Screams and blood . . . Her head was full of them. Screams and blood.
A gentle hand touched her face and Morgan jerked back, swallowing the sob trying to break free. Shifting, she used her body to hide the knife and with her free hand, she smacked Dominic’s wrist away. “Get away from me,” she said, her voice weak, ragged.
Can’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.
He set his jaw and fell back.
She flinched as the force of his pain slammed into her. Too much—she was feeling too much. Too much from him.
Away. Needed to get away. Find her sister.
From under her lashes, she watched as Dominic turned aside.
Now.
She had to do it now. Had to get away from him and find Jazzy. Then the pain would stop and the two of them would be safe—
She shoved away from the wall, raised the knife. Clumsily, she lunged toward him. He heard her—she knew he heard her, but he didn’t turn. With a cry, she crossed the final few feet between them and struck—
The pain sliced through her mind, and this time, it was all-consuming. Brutal in its intensity.
She gasped, struggling to breathe past it, to think. Even see—she couldn’t see.
And then she could . . . but it wasn’t her world she saw. Wasn’t her time.
She wasn’t aware of Dominic as his lean body stiffened, as he staggered.
Wasn’t aware of the blood that bloomed from the wound.
Wasn’t aware of anything as time fell away.
“I do not fear your tests, William. Let Elias go. He has done nothing wrong.”
William smirked. “If he has done nothing wrong, then by all means . . .” He glanced at one of the men and nodded. “But first you must agree. You will be bound. You will submit to the tests. You will be cleansed.”
“Your men will untie him as I come to you. If you dare to be foolish, Sir William, you will know pain like nothing you have ever felt,” she warned.
“Nessa!”
She lifted her head and stared across the distance separating them. They use ropes, Elias. You think I cannot get rid of a few paltry ropes? Run into the forest—to our cave. I will meet you there. And these simpletons can rot. We wasted months protecting them.
His dark brown eyes stared into hers with fury and desperation. Do not let him touch you, Nessa. I do not trust him—
She just shook her head. She would not risk Elias. She would not. She walked arrogantly toward William, holding her wrists out in front of her. He just smiled benevolently and gestured to one of his men.
“I shall deal with your husband,” William said, his voice quiet and dignified. His eyes gleamed though, with something she did not like, not one bit. He would deal with her husband? Lower himself to free him? Instead of ordering his men . . . ?
Her ears pricked at those words. Her instincts screamed.
Rough rope bit into her wrists but she barely even noticed as she watched William walk over the uneven ground to where his men were cutting Elias free.
Elias shrugged away from them and started toward Nessa. She shook her head at him and she could see the argument in his eyes. Run, she said into his mind. Now.
She heard the argument in his head. Felt his refusal.
And then there was nothing but icy, sharp pain. She felt the brutal echo of it in her own heart.
They were soul mates—meant for each other even before birth. And it would have been better if that blade had killed her as well as Elias.
“No!” she screamed out. She shoved at the sheriff’s man, pushing away from him as though he were naught more than a child.
“Grab her—cover her eyes,” one of the men bellowed.
All around her people shouted—although some screamed in horror as they realized what one of William’s men had done.
She barely even heard them. She was aware of nothing.
Nothing but the screams . . . and the blood.
It was Elias’s blood, dripping from the dagger of a treacherous snake.
LOST in the fog of memories, she lifted her hands, pressed them to her eyes. A familiar scent flooded her head. Blood . . . metallic, strong. She lowered her hands, stared at the knife she held.
The bloodied knife.
Screams and smoke.
Anguish and anger.
Betrayal and blood.
Elias . . . his blood pumping out of him. His voice, weak and growing weaker, as he whispered, I will come back . . . I will find you again.
His eyes, so warm and dark, always so full of love . . . for her.
Those eyes—
Dazed, she lifted her head, seeking his face.
There. He stood there, sagging against the railing, halfturned toward her, staring at her with shocked, pained eyes.
Dark brown eyes.
So warm and dark, so full of love.
And pain.
“No.”
Oh, dear God, what have I done?
The pain inside her head rose, swelling and swelling—a symphony of agony.
“No!”
She reached inside, grasped at something, without fully realizing what she was doing . . . or why.
A wall inside her head—a barrier. It shredded under the weight of her magic and as the weight of memories—five hundred years worth—slammed back into her head, Nessa staggered.
“Bloody hell!”
She stared at the knife in her hand . . . stared at the blood dripping from it. Deep, dark red . . .
“No.”
She swallowed and looked up. Only seconds had passed—seconds for them. But it seemed a lifetime to her. Two lifetimes . . . more.
The man in front of her leaned against the railing, staring at her. Blood blossomed on the front of his shirt and she could see where the tip of the knife had gone completely through him.
The ugly red stain of his blood grew, spreading with every passing second.
“Dear Lord, what I have done?” she whispered.
Her ears might not be as sharp as some, but she heard rather well, and she could hear the erratic skip of his breathing, feel the pain. Hurling the knife down, she lunged for him as he staggered back.
