Playing With Fire

by Cynthia Eden

  Her body wanted to shake at the memory, but Cassie stiffened her spine. She yanked on the shower’s faucet and the water rushed out. Hurrying, she finished stripping. She’d get the blood off, then she could deal with the mess that was her twisted relationship with Dante.

  She’d put one foot in the shower when the door came crashing open behind her. Yelping, she tried to cover herself—one hand over her breasts and one hand over the juncture of her thighs.

  His cheeks were flushed. His eyes—sweeping over her. Heating up. Burning not with the fire of the beast that he carried, but with desire. Lust.

  “I-I told you to give me a minute.” She backed away from him and went right into the path of the shooting shower spray.

  His gaze was on her body. “Your shoulder’s cut open.”

  She could feel that gaze of his like a hot touch.

  He was heading toward her. Stalking her. “You shouldn’t be in there. You need stitches.”

  Still keeping her hands in place—so not enough coverage—Cassie twisted her body so that he could see the wound. “All gone,” she whispered. It was almost like a fantasy she’d had once. Dante had come in. He’d been desperate for her. He’d picked her up, put her against the shower wall. Licked her neck and—

  He grabbed her hands and shoved her back against the shower wall. The breath rushed from her lungs. In her fantasy, he hadn’t been that . . . rough. “Dante?”

  “What are you?”

  Naked. No coverage at all. “I-I’m human.”

  The water hit him, too, but he didn’t seem to care. His shirt brushed over her breasts and her heart slammed into her chest.

  “I might not remember everything,” he said, “but even I know humans don’t heal that fast.”

  Steam rose from the shower. From the hot water? Or from him? His touch was heating . . .

  “I can explain.” Her words tumbled out.

  He didn’t let her go. “You seem to say that a lot, but so far, I haven’t heard any explanations.”

  She was naked and he was—just pissed.

  It definitely wasn’t like her fantasy anymore.

  It was time for her to get pissed, too. She couldn’t break away from his hold, but she lifted her chin and snapped, “Fine. You want to know why I’m this way? Why my wound just vanished?”

  “Yes!”

  “Because of you, okay? You did this to me. I nearly died about two months ago in New Orleans when some psychotic bastard vampire ripped into me. I would have died, but you saved me.” And he had changed her, only she hadn’t realized the full consequences of his actions at the time.

  She should have realized it, though. Now she’d have to do more study and—

  He lifted her up, putting their gazes on the same level. “How?”

  “You cried for me.” Whispered, but it was the truth. “You cried and you saved me.”

  She hadn’t expected him to move so fast. One minute, he was holding her close, and in the next second, the guy was out of the shower. Actually, he was about five feet away from her.

  He was laughing, but the sound was bitter and twisted. What would his real laughter sound like? She’d pretty much given up on ever hearing it.

  “Bull,” he snapped at her. “You’re going to lie to me and say . . .”

  She turned off the water and jumped out of the shower. Fumbling, Cassie grabbed a towel. Better protection, but still not perfect. Not that he’d exactly been overwhelmed by her charms. “I’m not lying to you, Dante. You want to know what secrets are locked up in your head? You want to know why you woke up in an alley, surrounded by ash?”

  “Yes.” Nearly a roar.

  Right. She swallowed. “You’re a phoenix shifter.”

  “A what?”

  “A phoenix. Most people just think the phoenix was a myth, but they’re wrong. You . . . you aren’t a myth. When you die, you burn, and you come back.” It probably wasn’t the moment in which she should tell him that every time he died, he came back . . . broken. Darker. Even more dangerous.

  “Stop lying to me!” His voice was a loud fury.

  Hers was soft. “I’m not. Just like the mythical phoenix, your tears can heal. If you cry—just like you cried when I was dying in New Orleans—you can save a life.” She stepped toward him. Held tight to her towel. “You saved my life. Gave me some of your power. Your magic.”

  He didn’t speak. Did that mean he believed her words? She hoped so.

  “That power must still be in me, and that’s why I healed just now. You healed me. I really am just a human, but you’re something far more.” She wanted to reach out and touch him, but wasn’t sure how he’d react. “That’s why you woke up surrounded by ash in an alley. You must have died and burned . . . and you came back.”

  He lifted his hand. Fire was burning just above his fingertips. Touching him had definitely not been a good idea.

  “A phoenix shifter can control fire,” she said, still trying to keep her voice soft and soothing. He seemed to need soothing. But then, he’d always seemed to need that. “You’re a very, very powerful paranormal being. Extremely rare and—”

  “I’m a monster.” Flat. Brittle.

  She shook her head. “Paranormals are everywhere these days. You don’t have to hide, you can—”

  “No one should live forever.” His head lifted, and he stared at her.

  She could see the fire beginning to swirl in his gaze, lighting the darkness. It scared her. Truth be known, his fire had always scared her.

  “You’re saying I do keep living, don’t I?”

  She managed to nod.

  “How old am I?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “How many times have I died?”

  She had no answer.

  “How many?”

  “At least thirty times . . . that I know of.” Pain rippled beneath her words. Thirty times.

  “I was in a cage.”

