Playing With Fire (24 page)

“Burning . . . inside . . .” Vaughn muttered. He shook his head and lifted his hands to wrap around his stomach. “Hurts so much.”

His knife-like, black claws were gone. His fingers were normal again.

“It's working,” Cassie said, the words heavy with excitement. The cure could revert the primal vampires. It. Was. Working.

“Fire!”
The shout came from behind them.

“Let me kill them.” Dante's breath blew lightly over her ear.

Cassie shook her head once more. There was another way. They could—

“There! Get her!”

She whirled and saw Jon breaking through the line of trees. His face was twisted, not with fear or pain but with what looked like heavy burns.

“Kill him!” Jon ordered his men.

Kill him . . .

The men all began to lift their weapons without a moment's hesitation.

They need to think for themselves.

Only they weren't. They were getting ready to fire.

And she was standing between Dante and those bullets. Horror flashed across Jon's face. “No! Not her, don't hit—”

The bullets were already exploding from their guns. Cassie braced herself. Whatever magic mojo she had inside of herself, she sure hoped it kept working.

Flames ignited in front of her. A giant, white-hot wall that lanced her skin even as the flames stretched high, covering her head, and wide, completely shielding her body.

The bullets never made it through the fire.

“You won't let me kill them, so we
run.
” Dante didn't give her a chance to respond. He yanked her with him, and they rushed toward the waiting woods. The wall of fire he'd made protected their backs.

Cassie glanced over her shoulder, frantic. “Vaughn!
Come with us!
”

He stumbled to his feet. Tried to dodge the fire. His body was trembling, but he was coming toward her.

“You will come back to me, Cassie!” Jon's voice. Thundering after her.

He was near Vaughn. Too close to the vampire.

He was—

Jon grabbed a wooden stake from one of his men and shoved it into Vaughn's back.

Cassie screamed and jerked free of Dante's grip.
I'm coming back, you bastard, I'm—

Fire flashed in front of her. Dante's fire. Blocking her.

“Leave him.” Dante's order. His hand locked around her wrist. “He's already dead.”

Vaughn had fallen to the ground. He wasn't moving.

“But he was cured,” Cassie could only whisper brokenly. “He was . . . going to be normal again.”

Through the flames, she saw Jon kick Vaughn in the ribs. The fire seemed to be everywhere. Raging so bright.

“Jon!”
Her fury broke from her in the scream of his name.

“You will come back to me!” Jon shouted to her.

Dante's arms curled around her stomach. He lifted her off her feet. Didn't let her go.

“Cassie!”
Jon's shout blasted over the flames.

But Dante wasn't letting her go.

Vaughn was dead.

And she wanted Jon to be.

 

They'd stolen a truck. An ancient pickup with faded paint and a clutch that didn't want to work. Sunrise was upon them, the faint trickles of light sliding across the sky.

Dante glanced over at Cassie. She looked pale, and her knuckles were white around the steering wheel. “The vampire . . . he mattered to you?”

Her lips trembled. “Yes.”

Her pain seemed to fill the truck's interior.

Dante rubbed his chest. It kept aching, but no wound was there.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and her gaze cut quickly to him. “I mean, you don't even remember me, and you still got me out of there. You could have just left me to die.”

“No.”
That wasn't happening. She would not die. “I know your smell. Your taste. I know you are
mine.
” An instinctive awareness he'd had since the first instant he'd seen her.

Even when she'd looked at him with terror in her eyes, he'd known that she was his.

Her breath whispered out on a soft sigh. “We're almost to New Orleans. Jon will keep looking for us, but I-I know a place we can use as a safe house there.”

Jon. The man with the burns. The man that I will be killing.

Dante had just needed to get Cassie away last night. To make sure that she was safe.

He hadn't wanted his fire to hurt her.

“We can stop soon,” she said, and he wondered if the words were to reassure him or her.

Silence filled the vehicle as they came toward the city. Cassie's body was tense, and she seemed far too breakable. So fragile.

An image appeared in his mind. A little girl with dark hair. Cassie's frightened eyes. She walked toward him.

Her little gown had been soaked with blood.

“Why is there blood on you?”

