The Dominion Series Complete Collection

by Lund, S. E.

  "You were one of them."

  He nods.

  "The organization wanted me. I was already working for the Council. I was a star candidate with hundreds of years as a knight and soldier. I scored high on IQ tests, had superior hand-eye coordination, spatial orientation, verbal skills. I was healthy. I could see fifteen steps ahead instead of just what was directly in front of me the way most grunts are. We were going to be super warriors. A group of us went to Ranger training camp. Even got some good clandestine training courtesy of the CIA."

  "How did they use you? The wars?"

  "Iraq. Iran. Saudi. Russia. Oilandgasistan. Wherever there was a need to take people out to ensure the direction of the flow of petroleum was favorable to us, keeping the machinery of power working."

  "What happened?"

  "We got into a situation – an op in Iraq with too many civilian casualties. Real messy. Some of my soldiers left bodies behind. Then, the organization took care of us. Cleaned house. They terminated everyone with, shall I say, extreme prejudice so they could start it back up in another guise. I was betrayed, turned over to the enemy. I survived. Luckily, although sometimes I wonder, I really wonder. Luckily, I was picked up by another survivor, and we hid out. That's why I went to live at the monastery. Hiding out."

  He shakes his head disgustedly.

  I sat in silence for a moment, trying to take it all in.

  "So you’re fighting those in the organization who betrayed you?"

  "Blackstone."

  Blackstone? "I heard Michel talk about it before. They're out for Dominion."

  He nods.

  "Now, Eve," he says and leans forward. "I'm going to tell you what Michel didn't want to tell you. He wanted to protect you, but I figure you're mine now. I want you to know. To understand. Maybe you'll stop fighting me."

  I nod, a bit ill at ease because I'm scared now by his tone.

  "To achieve Dominion, the Blackstone group plans to destroy modern electronic technology and send humans back to the steam age. Then, vampires will no longer be under threat. You humans have just developed too much advanced technology and now it’s a threat to us."

  I sit in silence, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  "How?"

  "That's the question. We don't know the details. Just the broad strokes."

  "Destroying all electronic technology? That would kill so many people. People rely on technology to keep them alive. People on ventilators. People with pacemakers. Airplanes, navigation."

  "Humans have to get real, Eve. Vampires are coming for you. You need people like Michel and me to fight them."

  I cover my mouth with a hand and looked away.

  "Is Blackstone a vampire group?"

  "Not just vampires. Humans as well. Collaborators who want a place in the new order. Blackstone wanted to create this super vampire warrior to use in this war against humans. You see, even with recruits offering to fight for Dominion – and there are – you’d be surprised. Even with them, war is hard on your average human," Julien continues, his voice taking on an amused tone. "There's a real need for warriors who can kill without all that messy emotional stuff to hold them back. Why not create a special private army of natural born killers? Hunters of humans? I thought I was going to be a warrior protecting the Treaty and I find out I'm protecting those out for Dominion. I have to prevent that at all costs." He stares at me. "That's what my whole life – Michel's whole life – is about. Preventing Dominion. Michel and I? We're infiltrators. We're fighting from within."

  “Soren’s part of Blackstone?”

  “No,” he says. “Soren’s out to control Blackstone. He has his own agenda.”

  “Can we fight them?”

  “We have to. I don’t want Dominion.”

  “Why not? Wouldn’t it mean you vampires would have power? Isn’t that what you want? Power over us?”

  He leans forward, his face intense.

  “Eve, I was a priest. Sure, I wasn’t a good one, but I was. Sure, I love blood. I love the hunt. I love feeding. But I don’t want you to be like factory-farmed cows. What makes it so sweet,” he says and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. “What makes it so sweet is when you’re free and you choose it. Choose us.” He shakes his head. “You can’t possibly understand. But know this, what Blackstone wants is for you to be nothing more than slaves and cows.”

