by S. K. Ryder
“What happened is that you were right. It was a trap. One that was rigged to take out whoever might come to rescue anyone caught in it. And . . . I’m the one who tripped it,” he finished. God, karma was a bitch.
The ghost of amused irony flickered across Dominic’s face, but thankfully he made no mention of the traps Jackson had set for him in the past. Somehow the most powerful vampire on earth had become Jackson’s closest friend. Dominic had been inside his head and knew him completely—scars, warts, demons, and all—and not only accepted him, but forgave him. His mind still boggled whenever he thought of it.
“And your uncle triggered the explosion?” Dominic prompted.
Jackson nodded. “Garrett found one bomb and thought he disarmed it. But there was a backup firing mechanism. Thanks to that blood you gave him, he heard it trip a split second before all hell broke loose. Grabbed me and ran at pseudo-vamp speed to get us both out. The shock wave caught us and kicked our asses, though.” Time had slowed to a crawl in that silence where the world had flipped and rushed past until the ground came up to wallop them, sending them bouncing and sliding like tossed rag dolls.
“Somehow he took the brunt of the impact, and, damn, he was a mess. Broken bones, split open his head, bled all over the place. But, again, with your blood, he healed up quick enough. Or, so we thought. We got out of there before anyone showed up to ask questions, and we were almost back in the city when he came down with a massive headache and lost all sense of balance. I took him to the Vancouver General ER where we gave them a story about a random accident.” He tried to shrug, winced. “Close enough. Anyway, they’re saying he has a concussion and are keeping him overnight for observation.”
“Merde.”
“Right. He’s becoming a regular at medical facilities the world over.”
“Vampire blood doesn’t heal concussions?” Cassidy wondered.
“He said he felt the ‘magic juice’ drain out of him in a hurry. Is that possible?”
“The healing power of the blood he consumed could well have been depleted by his injuries,” Dominic said, thoughtful. “Who are the ‘remains’ the authorities claim to have found in the fire?”
“Ah, those. Well, they were remains already when we found them.” Bracing himself, he plunged in. “There was a furnace full of charred bones, and walk-in coolers that looked like people had been forced to stay in them. Some bloody tools, but nothing fresh. There was other stuff there, too. Hooks and chains, saws . . .” He broke off when he saw Cassidy put the back of her hand to her mouth. She looked almost as pale as Dominic. “Well, it was a shop of horrors. Whatever the fire didn’t destroy should have investigators speculating for years.”
Cassidy tucked her legs underneath her, making herself smaller. “They have a whole city full of people to hunt and they don’t need to kill. Why would they do something like this?”
“Convenience,” Dominic said, grimly. “I suspect they bottled the blood. After it was suitably seasoned with fear.”
Cassidy closed her eyes.
Jackson’s stomach clenched. “You’re putting a stop to that, right?”
“I intend to. I will find Isao tonight and track down this Adilla. He will change his ways or pay the price.”
“What can I do?”
Dominic cocked one brow. “Not much, it appears.”
“My body’s banged up, but my head’s in the game. I promise you.”
“Hmm. You are useless like this.” Getting up with the grace of a prowling panther, Dominic retrieved a tumbler from the ice bucket tray and, as he had the night before, sliced open his own vein to fill it.
“I—I really don’t—” Jackson cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m not asking for blood.” But his gaze was riveted to the crimson stream as he remembered the taste of the single drop that had turned his world upside down two weeks ago.
Dominic licked his wrist clean and presented the blood to Jackson. “You don’t need to ask, mon ami.”
When Jackson hesitated, he added, “And I am not asking you to take it. I am telling you. I depend on you with my life and the lives of my loved ones. I will not tolerate you being less than your best.”
Jackson took the glass.
It was as he remembered—only worse. Like swallowing lightning. Heat hit his belly and exploded outward from there, melting away every ache and pain. He gasped and sputtered as his senses sharpened to an impossible degree. Fuck, he could even hear Dominic’s heartbeat, all calm and distinct. Cassidy sounded like a sloshing mess in comparison. His own felt like it was attempting a prison break out of his ribcage.
“Oh, God,” he exclaimed. “How do you deal with this?”
A poignant smile was Dominic’s only response. “Better?”
Jackson put the glass down and rolled his shoulders. Not a twinge or pinch or sting anywhere. Peeling off the bandage on the side of his face, he felt the smooth new skin beneath. His whole body still tingled, still healed. His crazed senses dialed back several notches as the blood spent its power on fixing him. “Better.” On a more grudging note, he added, “Thank you.”
The Lord of Night studied him, his eyes darkening. “Will you accept another gift?”
“Gift? What kind of gift?” Jackson tried to sound casual, though he was instantly wary.
“Truly a gift. For your birthday, if you will. It is soon, non?”
“Day after tomorrow.” He straightened. “All right. Sure.”
Instead of the wrapped package Jackson half-expected to appear out of thin air, Dominic extended his hand. “Do you trust me?”
A nervous snort escaped him. “Do you really still need to ask that?”
“Then give me your hand.”
