Dark Heart of the Sun

by SK Ryder

  Dominic hunted for five nights, traveling throughout several southern states, leaving a trail of dismembered bodies, drowning his misery in blood . . . finding only more self-loathing.

  No, there was no help for a thing like him. Nothing but death. If only he could sit on the beach and let his ashes mingle with the sand at dawn without having to fight—and falter—against the beast that would stop at nothing to survive—and kill—forever.

  For this he would need her help as he always knew he would. But he could no longer wait for her to discover the truth and act on it on her own. She would have to be told what to do and why in a way that would keep her safe in case she reacted with the fear that would provoke the beast. Straight forward and non-threatening—if such a thing were possible—with an escape route in place would be best then. He would have to face her disgust, but he would welcome this now. He deserved her judgment in the name of all he had done, and he stood ready to receive it in this, his last night on earth.

  Except she wasn’t there to dispense it.

  Well past midnight he approached the cottage and found it devoid of all human life, his executioner and her guardian angel both missing. Had she decided to return to Jackson after Dominic’s brutal rejection of her heartfelt offer?

  Or had Serge suffered a change of heart regarding his benign intentions toward Cassidy?

  Dominic rushed inside, tasting the air for any trace of blood and finding none. Only the little brother lay rolled in a living room chair, reassured of his territorial rights during Dominic’s extended absence. On seeing him, the cat roused and trotted upstairs. Additional food and water dishes and litter boxes sat out. Enough provisions to last for days.

  A paper lay on the kitchen table, a note, the handwriting hurried and sure, the tone cool. A courtesy he wouldn’t understand, she wrote, to notify a roommate of her whereabouts. She was off to Key West with Samantha, attending a conference and researching her new story concerning all the recent violent murders there. No assistance of his would be required after all.

  Panic crawled over him like a swarm of ants. Young women had been abducted, raped, and killed on those islands for weeks. Before Cassidy distracted him, he had intended to go there himself to hunt down the perpetrator and enjoy the sweet terror of a truly guilty soul. Now she went to investigate precisely this, putting herself right in the path of whatever evil lurked there.

  Dominic felt like he’d been run down by a truck.

  In his room, he flipped open the laptop and searched for active conference venues in Key West this weekend. Two minutes later, he had the list committed to memory and was halfway out the door when he stopped to consider the Samurai swords hanging on the wall. Since the sixteenth century, these blades had ended a great many human lives. In Dominic’s possession, they were reborn to the new purpose of ending non-human lives.

  Without thinking about the reasons too closely, he took the scabbards from the wall and slung them across his back.

  Chapter 20

  Aurelius

  In Key West, Dominic checked out all three possible conference venues before finding Cassidy and Jackson’s sister at the Casa Marina Resort on the island’s southern tip. By then, less than half an hour of night remained. Securing a room close to theirs, he took refuge cocooned in a bedspread behind a locked bathroom door and a ‘do not disturb’ sign.

  When he emerged at sunset, he was both puzzled and relieved to find the two women already asleep again. Since getting into the room unnoticed was not an option, he resigned himself to loitering by their door for a while, listening to Cassidy’s familiar breathing, and vanishing whenever others ventured past.

  He was about to leave and attend to his own business when he heard Cassidy wake and prepare to go out. A few minutes later, she stepped into the hallway in the same delightful outfit she wore the night he first made dinner for her. The blue and green patterned dress hugged the curves of her torso like a second skin and drifted above her knees in a flutter of fabric. Her hair was efficiently gathered and her chin rose with determination as she adjusted her neckline and looked around, orienting herself. He ducked away into the ice machine alcove when she turned in his direction.

  Her sandals smacked the soles of her bare feet in a purposeful rhythm past his hiding place. The scent swirling in her wake turned his knees to melting butter. It was her natural, sensual perfume magnified a hundred-fold by hormones, pheromones, and emotion—all of it enveloped in the earthy richness of menstrual blood.

  Dominic bit his lip bloody to keep from moaning. He’d be able to track her blindfolded in a windstorm—as would every other vampire on the island.

  With mounting apprehension, he watched her ask for directions at the front desk before marching out the door, map in hand, into the quiet residential neighborhood surrounding the resort.

  Her steps slowed as she listened and scanned the shadows for the source of rustling noises. Dominic dared to hope she had changed her mind. Then her shoulders slumped with relief to find nothing more threatening than a pair of chickens roosting behind a picket fence. She continued down the street.

  Heart sinking, Dominic considered intercepting her, but could think of no plausible reason to explain his presence. Instead, he went to retrieve his swords and merged into the shadows in her wake, silent and unobserved by all but the occasional confused hen.

  On Duval Street, the sidewalks swarmed with Saturday night revelers, and the street itself ran thick with creeping traffic ranging from sports cars to bicycle rickshaws and everything in between. Art galleries, souvenir shops, and inns vied for attention side by side with tattoo parlors, bars, and raucous live music. The balmy night throbbed with possibility, and Cassidy, camera now in hand, looked determined to witness it all.

