The City Beneath

by Melody Johnson

  “How did you get your scar?”

  Dominic stroked the scar on my hip in tiny circles as he spoke. His voice was modulated, and from the pacing and cant of his story, I could tell it was one that he’d told many times over the years and had honed with each telling.

  “I was very aware of my appearance, even as a night blood. Today’s culture dictates that men be ruggedly handsome without seeming to know or care about their appearance, but in 1537, London society encouraged a more refined man, one who took care of his appearance and flaunted his efforts.

  “My father was a skilled smith. His weapons and tools and jewelry were commissioned by royalty all across England for the quality of his work. As the eldest son, I was expected to continue my father’s trade, but I was young and ambitious and unappreciative of my father’s efforts to provide us with a comfortable life. I wanted more from life than comfort. I wanted riches and power, and since I’d never lived through the struggles my father had endured to simply live comfortably, I’d believed that my goals were attainable.

  “Lady Elizabeth Beard commissioned my father from time to time for a variety of services, sometime jewelry, other times household items or weapons for her estate. She was a countess, the title inherited from her late husband, and although she wasn’t exceedingly lovely, not like you—”

  I stared at him, unimpressed by the compliment, but he continued his story without hesitation.

  “—she possessed an allure beyond the color of her comely brown eyes or the lank, dullness of her hair. She was experienced and wealthy and confident in her station and in her ability to command a household. Very much like you actually, with your career,” Dominic commented. “Elizabeth would have made an absolutely lovely vampire, too.”

  I didn’t much like what he was implying with the “too,” but I bit my tongue in favor of just listening. He wasn’t trying to bite me or kiss me or kill me, so I didn’t want to distract him.

  “As a widow,” he continued, “Elizabeth could travel to town unaccompanied, and after she concluded business with my father, we’d take good advantage of her new freedom. I fell in love with her and the life I envisioned as her husband.

  “My father warned me against her. He knew that she’d never accept my proposal. As a talented smith, I was good enough to work for her, and as a handsome, healthy man, I was good enough to make love to her, but no matter how skilled I was in either role, he warned me that I was not good enough to marry. My father gave reasonable, hearty advice, as usual, but I was young and selfish and driven. I accused my father of being jealous, and pursued her anyway.”

  “What happened?” I asked, fascinated in spite of myself. “Was your father right?”

  Dominic smiled warily. “I never had the opportunity to propose. My father and I suffered an accident at the forge while working on one of her commissions. She needed a new set of cutlery for the kitchens. I had begun the detailing on one of the knife’s handles, and my father was tempering the butcher knife when the forge exploded. I don’t know why the accident occurred. Any explanation seemed impossible at the time because my father was so scrupulous with his trade, but looking back at the accident now from a world of city codes and regulations, I can see how any number of scenarios could have contributed to the accident.

  “My father was closer than me to the kiln when it exploded. I threw myself over him to shield his body from the debris, but fiery steel, like shrapnel, tore through our skin and rained over our heads along with some of the blasted rafters from the ceiling. I was able to shelter him from the aftermath, but the initial blast had maimed him. He lost an eye and most of the fingers on his right hand as well as countless superficial scars, like mine. We switched roles for a while, so he could detail the work, and I forged until he relearned his entire trade with his left hand. I’d never looked up to my father more than in those weeks following his recovery.”

  Dominic stopped speaking suddenly, rubbing his scarred lower lip with his thumb. I waited for him to collect his feelings, and I attempted to convince myself that his story didn’t change anything. I didn’t want to humanize him. I tried to harden my heart, but his story was peeling away the layers. The familiar ache for my own father tore through my gut, and for a moment, I felt a kinship with Dominic as we both mourned the lives of loved ones we’d lost.

  “Well?” I croaked. I cleared my throat, so my voice sounded less harsh. “What happened with Elizabeth?”

  Dominic came back to himself and sighed. “When she returned to view some of her collection, I asked for an extension. The pieces we had created had been ruined in the blast, and I couldn’t work as quickly without my father; he was still recovering. She completely understood and allowed us to keep the deposit, but she needed the cutlery more quickly than we could provide it. She took the project elsewhere, and continued with their services going forward instead of ours.”

  “Did you ever see her again?” I asked, feeling bereft on his behalf.

  He shrugged. “Yes, but only in passing. My acquaintance with her, as both her smithy and lover, had ended.”

  “So your father was right.”

  “Yes, my father was right. Elizabeth hadn’t had any intentions toward me beyond what our stations dictated. I was the one with dreams and hopes and aspirations. She was comfortable with her life.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “No need for apologies. That was several lifetimes ago, but one always remembers his first. My existence now is much different than it was during my human life.”

  “Are you comfortable with your life, er, your existence now?”

  “Exceedingly.”

  Dominic smiled, but this time, I could in no way forget the predator that he’d become. Despite the human emotions and memories he possessed, he was not currently human.

  “Are you?” he asked.

  I blinked. “Am I comfortable with my life?”

  “Or existence, yes.” His voice was bland, but I could tell that he was making fun of me. He cocked his head and waited for my reply.