“He killed me.”
She shook her head.
“He's going to kill you, too.”

“You're
not
dying!” His hand slammed into the dashboard, sending a crack streaking across the old, brittle surface.

Cassie jumped and glanced at him. “That is the plan, okay? Relax. I'm no immortal phoenix like you. I don't know how many repeats are left in me.”

She turned the vehicle onto a narrow road. He saw the tops of—angels? Stone angels. Tombstones. They drove past a cemetery and under the interstate.

“The house isn't much,” Cassie told him, “but we're not trying to attract attention.”

The steering wheel was shaking in her hand. That truck didn't have many more miles in it.

A few more moments, then she was turning in front of an old, plantation style home. One that had burglar bars across its windows and spray paint on the walls. “Most of the locals think that this place is cursed,” Cassie said as she pulled the truck around to the back. “So no one comes here much.”

The truck's driver side door groaned when she shoved it open. Dante climbed from the vehicle and followed her up the old steps that led into the house.

Heavy boards crisscrossed the back door. She bit her lip, then glanced at him. “Ah, you think you could . . . ?”

With a yank, he had both boards falling onto the old broken steps.

“Thanks.”

They went inside. Judging by the way the house looked on the outside, he'd expected to see dust, spider webs—anything but the too tidy space that waited him.

“From the front, no one can see any lights on in here.” She'd turned on several lights already. “The windows are tinted, and thick curtains also help to block the interior light. If anyone glances this way, the place will keep looking abandoned.”

Even though it wasn't.

“I told Charles we'd regroup at midnight, so we just need to lay low until then.” She headed for the spiral staircase. It had probably once been the talk of the town. Now the steps squeaked beneath her feet. “There are a few habitable rooms upstairs. Take the one that you want.”

She wasn't even looking at him. Just heading up those stairs.

No.

He rushed across the room and caught her hand, stilling her on the fifth step.

“Dante?”

His gaze raked over her. “I saw your eyes . . . in the face of a child. You said—you said someone had killed you.”

She shook her head. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Wrong. She knew exactly.

“You sound different when you lie.”

Cassie stilled.

He leaned toward her. His fingers brushed over her cheek. “I like the way your skin feels. Like silk.” He inhaled, drinking in her scent. “And I fucking love the way you smell.”

And the way she tasted.

Cassie's hands flew up and caught his.
“Stop. ”

He frowned at her.

“You don't know how much it rips my heart out every time this happens. You die and you burn and you come back—and you don't remember me.” Her laugh was too bitter and rough.

That wasn't the way her laugh should sound. He knew that, even if he couldn't recall the actual sound of her laughter.

“I got lucky when Jon took me to the ranch. You actually remembered, but it still didn't change the way you felt about me, did it?”

Dante could only stare at her as a dark tension swept through him.

“I don't think you do feel.” She swallowed and pulled in a ragged breath. “I think you want and you lust and maybe it is because of what I am.” Her lips twisted. “Siren.” Said like a curse.

His muscles hardened.

“You look at me and see a stranger.”

No, he saw a woman that he knew belonged to him.

As he belonged to her.

“I look at you and see the man who keeps breaking my heart.” She dropped his hand as if he burned her.

He'd burned plenty of people.

Not her. Never—

“Why do I love someone who doesn't even know me?”

It was his turn to pull in that ragged breath.

Even softer, she said, “Someone who can't ever love me back.”

She straightened her shoulders and carefully eased up a few steps. Putting distance between them. “I can't handle you right now. I'm too . . . raw. And you make me feel too much.”

His hands clenched into fists so that he wouldn't reach out to her.

“Dammit,
remember me
!” Cassie suddenly yelled. “I don't want to be so forgettable to you! I
never
forget you! I never gave up on you! I just—” She broke off, and there was more of the bitter laughter that sounded so very wrong coming from her. “You can't help it. Just like I can't help loving you.” She spun away. “But I've got to learn how to try.”

Dammit, remember me!

Those had been the only words he clearly heard. Those words and her bitter laughter.

He stayed on those stairs as she raced away from him, and images began to flood through his mind.

Cassie had said . . . she was a siren.

Sirens are dangerous. So dangerous . . .

A whispered warning that came from within.