Not just his hand, he realized. More like the vein in the wrist attached to that hand. Dominic was asking for his blood again. Still more amazing was that Jackson wasn’t about to bolt from the room—or say no. Not anymore. He held still as those uncanny teeth pricked his skin, tried not to imagine a supernatural awareness flowing through his brain, and definitely refused to think about any dreams he had after the last time the Lord of Night had gotten his teeth into him.
It lasted only seconds. Then the vampire withdrew and sealed the punctures with a swipe of his tongue. His eyes glowed with golden light. Jackson fell into them without resistance. And he never even flinched when Dominic spoke, his voice seeming to resonate from another reality.
“From this moment on, Jackson Striker, no blood-drinker, no matter how strong, can wield power over you. No compulsion will ever touch you again without your permission. Your mind is and always will be . . . free.”
Chapter 16
Isao Kiyomori
Dominic closed the door behind Jackson and turned back to the woman tucked in the sofa’s corner. She played with a strand of her lose hair as she watched him.
“That is quite the birthday gift,” she mused.
“It is a weapon against his greatest fear.” Jackson’s soul felt less battered now than the last time he had touched it. Stronger, too, but still unsettled. “Also, he might truly need it before we are done here.”
Cassidy unfurled herself and sighed. “Well, if that man wasn’t half in love with you before, I suspect he is now.”
“More than half,” Dominic said, coming closer and making no effort to hide his pleased smile. Jackson’s deepening trust and friendship was like a fine wine to his vampire soul.
Cassidy raised a quizzical brow. “Oh? Should I be jealous?”
He held out his hand to her. “You know better.” If Jackson’s affection was wine he enjoyed sipping, Cassidy’s love was the emotional banquet that sustained him.
She let him pull her to her bare feet. “Prove it.”
“Avec plaisir,” he purred and drew her close, kissing her deep a
nd slow until she melted against him with a languid moan, her question thoroughly answered.
Exhausted, she had come into his arms tonight almost the moment he awoke in the back of the closet. “What is it, mon coeur?” he had asked.
“I need you. I just need you.” And with that she had undone him in ways no one else ever could.
Now he continued to hold her, his fingers moving on her back, in her soft hair, unsure, asking a question without words or thought. She replied by taking his hand and leading him into the bedroom. With quick, efficient movements, she shed her clothes. She had enough of waiting and delays and excuses. As did he.
He tingled at the feel of her hot skin sliding against his cool flesh, shuddered with pleasure when his body claimed hers, and drowned in the intoxicating taste of her blood. Their telepathic connection burst back to glorious life. Her heart and soul raced to meet his, pouring warm light into the darkest corners of his being and creating the unique entity that was forged of them both.
Dominic laced his fingers with hers above her head, stretching both their bodies as he moved within her. Their eyes locked on each other, wide with shared amazement. The combination of danger and raging new hormones lent a sharp edge to their lovemaking that left them powerless with need.
In the aftermath, as they lay in a boneless sprawl, their memories flowed together like the confluence of two rivers, one light, the other dark. Bit by bit they began to examine them. She experienced his pain and anxiety at becoming trapped in the execution chamber. He knew the depths of her turmoil at Jackson’s news of the explosion. Too close. All of it too close.
You need help, she thought and studied his memories of Isao. I like him. There’s something steadfast about him. Like Aubrey.
Another long moment drifted past. She waited. He hesitated.
As Serge had long ago prophesied, she was the key that unlocked his full power. But this required a taste of his blood to trigger a primal merging beyond mere telepathy. Only then did she become aware of the dark web and could guide him to the minds of blood-drinkers not yet sired to him. It was how they had found Aubrey. It was how she now wanted to help him find Isao.
What about the child? Dominic wondered. Nothing would ever be more important than that.
She’s part of you and will be fine. I have no doubt.
He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her. “She?”
“I have a feeling,” she said, smiling. The green tendril in her aura drifted around her neck as though examining the place where his teeth had been. When he traced its path across her skin, it followed his fingertip, trailing a sparkling luminescent shimmer up the side of her face and down her freckled nose. Watching this through his eyes, Cassidy’s smile became a happy grin. “See?”
“I like your feelings, chérie.”
She brushed the hair out of his face and stroked her thumb over his lower lip. “Let me help you.”
For several more heartbeats, he watched the green wisp coil between them. Then he ran his tongue over one sharp incisor. Holding the resulting blood in his mouth, he kissed her again, letting her take it from him. She stifled a powerful gasp and gripped his shoulders hard, pulling him close. The hum of thousands of blood-drinker souls intensified as he saw the dark web through her heart. The ghostly presences came into focus, a few of them very nearby. It was the brightest and oldest among these that he reached for.
Isao.
The other blood-drinker’s shock reverberated through their joint mind. In a condo high up a building only a few blocks away, Isao sprang up from his meditations with a fierce shout and snatched up two lethally sharp samurai swords not unlike Dominic’s own. He crouched low, holding the blades pointed in two different directions, and growled.