  I glanced at the room around me, at the stone walls and the silver cage that lined the far corner. I glanced at the stain where Jillian had torn out Rafe’s throat and tossed it to the ground like spoiled leftovers. I looked at the doorway that eventually led to an entire coven filled with hundreds of vampires, some of which Walker expected me to find and kill in their sleep.

  I laughed. “There’s nothing about my life that I’m comfortable with.”

  “And before we met, when you were ignorant of my existence? Were you comfortable then?”

  I pursed my lips. I would have loved to blame Dominic and Kaden and even Walker for disrupting my life, but my life had been disrupted long before I’d met any of them. “No,” I admitted.

  “Before that first stakeout, the one that you thought would be the breakout of your career? How about then?”

  My throat burned. I thought I might choke on the tears rather than let them surface, but I was able to swallow them down before I spoke. “No.”

  “It’s the scars that aren’t visible that often cut the deepest.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this,” I whispered, thinking of my parents.

  “Living often takes more than it gives, but I can give you something that nature intends for you to have. You were born to transform. In all my many, many years, I’ve learned to never turn away from the little life actually gives. Experience and knowledge has undoubtedly changed my perspective, but some things never change. I’m just as greedy and single-mindedly selfish for you as I was for Elizabeth, except now I have the means, power, and authority to take exactly what I want.”

  “What’s stopping you?” I snapped.

  “Presently, the rising sun. Until tonight,” Dominic murmured.

  He bent down over me, and I braced myself for his intent. I closed my eyes against his Christmas pine scent as he reached for something over the bed’s edge, next to the sideboard. Nothing happened. His lips didn’t grind a
gainst my lips, and his fangs didn’t pierce, graze, or threaten any part of my skin. One moment I was bracing myself for his strike, and the next moment, he’d already struck, and I was still bracing myself as if the worst hadn’t just happened. Dominic had wrapped nylon rope around my wrists, anchoring me to notches in the sideboard.

  “Why are there anchor restraints built into your bed’s sideboard?” I asked, furious.

  His smile was suddenly lascivious, and I instantly regretted the question. “More often than not, I don’t use them in this manner, but in a pinch, they certainly suffice.”

  I tugged impatiently at the restraints, and something sharp pierced the crease in my elbow.

  I jerked away. Dominic had just fitted my arm with an IV. I stared at him, openmouthed.

  “Ian Walker is not the only man with the resources to care for you, but I’m the man who can do so most efficiently and effectively. You’d still be in critical condition if left in his care.”

  Dominic picked up a syringe from the end table drawer. I realized with a mixture of respect and horror that he’d planned this. He’d planned on me being here in his bed, injured and relying on his care, and he’d prepared the necessary tools to both care for me and incapacitate me. He injected the contents of the syringe into the portal.

  “You still need to rest and fully recover, and I must rest, as well, assured that harm will come to neither you nor my coven.”

  A rush of lethargy spread through my body, and I desperately struggled to focus. I recognized this weightless, unaccountably heady feeling; I’d fought through the pain of weaning off percs and eventually going cold turkey during physical therapy. If I wasn’t mistaken, and I was intimately positive that I wasn’t, Dominic had just injected me with morphine.

  “No,” I whispered, equally horrified and blissful. My body welcomed the release, while my mind raced to deny it. “What have you—”

  “Be still. None of my coven will be tempted by you with narcotics in your system, and you’ll finally rest.” Dominic leaned over my elbow where a drop of blood had pearled from the needle, and he licked it from my skin with a flick of his tongue. He nuzzled in the curve of my elbow for a moment, and when he pulled away, his jaw had extended. I could sense his restraint as he pulled away from my skin.

  Maybe it was the morphine or maybe it was my own weakness, but instead of ignoring his mutation like I’d normally have done, I ran my fingers along his jaw. Dominic froze at my touch. His breathless anticipation seemed fragile, as if he’d strike if I moved too suddenly, but I smoothed my thumb along the elongated bones and corded muscles of his jaw to the deep groove of his scar. I glided the back of my hand along the smooth skin of his cheeks and cupped the contour of his mutation in my palm until he settled into my touch.

  Dominic rubbed his entire cheek against my hand, the strong ridges of his muzzle continuing to shift and elongate in my hand. Once his mouth was fully transformed, every tooth was as razor-pointed in his snout as only his eyeteeth were in his human mouth. It must have been the morphine, because even this close, I only felt partially horrified. The other part of me was, as always, full of questions.

  “Why didn’t you transform like this when you drank from me? How were you able to drink and still fight Kaden?” My voice was slurred and dreamy, like my head, and I remembered all over again why my rehabilitation and recovery after being shot had been so difficult. Dominic was right. Life took more than the rare instances it gave, but on morphine, I finally didn’t have to care.

  “I didn’t drink.” Dominic grazed his lips over my neck. I didn’t remember him moving from my elbow. I could feel the vibration of his words against my skin and shivered. The purr of his growl was soft and satisfied, like he was enjoying my touch and scent immensely.

  “Yes, you did. I remember,” I argued. Although my words were combative, the sound of my voice drifted in smooth, uncaring tones. “You drank from my neck as Kaden drank from my brachial.”