  Tears sting at the corner of my eyes and I bite down hard on my lip to stop them. I know he has no patience for sniveling, and really, if what he says is true, anger is the only proper response to his story. I can't summon it. My overwhelming response is horror and grief.

  Fighting Dominion is what killed my mother.

  I don't want to even look at him and show my weakness. I leave him in the main bedroom and try to close myself in the bathroom but the lock is broken and the door won't shut. I sit on the toilet, covering my face with a towel so he won't hear me cry.

  He knocks on the door, and it opens on its own. He comes in, looks at me sitting there with a wet facecloth in my hands to mop up my eyes, and he picks up the knife, pocketing it as if concerned I'll use it again.

  I wipe my eyes once more, get control over myself.

  "So, you'll help me?" he says. "No more resistance?"

  He stands there in the bathroom doorway, his figure taking up most of its space, his shirt opened a few buttons, his hair tousled and he looked so damn strong and desirable. I know that if I'd met him first, I'd want him. I go to him and put my arms around his waist, not intending it in a sexual way, but out of care for him, for the human he once was and for how honorable he is now. He's startled at first by my embrace – I can tell by the slight hesitation before he returns it. Then he pulls me closer, his breath hitching just a bit.

  "Eve," he says, amusement in his voice. "If I'd have known this would be your response, I'd have told you the whole sob story right away."

  I squeeze harder, my head fitting perfectly in the space beneath his chin. Then I pull away when I feel his body respond to me.

  "That wasn't me offering anything except compassion, Sir Julien, Knight defender of humans." I smile up at him and I mean it. He is a knight, despite the rough demeanor. I know he's honorable. I dart out of the bathroom, exhaling with relief and some regret as I escape his arms. I turn to face him when he enters the room. "It was just one person to another."

  "Whatever you say, Eve," he says and chuckles. "Whatever you say. But I like it when you call me Sir. Maybe a bit too much."

  I glance at my watch. It reads 9:20 – too early to go to bed, but I'm completely wiped after everything that's happened since my walk home from work. My knees actually shake just a bit, my eyes feel swollen and itchy. I need to wash my face, brush my teeth and go to bed.

  "I'm really tired. Could we discuss this tomorrow? I have to go to the lab tomorrow morning. I need to sleep."

  He nods and then picks up the channel changer.

  "Go ahead. I'll keep the sound down."

  "You're not staying."

  "Yes I am. Don't worry. I'll sleep in this bed. You can take the other one."

  "No, you have your own room."

  "Uh, uh." He looks at me and shakes his head, then flicks on the television and searches channels. "Not a chance. You think I'm going to leave you alone after what I've told you? I don't think so. For one, you could run away and tell someone and then I'd be exposed, all my plans for nothing. For another, I don't know if you realize this but I do have enemies. They've probably seen me sniffing around you like a hungry dog. I expect that I've been followed. That's why Vasily's sitting down in the lobby."

  "That's crazy."

  "Eve, you're vulnerable. They could take you and try to use you to get to me. Like Luke did." He kicks off his shoes and stretches out on the other bed, one hand behind his head, the other wielding the channel changer as he surfs the news. "I'm not honorable enough to risk my life to save your life, so I'd rather not be put in that position. I need you alive."

&nb
sp; I stand with my hands on my hips, fighting with myself over my response. On the one hand, he's right. I could run and tell. I might very well be in danger. On the other, he might also just be using this as a clever ruse.

  "How do I know you won't try to use this opportunity to give me more encouragement?”

  He rolls his eyes. "Eve, if I wanted to, I could tie you up in about oh, six seconds, and have my way with you and there'd be nothing – nothing – you could do about it except enjoy it." He looks at me, the intensity of his gaze imparting the truth of it. "I've told you more than enough. Now, I don't get off on rape so rest your little mind. Get in bed. Go to sleep."

