Dark Child of Forever (Dark Destinies Book 3)

by S. K. Ryder

  Seconds later, the light in his eyes died and his face went as slack as his body.

  Chapter 22

  Queen of the Night

  Fifteen minutes after the sun drowned in the Pacific, Cassidy felt like she was losing her mind. She paced through her suite, desperately groping for any sense of Dominic. There was nothing, not even the flicker of a link she had still felt this morning despite the enormous distance between them.

  “When was the last time you called Jackson?” she asked Garrett, who stood staring out the window while she orbited the furniture. Ever the vigilant bodyguard, he had played tourist with Cassidy and Francesca again today, and, at Francesca’s insistence, escorted them to dinner as well. Dominic’s mother was now safely tucked into her room for the night, leaving Cassidy at last free to give full rein to her escalating anxieties.

  “Every ten minutes for the last four hours. Texted, too. Nothing is getting through.” The man who had carried on animated conversation all day and all evening was gone. The hard-eyed hunter had re-emerged, looking even more intimidating than usual in his bespoke black suit and red silk tie. If they were in the States, she knew, he’d be packing a gun as well.

  He turned to face her. “How about you? I take it you haven’t sensed anything from Dominic yet?”

  “Nothing. It’s as if the earth swallowed him up.”

  “It did. They went into a mine.”

  “For an hour, not the rest of the freaking day. I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

  “Operations sometimes have to change on a dime based on new information.” But Garrett didn’t look convinced that this was the case here.

  “Something is wrong. I’m sure of it.”

  “We don’t really know anything yet.”

  “And? How long do you suggest we wait? Until they find Jackson’s body and Dominic’s ashes?” she snapped. No phone calls, she could understand. Technical issues happened. No trace of her brand new link with Dominic? There was no excuse for that except the very worst.

  “Take it easy, Cassidy. Please.” He held up a calming hand. “Panicking isn’t going to help anybody.”

  She huffed out an aggravated breath and stopped to meet his gray eyes. Cool, calm and absolutely sure of himself. “So if not panicking, what do we do?”

  “There’s not much we can do. Not right now.”

  Cassidy heard the ‘not at night’ he didn’t say. “But there is someone who could do something.”

  Garrett nodded. “Isao, yes. I thought about that. But he doesn’t know me.”

  Oh, he knows you, she thought, but was not about to divulge that Dominic’s relationship with the Strikers was a source of great fascination for the samurai.

  “Fine. Guess I need to do this myself.” She adjusted her hair and straightened her brand new bolero jacket and silk blouse which perfectly complimented the new flaring slacks and high heels. The clothes were courtesy of Francesca who had declared herself Cassidy’s personal shopper during their stay in the city.

  “Do what by yourself?”

  She snagged her Louis Vuitton purse, also new, from the sofa and stalked for the door. “Talk to Isao.”

  Garrett was beside her in a heartbeat. “Wait. You can’t just waltz up to a strange vampire by yourself.”

  “Of course not. Isao is not a strange vampire. He’s sired to Dominic. Furthermore, I am his queen,” she said with somewhat more conviction than she felt. Dominic often referred to her as his queen, but she had yet to find reason to believe it, much less act on it, even with the Lord of Night himself by her side.

  Garrett propped his hands on his hips, brow folding. But the expected argument did not materialize. “That you are,” he said simply. “And I am the queen’s guard. Lead the way, my lady.”

  She nodded, unable to think of a single thing to say. Though nothing physical had changed with his words, something definitely had changed. Something subtle. Something that made things ‘real’ for her in a way nothing else had. Queen. In spirit and in fact.

  Queen of the night.

  And it was as a queen, with her head held high and her expression confident, that she clicked across the hotel lobby in her stilettos with her personal guard trailing behind. She didn’t miss the curious heads turning her way, wondering what celebrity she might be, and she noticed one in particular as she strode into the Coal Harbour Bar. A pale face with unnaturally intense eyes. A man in his thirties—at least when he had been turned—and definitely not Isao. Her heart jumped in her chest like a startled rabbit.

  Garrett moved between Cassidy and this unexpected vampire. The stranger studied them before nodding toward the bar. She followed the look and spotted another man in a dark sweater seated with his back to them. The neat black hair and round head, and the perfect stillness of his body were instantly recognizable.

  Isao.

  She nodded her acknowledgment to the strange vampire and moved in Isao’s direction. So the samurai had brought reinforcements. Aside from being momentarily frightened out of her mind, she felt safer already.

  As Cassidy approached, Isao turned from the untouched glass of brew on the bar and the hockey game on the large screen TV. His dark, almond-shaped eyes lingered on each of their faces in turn.

  “Mr. Kiyomori?”

  “Call me Isao,” he said with an air of great formality and got to his feet to present a small bow. “How may I be of service, my lady?”

  She took a relieved breath. This was going to be easier than she feared. Or far more complicated, she amended when she saw Isao’s nostrils flare. His eyes widened slightly, and Cassidy realized the mistake she had made. Dominic wasn’t the only vampire who could smell her condition, which Isao clearly just had.

  “Have you heard from Dominic?” she said before he could say anything she preferred he didn’t.

