Dark Heart of the Sun (Dark Destinies Book 1) (6 page)

“
C’est un désastre putain.
” He tore away the flimsy pants and threw himself into the sea. Since his transformation, he no longer floated, making swimming impossible. So he crabbed along the sandy bottom to a small reef just offshore. There he spread himself face-down across the coral and algae-encrusted limestone shelves and let the passing waves rock his body into stillness.

His mind raced.

She could not be compelled. At least not when she didn’t want to be. She wanted to breathe, so she did his bidding. She didn’t want to tell him about her injury, so she didn’t. It made no sense. If another vampire had compelled her to resist him, she would have done so every time, not only when it suited her. What’s more, her sudden panic was like a lethal tripwire. Any blood-drinker that went through the trouble of sending her into his path would have a better plan for her than immediate self-destruction. Like dragging him out into the sun, for instance. But not only had she not done that, she even seemed oblivious to his true nature.

Unless she was compelled to be oblivious.

Something slithered across the back of his thigh. Dominic didn’t move, thrilling to the gentle caresses. Encouraged, the octopus continued to investigate, slipping its tentacles over and beneath him, testing the peculiar, smooth feel of him while he imagined its curious explorations to be the embrace of the sea itself. His heart ached with a powerful, almost forgotten need to be touched like this, with affection and trust.

Closing his eyes, he shivered as the octopus nestled its soft body between his legs, seeking and not quite finding a place to lurk in comfort. This, too, was an intimacy he would never know again. Some blood-drinkers, he knew, didn’t care that their human lovers would not survive even one sexual encounter. Dominic wasn’t one of them.

His thoughts swerved back to Cassidy, the girl in his lair with the scent of an unknown blood-drinker in her blood. Her blood wasn’t all he desired of her, and that interest was mutual. Her involuntary arousal was more than obvious to his heightened senses. But that was insanity. He had taken one life in a fit of passion when he didn’t know any better, a tragedy that would haunt him forever along with several others. But doing it again with a full understanding of the consequences would kill what little humanity remained in him.

Deep in his heart, the beast growled its discontent. It would not have her, not tonight and not tomorrow, not any night or in any way.

The octopus emerged across his buttocks and sidled up his back. It probed at the cloud of hair floating around his head. Then it vanished in a hurry, the water jet of its departure washing down his spine. Dominic opened his eyes and shifted his vision. A thousand tiny lives melted from the gloom surrounding him—and one large one. His body tensed, compacting, readying for the hunt.

The shark nudged him once. Circling around, it returned, aiming for a taste. But it underestimated its prey. When it would have torn his flesh, Dominic caught it in his arms. Seconds later, its thin, salty blood flowed from its heart and into a predator without equal. Soon the carcass drifted on the reef, attracting the first scavengers.

Dominic settled a distance away, the beast appeased, if not satisfied. Shark’s blood was the blood-drinker equivalent of junk food—convenient but little else. Sometimes convenience trumped enjoyment, especially tonight when a human slept in his lair. He would stay submerged out here until dawn to avoid that particular temptation. By tomorrow night, if she had any sense left at all, she would be gone and safe from him—but not safe from the other blood-drinker.

That thought sent an inexplicable frisson through him. That other wasn’t his sire. That much he knew from her scent. There would be no hope for him if it were otherwise. It was possible that she was nothing more than a casual and already forgotten feed who moved into his lair by sheer coincidence. Possible, but not probable. What would the other do with her when she left? As long as none of it involved him, Dominic had no cause to care. Yet, the thought gave him pause. At best she would be killed, at worst enslaved if she wasn’t already. Dominic found no pleasure in indiscriminate murder or the cruel games blood-drinkers often played. But if he condemned her to such a fate, was he any better than those who would execute it?

He struggled with this question for the rest of the night. He was no closer to an answer by the time the sky grew light and he locked himself behind the door of his refuge.

Chapter 6

Refugees

Cassidy didn’t even try to find another place to stay. Breaking the rental agreement would cost her money she couldn’t afford to lose and couldn’t spend on a new place, not that she thought she’d have any better luck finding one on Tuesday than she did on Sunday. There was her job to consider, too. She wasn’t about to give anyone any cause to let her go by making a string of personal phone calls, to say nothing of leaving early to pack up and relocate her life yet again.

At home, she dumped her bag and blazer on the kitchen table and kicked off her shoes. The heat wrapped around her like a sauna, soaking into tense muscles and making her relax almost against her will. All day she acted the model employee, which meant pretty much biting off her tongue to keep from handing Jim a piece of her mind.

On the plus side, one of her turtle pictures ran today under the heading ‘Local Color’ and Dave had been halfway encouraging when she explained about wanting to contribute more. Not that he’d rushed to hand her a choice assignment, though. “It’s only your second week,” he told her. “Give it time.”

Retrieving a diet soda from the fridge, she popped it open. While she drank, she admired her handiwork. She had poured her time and sweat into making this place livable, and other than being far too warm, it felt almost welcoming now. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, throwing dappled yellow shadows across the kitchen and living room. A strange sense of refuge emanated from the wood-paneled walls and hovered around the worn furnishings. Even the once bright rugs scattered across the tiles like casual smiles seemed to greet her.

This place had seen a lot of life. Happy life, she liked to think, and for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she felt safe here in spite of the cranky Frenchman camping in the back bedroom. How long had he or his family owned this place? Was he part of whatever had created the good vibes she sensed? Maybe she felt safe here not in spite of, but because of him. He claimed to want nothing from her—except to be left alone—but he was here. She wasn’t alone. And for now here is where she intended to stay.