He squeezed his eyes shut and saw images of her.

They were in a crowded bar. Her eyes were wide and scared. He leaned close to her. “I've dreamed about you,” he whispered. His hold had tightened on her wrists. “In my dreams . . . you kill me, Cassie Armstrong. ”

Another image. Another time. Another place.

Cassie stood in front of a broken mirror. Blood dripped down her arm. “They're coming. I have to get it out, or they'll get me.” She drove a shard of glass into her shoulder and his phoenix roared inside.

Cassie and blood. They were bound in his mind. The blood . . .

“I'm not your fucking experiment.”

She flinched before him. “I didn't say that you were.”

“But you want to put me in your lab, right? Want to run your tests . . . cut me open . . . just like they did.”

“I'm not like them.”

“Aren't you?”

The images kept coming, rolling through his mind until all he could see was—

“You killed me. You were there when they cut into me. When they tortured me . . .” She'd stood before him, eyes so wide. “You were in a white coat. In a lab. You were one of them.”

“Let me explain—”

There was nothing to explain. “I should have left you to die when I had the chance. ”

Dante glanced to the top of the stairs. The pipes were moaning. Cassie must have turned on the shower.

He began to climb those steps.

I should have left you to die when I had the chance.

His words.

They were alone. All alone . . .

You killed me . . .

Cassie wasn't getting away.

T
he water beat down on Cassie, and it was really freaking cold. Ice cold. But that was fine. She needed the chill to freeze the heat that Dante had stirred within her.

Just from his touch.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned into the blasting water. She'd told him she loved him. Why?
Why?
She'd kept that secret to herself for so many years, and bam, give her some grief and desperation, and she started to over share.

He barely even knew her name.

Of course, he didn't love her back. How could he love a stranger?

There was still ash on her skin. She scrubbed harder, needing it gone. The smoke, the flames, the memory of Vaughn's desperate face. She just needed it—
gone.

A whisper of warm air slid over her. Her heart began to beat faster. She'd heard no sound, but that heat shouldn't have been there. “Dante?” Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned around.

He stood in the doorway.

The water worked in the shower, but there was no curtain or door to shield her from his gaze.
No protection.

If he could only remember . . . they'd been like this once before. Though it wasn't like that scene had ended well—certainly not like the ending in her fantasies.

She yanked off the water. Fumbled for the towel that she'd found in the closet before getting into the shower. Didn't waste time drying off. She just wrapped the towel around her body and hurried out of the shower. “What's wrong? Has something happened?”

He gave a grim nod. His gaze swept over her.

There was something about his stare . . .

Her hold tightened on the towel.

His eyes met hers. “I remember you.”

The whole room seemed to be getting warmer, and all of that heat was coming right from him.

“Please tell me that you remember the good stuff,” she whispered.

“You killed me.” Flat.

Crap.
“That's not the good stuff.” Cassie wanted to back away, but there was no place to go. The shower was behind her, and once again, Dante was between her and the only exit.

“I remembered . . . saying I should let you die . . .”

Still not good.
“Okay, look, you might not believe this, but there are actually good memories that we share.” It hadn't all been death and pain and fire.

Had it?

He stalked toward her. His hands reached out. Caught the edge of the towel.

“Dante?”

“I have
all
my memories of you. And some are so good”—the towel dropped to the floor—“that I want to have them again and again.”

She needed to hop back in that icy water.

“Siren.” His lips curled.

Wait. He was
smiling
.

“I remember the first time I had you naked.” His fingers stroked over her breasts. Her nipples were already tightening, aching, so sensitive. “I remember the little moan that you gave. It sounded just like—”

The moan broke from her. His hands were so warm and strong.

“That,” he finished in satisfaction. His head bent and he was kissing her. Driving his tongue into her mouth and making the lust that she'd tried to control grow so much stronger.

His fingers kept stroking her. Sliding over her flesh and warming her with every caress. Down, down his hand went, until those strong fingers were between her thighs.

His head lifted. “I remembered what you tasted like, everywhere.”

His fingers thrust into her.

She rose onto her toes and her fingers flew out, locking around his shoulders.