  “No, my lady, I have not.”

  “Do you expect to?” Garrett asked.

  Isao looked at Garrett with renewed interest.

  “Mr. Striker is my daytime security detail,” Cassidy introduced to cover the awkward moment.

  “I know who he is,” Isao murmured in a way that left no doubt as to what all he knew. “I expect Dominic to contact me when he returns to the city sometime tonight.” He held out his hand to Garrett who hesitated only a second before taking it with the solid grip she imagined typical of professional hit men. “We should coordinate, you and I.”

  “We should,” Garrett agreed.

  “Perhaps you can coordinate on finding out where Dominic is,” Cassidy suggested, struggling to keep the testiness out of her voice.

  “Have you not heard from him, my lady?”

  “Not even a whisper since early this morning.”

  “We can’t reach him or Jackson on their phones either,” Garrett added.

  “They’re in trouble. I know they are.”

  Isao thought a moment. “Possibly.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If Adilla were to encounter Dominic, one of three things would happen. One is that Adilla would kill Dominic, another that Dominic would kill Adilla. In either scenario, I would be dead.”

  “Makes sense,” Garrett agreed. “They’re both alive. And Jackson hopefully, too.”

  “And the third thing?” Cassidy pushed, knowing already she wouldn’t like the answer.

  “The third possible outcome is that they’re at a stalemate, with one holding control over the other,” Isao said carefully.

  “Shit,” Garrett muttered.

  Cassidy was the one to say it out loud. “So since we haven’t heard anything, we’re assuming that it’s Adilla who holds the upper hand?”

  “It would appear so.”

  Her chest tightened around her lungs. Suddenly she could hardly draw enough air to s
peak, and when she did, she sounded like she was wheezing instead of issuing commands. “Then what are you waiting for? Get on the road and help him.”

  “I cannot. My post is here, guarding you.”

  “I’m not the one whose death is going to take down half a million others,” she hissed. Someone at the bar two seats away glanced in her direction. She looked away, blinking at the tears. Her hands clenched around the strap of her purse.

  “I understand that,” Isao said gently. “But I also know that my lord Dominic has the power and strength to prevail. He has many times before.”

  “Not after he’s been awake all day,” she ground out.

  Isao stared at her, uncomprehending, and Cassidy knew she had revealed something else Dominic had chosen not to share with his latest convert. Oh well. He was in trouble and she was calling the shots now.

  “It’s a gift with a terrible price,” she improvised. “As you well know because you had to save his neck from Esteban the last time he did it.”

  The samurai looked dazed. “I see. And . . . he did this today?”

  “Yes. He did.”

  “And he’s a mess when he day-walks,” Garrett confirmed.

  “For how long?”

  “Twenty-four hours.”

  “Then . . . if there is still no word from him tomorrow night . . . and I’m still alive . . . I will consider your request, my lady. Garrett, may I contact you later for an update?”

  “Sure thing. Here.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a card. “The business name is a fake, but the mobile is correct.”

  “Thank you.” Isao handed him a card of his own.

  Cassidy wanted to scream. “Really? We’re just going to exchange cards tonight and hang out?”

  “He has survived against impossible odds before,” Isao said.

  “This is diff—”

  “He survives because of you, my lady.” The samurai’s quiet tone acquired an edge as sharp as his swords. He would suffer no more of her arguments. Not that she had any. She knew the truth. Dominic had told her so. Without you, there is no me. And no kingdom. She was his weakest link.

  A tear broke free from her unblinking eye and slid down her cheek.

  Isao softened. “Please understand. While I have great faith in his ability to triumph, I have no faith in my own ability to survive him should anything happen to you—all of you,” he cast a meaningful glance at her middle, “while you’re under my protection.”

  When she said nothing, Isao turned to Garrett and asked about their plans and whereabouts for the remainder of the night so he and his younglings could coordinate. With every word, Cassidy felt the lid on her box close tighter.

  The box for precious, guarded things.

  And pregnant mortal queens of immortal kingdoms.

  God help her. If this is what it was like now, how would she ever survive the next nine months?

  Chapter 23

  Adilla Kahn

  There was vomit in Dominic’s mouth, and his belly rippled as it tried to expel the last of the food he had eaten today. He was wrapped in damp cold, and behind his back his wrists stung as though fettered in nettles. They were shackled, he realized when he moved them, and recalled a hazy memory of being put in chains by humans.

  During the day.

  More memories. Jackson exhorting him to break the chains, telling him what he was. A truth too impossible to believe, too terrifying to remember.

  I will have the truth from you.

  Dominic’s thoughts snapped into focus. Esteban de Santiago had pushed into his mind. That was how he had woken up, remembered himself, and, like before, lost consciousness.

  Esteban de Santiago was still there. In fact, he was cursing.

  Dominic leaned his head against a hard surface that jiggled against his back and under his ass. Jackson stood behind Esteban, staring straight ahead, blind in this total darkness. All three of them were dropping into nothingness. The weight of the sun lessened by the second. As it diminished, his mind cleared.

  He dragged at more murky memories. The ones from later in the day felt almost real. Those from earlier were specters that changed shape the harder he tried to recall them.