  I sigh. He'll do what he wants and there's nothing I can really do about it, short of getting myself killed. I take my overnight bag into the bathroom and try to keep the door closed with the ice bucket and my bag. After my usual routine of washing my face, brushing my teeth and hair, I put on my nightgown – a simple white cotton nightgown with delicate lace on the neckline and straps – more pretty than sexy. The one I wore when Michel came into my apartment that first time. I hold my bag in front of me as I return to the main room.

  "Nice." He glances over briefly when I enter. I throw back the covers to the bed next to the bathroom and jump underneath so he can't see me for more than a second. "I had you pegged as more the granny gown type, Eve, but I'm not disappointed to be wrong."

  "Goodnight, Sir Julien." I say, emphasizing the 'sir' part to remind him he's supposed to be honorable. I turn off the lamp on my bedside table, pressing my reluctant smile into my pillow.

  "Sweet dreams, Eve." He chuckles. "I know mine will be rather tortured."

  I wake up, my eyes adjusting to the low light in the hotel room. Julien's body is spooned against mine, one arm thrown over me. He snores softly behind me. I panic just a bit, then try to keep my breathing slow and steady, hoping to appear as if I'm still asleep just in case he's also pretending. I don't want to deal with this now – this little pas de deux as he called it – whatever it is. I turn over and he turns over with me, his arm withdrawn. His breathing changes its pattern. He's awake.

  I wait, wondering what he'll do, torn between wanting him to roll back over and lie on top of me and him doing nothing.

  He does nothing, just lies there. Maybe he's asleep after all. I keep still, breathing in slowly, out slowly. I try to focus on something other than the body next to mine – thinking of the tests I'll be setting up tomorrow, the PCA analysis, the biochemical screens. I think of hundreds of test tubes, one after another, hundreds of pipettes filling with liquids, Bunsen burners, gas chromatography . . .

  When I next awaken, the bed's empty beside me. I have to pee and tiptoe over to the bathroom. Before I open it, I see through the crack that he's inside. My immediate response is to pull away, but the image I see makes me stay for a second longer than is polite.

  He stands over the toilet, pants and boxers around his ankles, leaning against the wall with one arm supporting his weight, his hand spread out on the wall while the other hand strokes himself. Jammed into his mouth is a rolled up facecloth.

  I tiptoe back to my bed and silently slip beneath the covers. I lie there, my heart pounding.

  The thrill of it clashes with the sense of warning in my heart. The two of us are like trains approaching each other on the same track. Right now, I'm pretty much stationary, but he's hurtling towards me, picking up speed. I knew if I move towards him with any speed, the inevitable crash could destroy us both.

  Chapter 27

  “Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.”

  Zelda Fitzgerald

  The next morning when I wake up, Julien's sitting on the end of his bed watching television. He's dressed in his suit, a cup of coffee in one hand, the channel changer in the other. The sound's on mute; he's reading news headlines. For a moment, the unreality of the scene strikes and I have to remind myself that the sense of tranquil domesticity is a mirage. He's probably thinking of his next move, which enemy he'll attack, what tactics he'll use in this war he's fighting.

  Underneath the expensive suit and trappings of modernity is a knight itching to get his battle plan finalized.

  I sit up and rub my eyes. My memories of the previous evening's events add to the sense of unreality that fills me – the walk along the waterfront was the last moment when I felt truly myself. After that, it was as if I've been transported to a different world – Julien's world. The confrontation when I almost denied him entrance to the room, the cutting, the revelations, his body next to mine on the bed, the image of him in the bathroom struggling against the sound of his own desire – only a few weeks ago, I could never imagine how any of it could happen to someone like me.

  I get out of bed and go into the bathroom, needing a shower. I lodge my overnight bag against the door – not that it will keep him out if he truly wants to come it, but it might keep the door from opening a crack. I undress and turn on the water, enjoying the hot sting of it.