His heart—
No. She’d stabbed high on the left side of his back, too close to the heart.
Too close—
DOMINIC gritted his teeth against the pain.
His fangs were out, throbbing and aching, desperate for blood, desperate for a fight. He’d been attacked, and all his body knew was that it wanted to attack back. Fight back. Sucking in a breath, he focused on that, the feel of air moving in, out of his lungs, as he reached for calm. For control.
He wasn’t going to die.
As much as his instincts were screaming for a fight, he knew he wasn’t going to die and he yanked his primitive urges under control, forced his body to respond. As his fangs slowly retreated, he made himself assess the damage.
It burned—too much. Silver in the knife. But not pure silver. It wasn’t still inside him and it hadn’t touched his heart, because if it had, he’d be on his knees. All in all, things could be worse.
With his weight braced against the railing, he stared at the ground. Could be worse . . . how?
She’d stabbed him—came at him from behind. The woman he loved. The woman he’d always loved. He’d been born just so he could find her again, have her again. And she’d stabbed him.
Sensing movement, he glanced up. Both Ana and Nessa. Moving toward him.
Ana pushed between him and Nessa, snarling as she shoved the other woman back.
He couldn’t hear them, not a word. Not over the blood roaring in his ears.
She’d stabbed him . . .
BRAD caught his sister around the waist. Pressing a brotherly kiss to her temple, he said, “Back off, sis. It’s cool.”
“Cool? It’s fucking cool? How in the hell can it be cool?” she spat out. “She just stabbed him. In the fucking back!”
“He’ll be fine.” Backing away,
he pulled Ana with him.
Right now, the last place he wanted to be was between this witch and the vampire behind them.
He hadn’t felt her power earlier, but now it slammed into him. Even Ana’s gift wasn’t strong enough to dull that kind of power. The light of this witch’s power had been damn near extinguished just moments earlier, but now . . . hell, it was like trying to look into the sun. Too bright. Too painful.
“It’s okay, Ana,” he repeated again.
She struggled and drove her elbow back into his gut. Grunting, he let her go, still keeping between Ana and the witch. “Ana—I knew this was going to happen. And trust me. Okay? Just trust me.”
NESSA knew the other two were there.
But they were like gnats, in her way and annoying.
And then they weren’t.
All she could see was the man.
The man with eyes that had warmed when he looked at her. A man who smiled, like she was his reason for smiling.
And then she’d stabbed him—
Stop it. He lives. You can heal him . . .
Heat gathered in her hands. She wanted to look into those eyes, but for now, she didn’t dare. Didn’t dare.
“I . . .” She licked her lips as she drew close. “I’m sorry. I can’t explain what came over me, but I . . . I can help.”
He knew what she was. He’d been there, had seen. He knew. She wouldn’t completely terrify him when she put her hands on him, healed him.
No, you did that when you stabbed him in the back.
Her hands shook, shivered so violently, they ached. “Let me help . . .”
He said something, but she didn’t hear. Couldn’t. Had to focus. On her hands. On the healing magic within them. She’d healed before. She could heal this man . . . and then maybe try to understand what was going on. Why everything inside him seemed to call to her.
Still not looking him in the eye, she placed one hand on his chest, the other at his back.
A gasp locked in her throat. Unable to stop it, she lifted her head and stared into his eyes.
Tears blinded her. Now, although she looked at him, she couldn’t see. Couldn’t see—
But she didn’t need her eyes.
All she had needed to do was touch him. To feel him. Inside. In that cold, dark place that had been empty, ever since he had left her.
I will come back, he’d whispered. Had promised. And she had waited . . .
Inside her heart, something began to dance. To burn.
Through lips that trembled, she whispered his name.
“Elias . . . ? ”
A pained smile twisted his lips as he lifted a hand. He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Nessa . . . my Nessa.”
His lashes drooped and then he sighed. It rattled out of his chest and he swayed on his feet. “My beautiful, silly little witch . . .”
CHAPTER 21
SHE knows me.
Dazed, wondering, Dominic stared at her face.
His chest burned and the flesh, reluctant to heal, was slowly knitting together. Silver-wrought wounds—such a pain in the ass.
Her hand covered his and she blinked, staring at him through a veil of tears. “What . . . how . . . ? ” More words rose to her throat, but she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.
Didn’t care to . . . he was here. That was all that mattered, all she could think about. Nessa launched herself at him. Her arms came around him, and Dominic grunted in pain as her hand touched the edges of his wound.
She froze and then low in her chest, she started to whimper. “No . . . No, this isn’t happening—can’t be happening. Dear Lord, what have I done?”
She tore away from him. “I can heal you—I swear, I can heal this. I’ve healed worse and I can heal this . . . ”
She talked a mile a minute as she eased him to the porch floor, her hands gentle but strong. Because he wasn’t feeling entirely his best, he let her.
Plus . . . she was touching him, her hands cool, soft and quick as she eased him facedown on the porch. “I’ll heal this, Elias . . . for pity’s sake, then we’ll talk. How did this happen? How . . . ”
He lost track of her ramblings as her fingers brushed against his skin. She sank her fingers into the rip of his shirt and tore it wide open. The noise seemed terribly loud, especially now that she’d gone abruptly silent.