Cassidy laughed out loud and Dominic chuckled. He could not have found a more fitting ally.
Put those away, he told his new friend. You won’t need them to speak with me.
~ ~ ~
For a meeting place, Isao selected Vancouver’s Stanley Park, a thousand acres of gently tamed temperate rain forest in the heart of the bustling city. During the day, tourists and locals alike enjoyed the amenities, trails, and vistas. At this hour, before midnight and doused in a cold, soft rain, vagrants and vampires took their place.
Dominic covered the distance between the park and hotel on foot. As he reached the first interior trails, his phone sounded a polite beep from his back pocket. He paused long enough to see who it was, and on seeing Garrett Striker’s name, paused some more. Garrett never contacted him if there wasn’t a legitimate emergency underfoot, but he was confined to a hospital and unlikely to need anything that his nephew couldn’t provide. Dominic swiped to ignore.
Shielding himself from all eyes and ears, he continued to speed along, following the helpful signs to a large clearing near the far end of the park, a picnic area judging by the recreational facilities. The vast lawn was empty except for a single figure in the corner farthest from the road, his blood-drinker aura a beacon in the mist, inviting all comers—who would be greeted by the slender, graceful swords he held at the ready. Nor was he alone. Three others loitered in the surrounding woods, their auras shimmering far enough away to act as a warning but not a threat. The Lord of Night tried not to take offense. Isao didn’t survive this long against powerful, vengeful vampires like Esteban and Adilla without constant vigilance.
Dominic stopped at the tree line and allowed himself to be seen—just when his phone chirped. Alerted by the sound, Isao spun in his direction only to see Dominic vanish once more as he recast the illusion. He pulled out the offending device.
Need to see you. Urgent, read the text message. Garrett.
“Merde.” Now what? No matter. This would have to wait.
Dominic silenced the phone and approached Isao. With lightning swiftness, he relieved him of the two swords before allowing himself to become visible again. “I told you. You won’t need these.”
Isao staggered back several steps, but to his credit, did not protest or capitulate. He stared at Dominic, his hands empty.
Dominic tested the weapons, a matched set of long katana and slightly shorter wakizashi. They were of exquisite workmanship, their balance in his hands flawless. Ivory art adorned the hilts, and the steel blades themselves were honed to edges so fine, those they struck down would never feel them. Stepping back, he worked the swords, letting them fly around his wrists, between his hands, and behind his back with millimeter precision. The cold steel hummed a song of violence and, he thought, honor.
Isao’s expression was carefully blank, though his natural woody scent betrayed more than a hint of apprehension.
Dominic handed back the swords, hilt first. “Magnifique.”
Isao made a small, stiff bow and returned the weapons to the scabbards strapped to his waist beneath his trench coat. Dominic had made his point. Between his ability to vanish and his skill at wielding the swords, he could have cut Isao down with ease before he even knew what was happening.
“Are these from the age in which you were born?”
“Thirteenth-century Japan,” Isao replied brusquely. “A glorious age for the samurai.”
After all Dominic had seen and experienced since becoming a blood-drinker, he was sure he could no longer be impressed by much of anything. But there was a hint of awe in his voice when he said, “You are a samurai?”
A curt nod.
“I am a fan.”
“You know a little of the sword, I suppose,” Isao allowed.
Dominic couldn’t help himself. “Will you teach me more?”
Isao studied him, his face still inscrutable. “There is more to you than your youngling scent betrays.”
“Oui. A little.”
“And yet—” a small frown formed on the broad brow “—Esteban was able t
o trap you.”
“I was not at my best that night.”
“I see.” Isao sidled deeper into the dark corners of the field. Dominic didn’t move. “Does that happen often? You not being at your best?”
“It happens when I . . . do not get enough rest.”
Isao cast an uncertain look over his shoulder.
“Not often,” Dominic assured and changed the subject. “Have you heard of the fire in Surrey today?”
Isao turned all the way back to Dominic, facing him from a good twenty feet away. “You know that place?”
“I have seen it. It belongs to Adilla?”
“Yes.”
“What did he use it for?”
Another pause. “It’s called the ‘factory’ and it was one of several. They process blood there.” He moved toward Dominic, his long coat swaying around him. “They find the lonely and destitute and compel them to tell whatever few people who may care that they are leaving the city for good. Then they report to one of these places where they are prepared, drained, and bottled.”
“Fiendish,” Dominic murmured, surprised by this clever, well-organized system of making large numbers disappear.
“What was your business there, young one?”
“I followed a blood-drinker. But I let her go when she disappeared inside.”
“Wise decision. She likely was one of Esteban’s soldiers. No doubt, her purpose was to lure you into another trap and finish you.”
“Not just me. You, too. It was wired to explode if anyone tried to open the trap from the outside.”
“That, regrettably, sounds like Esteban. He must have caught my scent in the office.” A new suspicion sharpened his round features. “How would you know this and survive?”
“I sent my human emissaries to investigate. They barely escaped.” And one was being a literal pain in the ass. His phone vibrated against his butt cheek, probably with another text from Garrett.