  Dominic shook his head. “I bit you to ease your pain and to fool Kaden into believing we were pack hunting, but I never swallowed. We had a plan, if you also remember. I was your backup. Had I swallowed, it would have compromised our plan,” he said, grinning. “You upheld your half of our deal, and I certainly intended to uphold mine.”

  Dominic pressed a soft kiss to the pulse at my neck. Even softly, I could feel the hard, lethal press of his fangs behind the feather-brush of his lips.

  My breath caught. “Dominic, I—”

  “The sun is approaching. Even this far below ground, I can feel its heavy, scorching weight against my body,” he murmured over my skin.

  “Where do you go during the day? I thought these were your rooms. Why don’t you sleep here?”

  “These are my rooms, but I would never leave my coven vulnerable during their day rest. I sleep with them tonight.” He gave me a pointed look, and I thought of Walker’s plan to slaughter them while they slept.

  I blushed.

  He smirked. “Sleep well, Cassidy DiRocco.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but he was already gone.

  Chapter 12

  “This whole damsel-in-distress gig is a bad habit, DiRocco.”

  The slow drawl of Walker’s voice penetrated the murky bog of my mind. My consciousness drifted near the surface, and I felt his hands brush the hair from my face. I grinned, my eyes still closed.

  His hands trembled slightly.

  “Bad habits die hard,” I whispered.

  “I thought that was old habits.”

  “All my old habits are bad habits.” I forced my eyes open. They felt impossibly heavy. The room didn’t spin exactly, but nothing around me was steady or real. It felt like a living dream, except for the solid weight and heat of Walker’s hands again my skin. Walker’s expression was pinched despite the lightness in his voice, and I wondered why. If he was here in the coven, it meant our plan had succeeded.

  Walker was shaking his head at me.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you at sunrise. I got a little tied up.” I jerked on the restraints holding me to the bed.

  “I thought I told you to keep your day job,” Walker quipped back.

  He pulled out a hunting knife from one of his Kevlar chest pockets and began sawing on the restraints. The swell of his muscles bulged with the effort. His thick blond brows furrowed over those killer big brown eyes as he concentrated, and I had the insane, immediate urge to kiss him. My mind flashed back to the memory of us on my desk. He’d been so warm and certain and strong, and my own issues, as usual, had stood in the way of getting what I desired.

  “You really are beautiful,” I murmured.

  Walker’s eyes snapped down to meet my gaze.

  I shook my head, disappointed with myself for not taking exactly what I wanted and with life for making me this way. “This whole city’s fucked up. It’d never work out, not between you and me. Not between me and anyone.”

  Walker leaned closer to my face, and for a fraction of a second, I thought he was going to kiss me. I froze, breathless with anticipation, and then he shone something bright in my eyes.

  “Are you high?” he asked.

  I cringed away from the light, but he forced my eyes open with his fingers and flashed the light back and forth as he studied each eye.

  “Can’t I just think that you’re beautiful?” I grumbled.

  “You certainly can. I hope you think about me all the time, but it’s not like you to acknowledge those thoughts.” He clicked off the flashlight, dousing me in blind blackness. It took a while for my eyes to recover, which was probably what he’d noticed from my dilated pupils.

  “Morphine,” I admitted. “What time is it?”

  “Three hours past sunrise,” Walker replied offhandedly. His mouth opened and closed several times before saying, “Dominic Lysander gave you an IV drip and a morphine injection?”

  “I think he saw your IV last night and was inspired. He doesn’t want me to go elsewhere for my medical ne
eds.” I snorted. “Medical needs.” I laughed at my own joke.

  Walker returned his attention to the restraint. “Still not funny.”

  “The morphine should wear out of my system in the next half hour, so enjoy the jokes while you’re getting them. My mood will likely dim to its usual sour sarcasm when I’m sober again.”

  “I like your sour sarcasm,” he replied, but there was something more to his voice than before. He looked down into my face. “I like you just as you are, Cassidy: prickly, brave, loyal, and smart as hell. Life’s dished you a few lemons, and you’ve chopped them in half and squeezed its juice in life’s eye. No one here wants to drink fucking lemonade, not Dominic, not Kaden, and especially not me. We all want you.”

  I opened my mouth to reply and just stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment by his honesty. He turned his attention back to the nylon restraint before I could think of the words.

  “How long have you been tied up?” he asked.

  I closed my eyes, trying to focus on actual words instead of being overwhelmed by everything his words made me feel. “How long ago was sunrise? He tied me up right before bedding for the day.”

  Walker shot me a look. “Sunrise was three hours ago. I just told you that.”

  “I know you did,” I snapped. “I can’t fucking think.”

  “There’s that sourness we all know and love. The morphine must be wearing off faster than you’d anticipated.”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. And speaking of apologies, I didn’t get to search for the coven’s resting place before he restrained me. Dominic admitted that—” he stays with the coven during their day rest, I thought.

  “He admitted what?”

  I opened my mouth and closed it again, feeling an immovable weight settle deep inside of me. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to betray Dominic with what little information I’d obtained.

  “What did he admit, Cassidy?” Walker asked.

  “I, er, that he wants to transform me.” I sighed, and I didn’t have to fake my frustration.