  Esteban shook his feet and fine trousers. Whatever it was Dominic had foolishly eaten today had hit him in the shins. “What is this nonsense? Food? Are you mad?”

  The corner of Jackson’s mouth betrayed laughter attempting to break free, but he otherwise appeared convincingly compelled, though of course he could not be.

  The moment that thought crossed his mind, Dominic remembered Esteban’s bite and erected his mental barriers. But Esteban was too distracted with the affront to his wardrobe to keep tabs on his prisoner’s mind. “What do you think you are, you irrelevant child?”

  Dominic pushed himself up the side of the elevator to stand and tower over the petite Spaniard. “I am your lord and master.”

  “Right.” Esteban’s will probed against Dominic’s defenses. “I can hardly wait to see you explain that to Adilla Kahn.”

  “Neither can I, little fool,” Dominic drawled. He adopted a careless air, though the blistering pain wrapping his wrists pushed his powers of concentration to the brink. Any other night he could have broken these shackles. But not after a day spent awake. He was as helpless as the last time Esteban had cornered him, except this time there would be no Isao to save him. This time he was on his own. He and his single mortal ally.

  The soupy gloom thinned as the lift slowed and clanked to a stop. Beyond the gate, lay a small cavern. An opening at the far end admitted just enough light to allow sensitive eyes to adjust.

  Beyond lay a gilded hallway that could have been part of any palace. Chandeliers blazed from a ceiling fortified with beams of burnished wood. A red silk runner covered glossy parquet floors. Tapestries hid the walls behind life-size scenes of historic battles and feasts. Set between them at regular intervals were ponderous iron-studded doors.

  Murmuring voices filtered down the hall, along with the odd notes of a drum keeping time with a violin and a piano in a haunting rhythm. The music sputtered to a halt when Esteban steered Dominic around a corner and down three broad stone steps into a gathering of blood-drinkers such as he had never seen. Perhaps two hundred pairs of eyes pinned him with intense curiosity. The vampires lounged on chairs, settees, or in piles of pillows on the floor in conversational clumps and were dressed in everything from business suits and cocktail gowns to blue jeans and saris. They were of different races and judging by the miasma of scents mingling with the smell of blood, of vastly differing ages.

  But one thing they all had in common was beauty. Every one of them could have compelled an army with a smile alone. Some probably had.

  In contrast, the being seated on a dais at the other end of the hall would have been almost plain if not for the gold-embroidered purple regalia he wore. Or the gold-and-gemstone-encrusted throne he occupied.

  Behind the throne and a little to the side stood two others Dominic recognized from Isao’s memories. Bhavanur, a young-looking man of uncommon loveliness and a simple mind, sparkled almost as much as his lord. Markandeya, a regal, stone-faced man with thick gray hair and hard eyes, had in life been Adilla’s biological father. He now flanked his immortal son wrapped in a drab gray cloak.

  Adilla’s voice was as hard and clear as the precious stones on his fingers. “Esteban. You have brought me a present.”

  Esteban shoved Dominic to his knees and dropped to the gleaming marble floor beside him. “My lord Adilla. The fool has brought himself. He desires an audience.”

  Every head swiveled to Adilla who took his time finishing a crystal tumbler. When he held it out to the side, Bhavanur snatched up a decanter and scurried forward to refill his lord’s glass with what could only have been blo
od. Blood no doubt drained from the innocents who had disappeared all over Vancouver. The same blood also filled countless other glasses in the room. This was how they survived here. And survived well, by the looks of them.

  Adilla smiled as a snake might smile at approaching prey. “By all means, let him speak.”

  Esteban hauled Dominic up by an elbow and propelled him forward until they reached the dais where he shoved him down again, smashing his knees hard into the floor.

  Dominic caught Adilla’s scent of a sun-warmed forest. A thousand years, maybe more. But with his chocolate hair trimmed short and smoothed back from a wide forehead, he could have been anyone, anywhere, and in any age.

  Not so the eyes. Mesmerizing even for a blood-drinker, their jade green depths glittered with ruthless power. They willed him to speak and give him an excuse to kill him. It wouldn’t take much. And the only weapon in Dominic’s arsenal right now was the truth.

  It would have to be enough.

  Not taking his eyes off Adilla, he rose to his feet. A shocked susurrus from the audience rose with him, but faltered into a horrified hush when he spoke. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dominic Marchant. The Lord of Night. And I kneel before no one.”

  The largess of seconds ago vaporized. Adilla put down his drink, his nostrils flaring. “You are either the most courageous blood-drinker I have ever seen . . . or the most foolish. But one thing you are most certainly not is the Lord of Night.” He leaned forward a little, giving the impression of a snake again, this time preparing for a strike, and spoke in a hushed whisper. “I know the Lord of Night, you see. For he is my sire.”

  In the complete silence that followed, the sound of blood dripping from Dominic’s blistering wrists and landing at his heels in tiny splats grew deafening.

  “Then you should welcome me as a brother. I, too, am a child of Kambyses. And his heir,” he finished on a growl. Whether he felt like it right now or not, he wasn’t about to convince anyone if he didn’t act like it.