  Dominic grew bolder, weaving through the crowds with fluid agility. Few gave him more than a glance, finding the sidewalk performers and drag queen parade far more interesting than his black leather ninja look. Most of his own attention was riveted to the russet riot of hair at the back of Cassidy’s head and her beguiling scent. It trailed behind her, twining like a silk thread through the miasma of fried food and energized humanity, dragging him along, hopelessly compelled, a toy on a string.

  She studied the posted menus of several restaurants but didn’t enter any of them. Checking the offerings himself, he thought he knew why. None could hope to compare with the meals he had prepared for her. When she paused in front of a gay strip club, her cheeks blooming with color, Dominic smiled. Later, at an elegant little piano wine bar, there was a wistful look in her eye, and he found himself agreeing. He would have joined her, explanations be damned, had she decided to enter. She didn’t.

  Cassidy was almost at the far end of Duval before she settled on an establishment to patronize. Stunned, Dominic watched her disappear into the milling interior of the least likely place to capture her interest.

  Once again she caught him off guard.

  Limits, like time, were fluid here one hundred miles from the mainland. A fantastical variety of decadent, sensual life streamed around Cassidy and her camera as she walked. The colorful shops, the beautifully restored mansions, and the bustling restaurants and bars all drew her attention as did the hawkers of every vice she could imagine—and probably some she couldn’t. The soft air swirled around her, loaded with perfumes and spices, sweet flowers, and pungent sea.

  Flushed and breathless by the time she reached her destination, she refocused on her original reason for accepting Samantha’s invitation. While she made a halfhearted effort to keep up in the human knot-tying workshops for her friend’s sake, ultimately she was here to help another friend and maybe jump-start her career in the process.

  That said ‘friend’ didn’t want her help was beside the point.

  Since arriving yesterday, conference activities and a headache had monopolized her time, and t
omorrow they would be heading back. If she was going to do this, it had to be tonight, which is why, an hour before midnight, she walked into Sloppy Joe’s bar.

  Though it was known that two of the murder victims were last seen alive here, business didn’t appear to suffer. Cassidy drifted through the wide-open doors and into the throng of patrons enveloped in an alcoholic haze. The bar was the biggest thing around and shamelessly devoted to Keys lore and inebriation. Paraphernalia, including several giant stuffed fish, covered every inch of wall space. Flags of countries and sports teams fluttered along the ceiling in the icy blast from an industrial AC system. The entertainment rattling the rafters was only a little more sober than the audience, and Cassidy rather wished she were drunk as well when she paid attention to the lyrics, which extoled the singer’s abiding hate of vaginas. No one else appeared to notice, much less mind.

  “No limits,” she murmured and snapped a few more pictures before putting the camera away and sliding up to the large bar dominating the center of the cavernous space.

  The people crowding around looked like tourists for the most part, sunburned and in a celebratory mood. Some more low-key souls clustered in small groups at tables along the walls, their dress as jaded as their demeanor. Two stoic uniformed security guards flanked opposite corners of the bar.

  By the time she secured a cup of light draft, she also located a free barstool and slipped onto it, hoping she didn’t look as out of place as she felt. She would have preferred some body armor in the form of a sturdy pair of jeans and her utility vest to boost her confidence, but not only would that have been too hot in this sticky climate, such an outfit was also unlikely to get her the cooperation she needed. The more she could appear to be the casual tourist, the better. Hence the dress with its plunging neckline. She’d deal.

  Sipping at the froth, she wondered how best to bring up the subject of the murders and with whom. The bartenders were way too busy, and the guards would know better than to dish dirt to a tourist, much less a reporter. One of the locals then. She scanned the room for a promising target when a hand grabbed her knee and slid up her thigh.

  “Hey, babe,” said a gust of stale beer breath.

  Before she could turn away, a mouth crushed hers, pushing her hard against the edge of the bar. She shoved at the stranger. His tongue wiggled between her lips. Raw revulsion heaved her stomach. Her legs were in no position to do any damage as he had come at her from the side, but his hand definitely went where she didn’t want it.

  ‘Control the wrist, control the body,’ Dominic had said. Yeah, right. Declaring that approach hopeless at this point, she grabbed his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down hard.

  He jerked back. “Bitch!”

  As though in slow motion, she saw his arm move back, hand forming a fist. She froze, bracing, mind blank with shock.

  But the blow never came. Instead, her assailant—little more than a scrawny, drunken boy—jolted around.

  “Last warning, junior,” a new voice said with quiet authority. “Stop harassing the ladies and go sleep it off. I won’t tell you again.”

  The boy squirmed against the man who held him with a massive arm across his slender chest. His lip bled where she had bitten him, bright crimson against the vapid skin.

  “Fine. Lemme go, you motherfucker.”

  “Go home,” her savior said. He released the boy who stumbled into several other bodies on his way out the nearest door.

  “I’m so sorry about this, miss. Are you all right?”

  She looked up into the concerned face of a man of early middle-age with calm, blue eyes. She nodded and wiped at her mouth with a napkin. “I am now. Thank you.”