“I'd never had anything so good. I want it again.” His fingers were sliding into her, withdrawing, sliding in. “I want you again.”

His thumb pushed over her clit. That moan—oh, yes, it slipped from her again.

Part of Cassie hated that she needed him so much. Hated that she didn't seem to have any power with him.

But, oh, she loved the way he could make her feel.

She'd shut her eyes. When had she done that? Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him. His cheeks were flushed, and she saw the phoenix lurking in his gaze.

“I remember . . .” he whispered.

She gathered her strength and pulled away from him. “I think it's t-time to make new memories.”

Surprise flickered over his face. Surprise and uncertainty?

“Cassie . . .”

“New memories.” She wanted to make him lose his precious control. Maybe he didn't feel the same emotions that she did, but he could feel the same reckless need that seemed to consume everything.

She eased to her knees in front of him, barely feeling the press of the tile against her flesh. Her hands reached out to him. She yanked open his jeans. His cock was heavy and full, completely erect, and warm, just like the rest of him. Always so warm.

“You don't have—”

“I want to make you wild.” She would make him that way. She wouldn't be the only one lost to this need. Cassie put her mouth on him, hesitant at first, because she was uncertain.

But . . . he growled out her name and she heard the rough need in his voice.

Her mouth opened wider as she took more of him. Deeper. Her tongue licked over his shaft, then over the head of his cock.

She licked him again, savoring the taste of him that she could feel on her tongue.

His hands rose and locked around her shoulders. A shudder rippled over his body.

That was a good sign, right?

She tasted more of him. Her hand curved around his shaft, and she began to pump him even as her mouth slid over his cock. She could taste more of him, slightly salty, and she liked that. She liked him. Liked the way his fingers were curling ever tighter around her, and she liked the way—

“Cassie!”
He roared her name.

Then he was lifting her up, swinging her high into his arms. His mouth crashed on hers. She sank her hands into his hair. She was wet and aching and wanted him
in
her.

He pulled his mouth from hers and began to kiss her neck.

Oh, yes, that was good.

“The bed,” she managed. “Get us to the—”

He pushed her against the tiled wall. And drove into her.

Not making it to the bed. That was fine.

Her nails raked over him as she let her own control rip away.

His hands slammed down behind her, and she heard glass shatter. Was that the mirror? Tiles?

Screw it.

She arched toward him.

The heat thickened in the bathroom. So did he. His cock swelled inside her, and she pushed down eagerly, trying to take more of him.

Then he withdrew and slammed deep again.

“Dante!”

Her release was close, she could feel it bearing down on her. He lifted her higher, positioning her to take and take, and every thrust sent him pushing right over her clit.

She came, gasping for breath. Holding tight to him. But . . .

Dante wasn't done.

“Not . . . enough . . .” His words were growled.

She couldn't get a deep breath. She could only gasp and feel the pulses of her release coursing through her.

He was still in her. So deep and full. And he was carrying her out of the bathroom.

Finally, they were making it to the bed.

He lowered her onto the mattress. Caught her legs and lifted them up, opening her even more to him. “Need . . .
everything
. . .”

Her gaze was caught by the fire in his eyes. She'd wanted his control to shatter. It had. The beast was there, in his gaze, as desperate for release as the man.

He thrust into her.

The need built once more within Cassie. She was too sensitive and every stroke—

“Dante!” Her nails dug into him.

He growled. “Yes . . .
yes
. . .”

She came again.

And he exploded within her. His hands held her so tightly, the heat in the room built, and she almost expected to see flames shooting along the old bedspread.

Instead of fire, she saw him. Dante kissed her. She tasted his need and his lust and his pleasure.

So much pleasure.

It was sweeping over her and she could only shudder at the release that wouldn't end.

She never wanted it to end.

Slowly, so slowly, he lowered her legs. Slid out of her.

Dammit
. She hadn't been ready for him to go.

He pulled up the covers, wrapping her carefully, and tucking her gently to his side.

“I like my new memories,” he said, voice deep.

That was the
last
thing she'd expected him to say. A laugh slipped from her, one that was real and happy. In that moment, she was happy.

She was with Dante. Her whole body was blissed out.

And her phoenix liked his memories. He laughed then, too. It was deep and rumbly and wonderful.