  As I wash, I think about him, remember moments from last night. Intimacy's a strange thing – the man's embraced me, lain on top of me, rubbed his face on my neck, in my hair, kissed me, and yet he's a stranger emotionally to me. I know more about his life than most people, and yet he's an unknown. He's another creature. I feel inexorably bound to him and yet he's a stranger. It's Stockholm Syndrome. He's been holding me emotional hostage since that day he rescued me. I'm starting to identify with him, as captives eventually do their hostage-taker.

  As I shampoo my hair, I think about having sex with him. The truth is that in the few disappointing relationships I've had, being drunk was about the only way I could relax enough to do it and even then it was a blur. Oh, I felt desire, sometimes so much I felt it would suffocate me, but when it came to doing it, I balked like a frightened doe at the sound of a cocked gun. I couldn't let myself go. Michel was right about me. I need someone strong to take responsibility for my desire. Or therapy.

  Or both.

  I finish and dry off, dressing in my change of clothes that hangs on the back of the bathroom door so the steam will draw out the wrinkles. I wear little makeup – just a bit of mascara and lipstick. I pull my hair back into a ponytail. If you looked at me, you'd never know I spent the night with a vampire warrior next to me.

  When I emerge from the bathroom, he's reading the local paper, holding it up for closer inspection while sipping his coffee. I can't help myself and smile as I fold my nightgown and tuck my things back into my overnight bag.

  He glances over. "What are you smiling about?"

  I shake my head, biting my lip to stop my smile from broadening.

  "You sitting there, looking like Clark Kent ready to go out to the world in your business suit disguise, superhero hiding underneath."

  "It's a good analogy except for the 'hero' part." He turns back to the paper, a smile on his lips. "I'm offended. Antihero, thank you very much. They're so much more fun."

  I zip up the bag and then pick up my briefcase and sort through the papers inside. He puts his paper down and turns to face me.

  "So, how are you today? Recovered from last night?"

  "Have you?" I say, thinking of him in the bathroom.

  He turns away and shakes his paper, folding it up. "Never better."

  "I have to pack up. My flight's this afternoon. I'll be going to the lab for the morning then I'll go right to the airport after lunch."

  He stands and buttons his jacket. "Vasily will take you to the lab and stay with you. Then he'll go with you on the flight. I don't fly commercial."

  "I don't want him following me around everywhere, Sir Julien."

  "Mmm, Sir. How I love that." He comes over to me and brushes a strand of hair from my face. "You have to promise me that when you finally offer yourself to me, you'll call me that."

  I turn away from him and fumble with my shoes.

  "What am I supposed to say, ‘Here I am? Come and get it?’" His certainty that I will do it i
rritates me and I can’t keep the frustration and anger out of my voice.

  "That's nice," he says and turns me around, bending down to look in my face, "but I was thinking more like, Oh, please, I need you now." He lifts my chin. "That'll do it, yes it will. Why, I imagine if you say it with that sweet little voice of yours, I might not even make it across the room."

  I brush by him. "Don't hold your breath."

  He laughs. "I'd have been dead dead long ago if I'd done that."

  I pick up my coat and scarf and then look around the room.

  "I've already paid and its automatic checkout so I'll just go now."

  "Vasily can drive us over to the lab."

  "I'd prefer to walk."

  "Eve, you just can't walk around by yourself anymore."

  "Why not? This is Norfolk, not Boston. I'm walking."

  He shakes his head and holds the door for me. "Not gonna happen."

  "Sir Julien, I need the exercise."

  "Stop calling me Sir," he says. "Save it for when you beg, thanks."

  “I won’t be begging.” I stand firm. "I'm walking."

  He holds his hands up.

  "All right. Fool yourself if you want. You can put your bags in the car and Vasily can follow us."

  I finally give in. There's no point in arguing. But I'm determined our walk isn't going to be an idyllic stroll along the waterfront.

  I grab a muffin and bottle of juice from the free breakfast buffet on my way out and wait outside the front entrance as Julien speaks with Vasily and makes arrangements for him to follow us. Julien puts on his coat and his fedora and dons some sunglasses. I wouldn't have known he was Julien if I met him on the street.