  She swallowed. “Yes.” She’d told him that before, right? Or was he remembering?

  The flames flared brighter in his eyes. “You were there.”

  Oh, shit. He was remembering.

  “You shoved a knife into my heart.”

  Um, once. Were they back to dwelling on that?

  “You killed me. You were there when they cut into me. When they tortured me.” His voice rose with every word, but he made no move to go near her. Or to touch her.

  That was good because the flames burning in his eyes matched the fire swirling above his hand.

  “You were in a white coat. In a lab.” His jaw locked. “You were one of them.”

  “Let me explain—”

  “I should have left you to die when I had the chance.” The brutal words seemed to tear into her heart.

  Cassie shook her head. “You don’t remember everything yet. It’s natural after a rising.” She tried to smile. Failed. It hurt too much to smile. “When your memory comes back fully, you’ll remember it all. You’ll know that I didn’t—”

  He spun away from her. Stormed from the bathroom and headed for the exit.

  “Dante!”

  He didn’t stop.

  She raced forward—don’t burn, don’t burn—and grabbed his arm. He whirled back toward her, and the flames came right at her face.

  Cassie screamed.

  The flames froze above her, inches from her skin.

  “You want to let me go now,” he ordered. His voice had lowered to a lethal growl of sound.

  She should let him go, she should. Instead, Cassie lifted her chin. “You’re going to get those flames the hell away from me now because we both know you aren’t about to burn me.” She was impressed. Her words sounded much braver than she felt.

  His brows climbed. “How do you know that?”

  “Because you’ve never hurt me.” Maybe that was his weakness. Others had said it was. “I don’t know why, but you can’t hurt me.”

  His flames sputtered away. “I think I can.” He walked away. Out o
f the warehouse. Didn’t look back. Just . . . left her.

  She realized that he was right. He could hurt her. Not with flames or with fists, but by walking away. Leaving her behind.

  “I need your help!” she shouted after him.

  And heard, “Too fucking bad.”

  It wasn’t the first time that he’d broken her heart, but dammit, it would be the last.

  He stood outside the warehouse, sucking in deep gulps of air. The fire had been too close to her skin. Too damn close. If he’d burned her . . .

  You’ve never hurt me. Her words rang in his ears. She’d sounded so sincere when she told him that. Staring up at him, her eyes so green and big—and reflecting the fire that he barely held in check.

  Human . . . if he believed her story.

  He did. Dammit, he did.

  He had no business being around a human. Humans couldn’t survive the touch of flames. They couldn’t survive his strength. If he touched her, he could kill her.

  He didn’t want Cassandra Armstrong’s death on him.

  Dante wasn’t sure why she’d sought him out in Chicago, but the why no longer mattered. He needed to get away from her. As far away as he could.

  He took one step. Another. Didn’t look back. Wouldn’t. But he could still smell her. Still feel her silken skin beneath his hands.

  He took another step.

  She’d been naked in that bathroom. The water had glistened on her skin. He’d wanted to lick the droplets away. To lift her up against that shower wall and just feast on her.

  Human.

  He took another step.

  His flames could have disfigured her. During the last week, he’d awoken from nightmares only to discover that he was burning the bed down around him. Over and over. The shrieking of smoke alarms had been what saved the people in the cheap motel rooms near him.

  When he slept, he lost control.

  When he was near Cassie, he wanted to lose control. And if he did, she would burn.

  Not her.

  He took another step. Cassie wasn’t following him. She was letting him go.

  He wouldn’t turn around. He would not go back to her.

  Because he wanted her to keep living.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cassie jerked on fresh clothes as quickly as she could. She’d thought about running right out after Dante, but running out stark naked wasn’t her best plan ever, especially with the sun getting ready to rise. Luckily, Trace seemed to keep his safe houses stocked with clothing for both men and women. The guy must like to be prepared.

  She had searched the drawers and found underwear. Jeans. T-shirt. Tennis shoes. And—

  She heard the thud of a fist hitting the back door. Her head snapped up. Dante? Coming back? Hope had her rushing toward the door, but caution—the caution that had saved her life plenty of times over the last few years—had her glancing at the security feeds before she opened that door.

  Trace Frost—the shifter and computer genius who actually owned the warehouse—had wired the safe house so that he could see just who came calling to his door. She inched carefully toward the bank of security cameras. Hell.

  Dante wasn’t on the other side of the door. Four men were—men with bared fangs.

  Vampires.

  Her eyes squeezed closed for an instant. My blood. She had been so intent on getting away from the motel room and putting some space between her and that damn tracking device that she’d forgotten all about the blood.

  And the fact that her blood was like a homing beacon for vampires.

  The door banged, nearly buckling inward, and the whole building actually seemed to shake.

  Her eyes flew open and she jumped back. Weapon. She needed a weapon, fast. Those vampires weren’t going away.

  Another frantic glance at the monitor showed that the vampires were slamming their fists into the door. Since vampires had enhanced strength as one of their little bonus features, those were some very powerful fists.

