself.

  Soon followed a conversation Damon had trouble understanding – Russian had never been his forte – but he caught a few phrases about contacted the mark and more to follow.

  Whatever instructions Wraith received from the other end caused him to smile eagerly. “It will be my pleasure.”

  He hung up, and Damon moved away from the sink where he’d been washing his hands. When Wraith passed near him, he made a show of stumbling into him.

  “C’est quoi ton problème, bordel!” Wraith shouted, cursing at him in French.

  What the hell’s your problem, man? Damon translated mentally and moved back, shaking his head and muttering a slurred apology. “Pardon, pardon.”

  Wraith threw him a look of disgust, then left. Once he was gone, Damon ducked in the last stall, and pulled out the cell phone he’d pick pocketed off the hitman. It was an old school flip phone, not even password protected. Bastard’s cocky, too.

  Gritting his teeth, he flipped the device open and scrolled to the call log. A single number with its caller ID glared back at him, making his blood run cold: Viktor Beauchamp.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Indeed.”

  Damon glanced up, freezing when he noticed Wraith there. Smug as the bastard was, he was also cunning like a fox, and his hooded eyes were focused on Damon, assessing him.

  Shit.

  To the untrained eye, Damon would have passed for a regular person. He’d had to blend in enough times that taking on an undercover persona was second nature to him. But would the façade hold with a trained assassin?

  Before Wraith could inquire further, Damon held out the phone. “You dropped this.”

  The man glanced at the gadget, then picked it up. “Thanks, mon ami.”

  He turned away, and for a moment Damon thought he was leaving. But the next second, his fist caught him square in the jaw, and rammed him into the wall.

  Wraith pulled him out of the stall, then proceeded to deck him again. Damon allowed the second hit, falling into the cement this time.

  “Who sent you?” Wraith hissed, towering over him.

  When Damon didn’t answer, the assassin reached down and wrapped his hand around his throat, pulling him to his feet and slamming him against the mirror. The strong scent of alcohol rolled off him, and still Damon fought his urge to react.

  He had a simple decision to make. Blow his cover, or pretend something else. The image of Cassandra chatting with Wraith, unaware of the psycho hiding under the surface, was enough to decide for him.

  He broke the chokehold with a ferocity that stunned Wraith, and followed it with a punch to the right temple. Taking advantage of the ringing the man was probably experiencing, he grabbed him by the neck and slammed him head first into the tiled wall.

  A satisfying crunch echoed, but rather than fall to the ground, Wraith got up with a savage grin. Blood trickled down the side of his face from a cut in his forehead, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. “You’re not new to this,” he stated with certain vigour.

  This guy is definitely psycho. The glint of a blade only reinforced the assumption, and they danced around each other, each man trying to find a breach.

  The door opened and someone walked in, freezing when he noticed what was going on. Wraith’s eyes were on Damon, his expression taunting him to do something to stop what would inevitably happen.

  Before Damon could warn the man off, Wraith turned to the newcomer and stabbed him in the gut. The guy dropped with a groan, blood pooling out of him. The assassin took off, cackling, and Damon ran to the poor guy, taking his shirt off to staunch the blood flow.

  Calling the cops should have been out of the question – too many issues would arise, namely about his presence there at the time of the attack. Yet as the stranger grew pale, his breathing laboured, Damon did it anyway.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “Ping this location and get your asses here. Someone got a knife wound to the stomach, and he needs immediate attention!”

  The wound was non-fatal, at least if help arrived in time. Damon was still there when paramedics strolled i
n about ten minutes later and took over. With the man too unconscious to tell them who stabbed him, he needed to leave before he drew too much attention.

  Damon stepped to the exit, ready to disappear in his usual way, but a burly cop blocked his way.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked, plainly intending to make sure he didn’t.

  ♥ Chapter 9 ♥

  Her mind miles away, Cassandra moved to the beat echoing in her ears. She was dancing, and for all intents and purposes should have been enjoying herself. Yet the memory of the two assailants, and what Damon told her, made it hard to do so.

  Her lips still tingled from the memory of their kiss, and the ardour he’d been holding back. Cassandra had thought it an easy feat to avoid their chemistry, but when faced with the choice, she’d actively made the decision to kiss Damon back.

  And that, more than anything, scares the hell out of me.

  She was pulled out of her thoughts when the Frenchman from earlier reappeared and danced with her, then Renzo came to check on her. Both left shortly after, probably picking up on her distraction and unwillingness to entertain.

  Despite feeling Damon’s eyes on her, Cassandra didn’t make a move towards him. She needed a break from being around him after what had happened, and was grateful he seemed to understand and kept his distance.

  The last of the alcohol wore off with the final notes of the song, and her brain jumped into overdrive, thoughts invading her mind. If my own father is responsible for this…

  Cassandra noticed Renzo dancing a few feet away, keeping an eye on her, the other on the girl gyrating against him. When she met his gaze, he pushed his partner away, then walked over.

  Without a word, Renzo grabbed her hand as a big brother would – even though he was younger than her by eighteen months – and dragged her up the stairs and to the corner booth, their earlier hangout. He waited until she sat down, before sliding in next to her.

  A wave of dizziness hit Cassandra, potent enough she had to rest her head on the leather seat. When she opened her eyes, Renzo was watching her, eyes narrowed in concern. “You ok?”