“Oh.” She touched him and he swore at the sheer heaven of it.
“You’re . . . You’re not bleeding,” she whispered. Her voice trembled and then firmed as she said, “It’s not bleeding. You’re . . . healing.”
Dominic rolled to his back and stared up at her.
They were alone, he realized abruptly. He didn’t even know how that had happened. Distantly, he heard a familiar, powerful engine and he figured it was Ana and Brad, speeding away into the night.
With the bodies, too, because he couldn’t see either the witch’s or wolf’s corpse.
Her blond hair tumbled in tousled waves over her shoulder and there was blood on her, in her hair, streaking her face.
She looked lovely—so lovely.
And her eyes—they were clear. Clear as the dawn. Clear as rain. Staring at him with recognition. Understanding began to glow there as she settled back on her heels.
Dominic sat up slowly, kept his hands to himself when all he wanted to do was grab. Grab, touch, take. Keep . . .
“Why are you healing?” she asked.
But she already knew the answer. He saw it in her eyes.
“You know why,” he said, shrugging. Then he swore as he remembered the wound in his back, the slowly healing flesh. The movement pulled, tore at him and he gritted his teeth until the pain eased up.
“Vampire,” she said quietly. She laced her hands together, squeezing so tight, her knuckles went white.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Ten years ago.” Then he shoved to his feet, unable to stay there, so close, without touching her. The shirt hung in shreds from his shoulders and he used his right arm to tear it the rest of the way off before he looked back at Nessa.
Why wasn’t she touching him?
Why wasn’t he touching her?
“Does it matter?” he asked softly.
She eased closer, eyeing his mouth with something akin to curiosity. And something deeper.
His heart skipped a beat, and when she reached up, touched her fingertips to his mouth, he had to curl his hands into fists just to keep from touching her. “That you’re a vampire? Does it matter to me? Not so much,” she said, her voice absent and soft. She pressed her finger to his lower lip and Dominic turned his head away.
The feel of her, so close, the smell of her, flooding his head, it was too much. His fangs throbbed, sliding down from their sheaths.
“Look at me,” she said, her voice soft, but insistent.
“It’s better if I don’t.” He closed his eyes.
Her hand cupped his cheek, guiding his face back to hers. “Look at me,” she whispered again. Then she leaned close, so close he felt the weight of her breasts against his chest, the soft curve of her belly. “Please look at me, Elias.”
Elias—
Shit, they really did need to talk.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything. But then her lips brushed against his cheek and he shuddered. Unable to resist, he forced his lashes up and stared into her summery, soft blue eyes. Uncaring of the blood on her face, he tangled a hand in her hair and leaned close, pressing his brow to hers.
“You know me,” he muttered, his voice raspy and low.
“I know you. I’d know you anywhere.” She pressed a kiss to his lips.
Dominic chuckled against her lips, and the hope dancing inside him began to spin—ready to take flight. “You didn’t know me earlier,” he said.
“Irrelevant.” She smiled against his lips. “I know you now . . . I’ll always know you.”
She kissed him and he groaned as she delicately slid her tongue into his mouth, avoidi
ng his fangs with ease. Then she stroked the tip of one with her tongue, and he tensed as the taste of her blood suddenly filled their kiss. But when he would have jerked away, she fisted a hand in his hair and held him still.
Strong . . . so strong. So soft.
Groaning, he closed his mouth around her tongue and sucked away those few precious drops. Under his kiss, the cut faded away, melted away, but still the taste of her blood lingered. He wanted more—needed more.
Talk—yeah, they damned well did need to talk, but he needed this now. Needed it more than he’d ever needed anything.
Tearing his mouth away, he pressed his brow to hers and whispered, “I have to make love to you. Now.”
With a smile curling her lips, she stroked a hand down his cheek. “Now sounds just fine to me.”
He swept her into his arms and strode into the house.
There were things he needed to do—there was blood on the porch, on the ground that needed to be cleaned up before it dried, and he really should have been worried that somebody had seen them, or heard them.
But all he could think about was her.
Nessa . . . this woman he’d dreamed of his entire life . . . and now she was here. In his arms.
He wanted her so bad he hurt with it, shook with it—it was a vicious, throbbing pain, in his heart, in his gut, in his cock. Making love to her once wouldn’t be enough. Twice, a hundred times, a thousand—
But instead of taking her straight to bed, he detoured to the bathroom. She was splattered with blood and sweat. Dominic couldn’t have cared less but she probably wouldn’t mind cleaning up. And he could still get his hands all over her, without pouncing on her like a savage lunatic.
He flicked on the light and settled her on the granite countertop next to the sink. Brushing her hair back, he caught her face in his hands and angled it up. Her lashes fluttered down and as he nuzzled her mouth, he whispered, “No . . . look at me. I need to see you. I need you to see me.”
Her lashes lifted slowly and summery blue eyes met his. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, her voice thick.
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