  Cassie rushed toward the dresser. When she’d been searching for clothes, she’d noticed a nice little surprise hidden in a drawer. She shoved the T-shirts aside and her fingers curled over the gun that had been stashed inside. A gun—and wooden bullets—all conveniently stored and ready for her. Her fingers fumbled a bit as she loaded the wooden bullets into the gun.

  The door shook again.

  She slid the last bullet home.

  The pounding stopped. Silence, punctuated only by her heaving breaths. Carefully, Cassie crept over so that she could see the security feed once more. Trace had set up cameras all around the perimeter of the place. He wasn’t a fan of being caught off guard.

  Neither was Cassie. She kept the gun in her right hand. A few taps of the keyboard had the image on the screen splitting and then shifting focus so she could see from the four cameras that were positioned around the property.

  Camera one—at her back door—showed nothing. Where had the vampires gone?

  Camera two—the lens that should be focused on the street—showed . . . a vampire. There you are. His fangs came toward the camera and the image turned to static.

  Her heart beat faster.

  Camera three—on the front of the building. She didn’t see any vampires there, but—

  Wait. Yes she did she them. Their shadows were crawling along the warehouse’s roof. She heard the scratches above her—from their claws?

  Camera four . . . she leaned toward the screen. That camera was locked on the second floor of the warehouse, on the windows to the left.

  The windows that were—

  She heard the shatter of glass, and the scratches and rustles suddenly became much louder.

  The vampires weren’t outside any longer. They were inside. And they were coming for her.

  She moved quickly, putting her back against the nearest wall. They were coming down the stairs, so she’d be ready for them.

  “Get out of here!” Cassie yelled up to them. “I don’t want to hurt you!” She didn’t. Her job was to help, to cure.

  Not to kill.

  She’d left the killing to her father. The guy had pretty much made it his life’s work. She was trying to pick up the pieces and mend the lives that he’d torn apart.

  The vampires rushed down the stairs. Their fangs were out, fully extended, and hunger twisted their faces.

  That was what her blood did. It made them desperate. Drunk.

  Crazed.

  Her blood soaked shirt was still in the bathroom, so she wasn’t surprised when the first vampire ignored her entirely and ran in there.

  But the second and the third? They locked their hungry gazes on her . . . and advanced.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Cassie repeated again. “Please, leave.”

  The vampire closest to her, a man with blond hair who looked like he was barely twenty, just laughed. “But I don’t want to leave.” He lifted his hands. The guy was sporting wickedly sharp claws. “And I do want to hurt you.” He leapt toward her.

  She shot him.

  Dante froze as the thunder of a gunshot echoed in his ear. He was in the middle of the warehouse district, walking through the night, trying not to look back—

  But that gunshot had come from behind him.

  Cassie?

  He heard the roar of another gunshot. Another.

  He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He just turned and ran back to her.

  No one takes her from me.

  Even when he walked away from her.

  I’m coming. Hold on, Cassie. Hold on.

  As he ran, another image flashed through his mind. A memory. He’d had flashes before, like scenes straight from a movie that he watched instead of lived. And in this scene . . .

  Blood covered Cassie’s chest. She stared up at him, emotion filling her beautiful eyes. An emotion that he didn’t want to face.

  “It’s . . . okay . . . ”

  He could barely make out her words. But he knew she was lying. Cassie was such a terrible
liar.

  The wounds on her body were too deep. There was too much blood.

  She would never survive.

  He could save her. He had to save her. There was no way that Cassie could die.

  Only . . .

  The life drained from her eyes. He saw it vanish. “No!” His roar. He yanked her against him. Held her as close to his body as he could. Her blood soaked his shirt and his skin.

  She wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t moving.

  He was too late.

  She was gone.

  The image vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving behind the bitter taste of fear in Dante’s mouth. He wouldn’t be too late. Couldn’t be.

  He pushed himself, desperate to rush back to the woman that he’d so foolishly left moments before.

  He reached the back door. Tried to swipe his hand over the hidden keypad that Cassie had used before. But the damn door wouldn’t open.

  Another shot thundered.

  “Cassie!” Dante yelled her name.

  He heard snarls and shouts and . . .

  “Help!” Her voice. She was still alive. She’d better stay that way.

  He slammed into the door. The damn thing wouldn’t give. It must have been reinforced.

  Fine. If it wouldn’t give, then he’d just burn it down.

  Because he was getting to Cassie. “Hold on!” Dante shouted to her. “Just hold on!”

  He wasn’t up to having her die in his arms a second time.

  She was out of bullets. She was also a terrible shot. Cassie hadn’t hit even one of those vampires in the heart.

  She’d just blasted them until her gun clicked. Two of the vampires—the blond and a bald guy—were on the floor. But the others were closing in on her.

  Crap.

  Smoke began to drift in the air. Her head whipped toward the door. Dante was out there. That was his smoke. She’d heard his shout. He wanted her to hold on—hold on to what? The vampires were right freaking there!

  One grabbed for her. She slammed the gun into the side of his head and managed to break free of him. Then she raced for the wooden table in the corner. The vampire she’d hit grabbed her legs and she fell, face-first, onto the floor. She ignored the pain from that impact and grabbed out with her hands. She caught the side of the wooden chair and yanked it back.