  He brightened and leaned closer to make himself heard over a new crescendo from the band. “I’m so glad. Please accept my apologies for my nephew.” He placed a sincere hand over the front of his yellow Hawaiian shirt which was tucked into pressed and belted khaki pants. “Zack is really a decent kid. Just young. I’ll make sure his father hears about this. And the language,” he added emphatically. There was a tinge of accent she couldn’t place in the genial voice.

  “Your nephew? Is he even old enough to drink?”

  “As of last week, yes. Still trying to figure out his limits, though.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Aurelius. Friends call me Arie.”

  She accepted his firm grip and gave her name with a smile. His tanned skin complimented a neat head of thick brown hair. A pair of stylish rectangular glasses sat on his aquiline nose.

  “Can I buy you a drink to at least attempt to make up for his behavior?”

  She indicated her full cup. “I’m all set. Thanks. But . . . there is something you might be able to help me with.”

  “Name it. If it’s within my power it is yours.”

  “Do you live here?”

  “For a couple of years now, yes.”

  Well, well, well. Ask and ye shall receive. “So maybe you know some things about the recent murder spree around here? I would love to hear a local perspective.”

  “You’re joking.”

  She shook her head.

  Arie rubbed his prominent chin, flashing the gold watch on his beefy wrist. “Tourists don’t usually want to hear about things like that.”

  “I’m not a tourist. I’m a reporter.”

  “Ah. Media. I see. We’ve certainly had a few of those lately.”

  “Would you mind talking to one more?”

  He broke into a jovial grin. “Not at all. If that’s all it takes to make up for Zack’s lousy manners, it’ll be my pleasure. Come and sit with me over there, away from this.” He waved his hand, dismissing the ongoing saga of the gender wars.

  “Not your thing either, huh?” she wondered as they settled at a table near an exit.

  “Zack’s thing. I promised I’d take him out to a place of his choice tonight.” He spread his arms wide and made a ‘there you go’ face. “Kids.”

  Warming to her new acquaintance, Cassidy pulled a notebook and pen from her bag and flipped to a blank page, pen poised. “So what can you tell me?”

  “Anything you want to know,” he promised. “And then some.”

  Dominic slipped down a side street and, under cover of deep shadow, grappled up the wall. No sooner had his feet touched the roof than his hackles rose. “You.”

  Serge sat, hugging his knees, in the very corner Dominic intended to leave his swords to minimize the attention he would draw in the bar.

  “Blood-child,” he greeted, his tone melancholy.

  Dominic charged up to him. “Where were you when she ambushed me with my past and pushed me beyond all endurance?”

  “I was there, but you didn’t need me. You are strong enough.”

  He grabbed Serge by the shirt collar. “That was the one time she truly needed you.”

  “It’s all happening as it must.”

  Dominic dropped him, disgusted. “And now why are you here? Following me?”

  “Her. I follow her. Always.”

  “Oh? She told you where she would be? Or did you divine this with your second sight?”

  Serge frowned. “I, too, know how to read, young one.”

  “You were inside my house?” Dominic demanded. Clearly he’d been gone too long.

  “For her. Yes. At sunset, she was gone. I had to know she was safe. Since you were busy pillaging,” he added with a shrug.

  “I am here now. I will keep her safe.”

  Serge’s eyes slid away. “You will try.”

  Something in that tone slivered a cold apprehension through Dominic. Shrugging it off, he pulled the scabbards over his head and set them on the ground. “Make yourself useful and watch these.”

  “You will need those.”

  “Against a throng of drunken
mortals?” he scoffed. “Not even I am that—”

  Suddenly the bumbling old blood-drinker had him by the arm and spun him around to face him at close range. His eyes burned with unmistakable terror. “Your fate will be sealed tonight, blood-child. And hers.”

  Dominic shoved himself free and backed away, his youngling heart spooked and pounding like a war drum in his chest. “Stop toying with me. Your insanity is not my priority tonight. She is.”

  “I know.” Serge’s springy curls shivered around his face as he trembled. “The future is now. Tonight. I see it clearly. You will sacrifice for her. Everything.” Judging by his tone, the fate of the world hung in the balance.

  Dominic raised both hands, warding off he-knew-not-what, and shook his head. “I do not have time for this. Watch the blades.”

  Serge lowered his head and stared at the swords on the asphalt roof. “It has been an honor to know you, Dominic Marchant.”

  At street level, Dominic took a moment to collect himself and convince himself yet again that he placed no stock in Serge’s premonitions. This was easier when these promised light and joy, things he knew would never again be a part of his existence. Believing in his own death, on the other hand . . . that was easy. But tonight?

  “Impossible,” he muttered and headed for the bar.

  He spotted Cassidy before he even entered. A filthy drunk cretin had attached himself to her like a barnacle right there in the middle of the sea of bodies. She struggled, but was unable to chip him off, her rising panic whispering in what remained of the link forged by his poison in her blood. Dominic maintained just enough control not to send people sprawling to the tiles in his rush to get to her—and he had just enough sense to stop in his tracks when another came to her aide.