Her own laughter stilled.

He
laughed.

Her lips began to tremble.

Dante's laughter stopped. Worry chased across his face. “Cassie, what is it?”

I love you. I've loved you since I was eight years old. In all of those years, this is the first time you ever laughed—real laughter.
Not the bitter sound of mockery that she'd heard in Genesis.

“I just got my wish,” she told him softly.

He frowned at her.

No, her words would make no sense to him. She didn't care.

Cassie bent and kissed him and hoped that he hadn't noticed the tears in her eyes.

Dante was happy, and so was she.

 

He
hurt.

Vaughn Adams cracked open his eyes and glanced around. He had no damn idea where he was, but he felt pretty sure that he was about to vomit.

“You're awake.” A woman's voice. A voice he didn't know.

He turned his head to the right and saw her. A woman with blond hair, wearing a white lab coat.

Not the same woman.
It wasn't the woman who'd come to him again and again, with the voice that soothed and made the bloodlust still within him, even as the scent of her blood had tempted him.

“Jon didn't intend to kill you. If he had, he would have made sure not to miss your heart.” Her voice was very matter-of-fact. “Or he would have burned you.”

“You . . .” Vaughn's voice was raspy, too rough. “You . . . talkin' about that bastard who . . . staked me?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Jon Abrams.” She gave a quick nod and glanced back over her shoulder. Like she was nervous.

Or scared.

“He didn't want you dead,” she told him quickly. “We can't . . . learn as much from the dead.”

Vaughn tried to move and realized that he was strapped down on a table.

Not good.

“Let me up,” he said, his voice gaining strength with his rising fury. “Your boss is crazy! He tried to kill me.”
And when I find him, I'll offer some serious payback.
“But you haven't hurt me, so lady, I don't have any grudge against you.”

She wasn't moving to let him up.

He strained against the metal straps.

“Those straps keep werewolves contained without any problem.” Still that matter-of-fact voice that he didn't like. “So I think they'll manage to hold you just fine.” She crept closer and studied him with a detached, clinical gaze. “Though I'll confess, I'm not exactly sure what you are.”

“I'm a detective with the New Orleans Police Department, and trust me on this, you do not want to screw with the NOPD!”

“Until a few hours ago, I believe you were a primal vampire. I doubt that you've even spoken in full sentences like this since your . . . infection.” Her gaze swept over him. “But now your claws are gone and you only have fangs on your canine teeth.”

She acted like she'd missed the whole NOPD part.

But . . . her words were giving him pause.
Claws are gone.

His heart started to race faster in his chest.
Cassie.
Her name slipped through his mind. The woman with the soothing voice, and the blood that had begged for him to drink it. She had cured him. She'd said she would.

She'd done it.

“I need to understand what she did to you.”

Wow. Hold up.
His gaze dropped to her right hand. That woman needed to put down the scalpel and step back from him.

“I have to replicate it. I have to see . . . Are you human again?” She shook her head. “I don't think you completely are, not with those fangs.”

His tongue ran over said fangs. The two sharp canines were much better than the mouthful he'd had before.

“Do you want blood?”

She came closer with that scalpel.

“Keep it away from me!” He wasn't in the mood to get sliced.

The blonde blinked. “I'm not going to hurt you.” She took the scalpel and sliced it over her skin.

Her blood trickled over her arm.

“I'm just going to see if you're hungry.”

The blood glistened, dark red. And Vaughn realized that he was . . . He
was hungry.

She held her arm over his face, and he opened his mouth, suddenly desperate for that blood.

“Vampires usually need a lot of blood after an injury. You still haven't healed fully yet.”

He hadn't even felt an injury.

“But maybe that will change with a little blood.” Drops of her blood fell into his mouth.

So damn good.

“Interesting.”

After those few precious drops, she stepped back and began wrapping her injured arm in long, white strips of cloth. “You sure act like a vampire, but you don't look primal.”

“I'm not,” he gritted out. When he'd been in that primal haze of bloodlust and endless hunger, speech had been all but impossible. The longer he'd been primal, the harder it had been to pull up speech. As if ... as if with each passing day, he'd become more of an animal.