Her other roommate, Eddie, flowed down the stairs and poured himself onto a rug beneath the whirring ceiling fan. There he stretched and twisted with abandon. Cassidy joined him on the floor and rubbed his squirming belly. “Hey there, buddy. Feeling better now?”

After Dominic left last night, she had tried to bribe the cat out from under her bed with kitty treats for an hour, but he didn’t surface until she turned in herself. This morning, he was under the bed again. But whatever his misgivings then, he now purred with enthusiasm.

The back room door was closed, and she wondered how anyone could sleep in this heat. Whatever it was that knocked him out must be formidable. Alcohol? Drugs? So sad. He was such a handsome guy—until he opened his mouth. Cassidy sighed. None of her business. She had enough problems of her own.

She went for a jog on the beach and noodled around with an idea for an article before enjoying a bowl of leftover mac ‘n’ cheese in one of the creaking Adirondack chairs on the front porch. Shadows lengthened and a puff of breeze brushed against her damp skin. Insects buzzed over the whoosh and mumble of the ocean. Evening gathered around her, bundling her in peace—which only lasted until she finished a cool, soapy shower.

“Well, look who’s up,” she said, descending the stairs. Anticipating such an encounter, she had dressed in a long, tie-dyed peasant skirt and the most conservative top she could tolerate in this heat.

Dominic sat cross-legged in a corner of the sofa, a bottle of Perrier in one hand and a laptop balanced between his thighs. She was cheered to see that his attire tonight included not only gym pants but also a black, V-necked T-shirt. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair, pushing it off his face, and gave her a quizzical look.

“Look who is still here.”

“Right.” To buy herself some time—or maybe to avoid having to face that intense interest directly—she padded to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator before she knew what she wanted from it. That’s when she noticed that Radio Denver had been replaced by a pop beat underlying French lyrics. He had reprogrammed her Internet radio. Right then, a station break identified Radio St. Barth. She inhaled, preparing to tell him exactly how she felt about him touching her things, but then remembered her continued precarious situation. So she opted for a diplomatic, “Is that where you’re from? St . . . Barth?”

“
Oui.
St. Barthélémy.”

Not in the mood for sweetness, she took one of the Perriers, opened it, and drank straight out of the bottle, relishing the bite of the cold bubbles in the back of her throat.

“Isn’t that the island where that Italian actress was killed last year? What was her name? Jo-Sebastian-something?” When he didn’t even look up from his laptop, she continued, “That was quite the media circus as I recall. Were you there for that?”

Dominic snapped the laptop shut. “Why are
you
still
here
, Cassidy?”

“Sorry. Guess you were.” She made a mental note to look up more information about that Caribbean island online. She knew it was small. And, oh yeah, French.

“Look,” she said, facing him from behind the kitchen counter. “This wasn’t my first choice of places to stay. In fact, it’s safe to say that it was my last choice. Though it’s growing on me,” she added quickly. No point in insulting his home more than she already had. “I don’t have anywhere else to go right now.” She drank some more of the chilled bubbles before that depressing thought could sink in any deeper. “Besides, there’s a contract I can’t afford to break. You should have told them you were here.”

He looked at her, his expression neutral.

“I’m quiet. I’m neat. Eddie”—she glanced around, but saw no trace of him—“well, Eddie is obviously the disappearing cat, and I make sure he’s always clean. It doesn’t look like you’re allergic or anything. We should be able to coexist for a bit, right?”

Dominic took a slow swallow from his own little green bottle. “Your pet is allergic to me.”

“He’s shy around strangers. But at least he doesn’t bite. Neither do I, by the way.”

As she hoped, that got a smile out of him. “Maybe I do.” At her puzzled frown, he shrugged. “Do you really have nowhere else to go?”

“Nowhere else I can handle being right now, no.”

“Why?”

Cassidy cringed. Here came the questions again. “That’s . . . personal.”

Dominic made a small noise that sounded French somehow. Setting aside the laptop, he unfolded his long legs. “You insist on sharing my home. What could be more personal than that?”

Though it was a casual question, the suggestive purr in his voice sent heat crawling up her neck. She didn’t want to go there with him, needed to keep their accidental relationship as business-like as possible. She had no room in her life for more complications right now, and, God help her, Dominic Marchant had ‘complicated’ written all over him.

“
Se détendre
, Cassidy. Relax,” he said, getting up. Coming closer, his mood shifted with the same sinuous ease as his body when he leaned one hand on the kitchen counter across from her. “I greatly value my privacy. Yet you are determined to invade it. All I want is to understand why that is.”

Cassidy searched his face and found only quiet interest. Like it or not, he had a point. Were their roles reversed, she doubted she would be half so accommodating. That deserved something. Relenting, she summarized her situation, mentioning a big move, new job, and low pay, but leaving out the personal details—or tried to.

“And where is the man who gave you that?” He indicated the ring with a nod.

“Not here, obviously.”

“Is he still in Colorado?”

She shook her head and studied the ring, remembering how Jackson had presented it to her on one knee two days before they both graduated—she with her journalism bachelor’s, he with his MBA—both of them full of excitement and hope.

“So he is dead?” Dominic prompted.

“No. We . . .”
broke up, but I’m still wearing this because I might be out of a job if I don’t and will be financially sunk for eternity if I lost it? No. Keep it simple.
“We’re taking a break.” A long one.

“Because of the bite?”

Cassidy gasped. “What the . . . what is it with you and that bruise?”

“It makes sense,
non?
”

“No. It doesn’t.” Agitation rippled through her. Before he could push the issue any more, she went on the attack. “And to be perfectly honest, neither do you.”

His eyes widened a little. “Oh?”

“An obvious hunk like you hanging out here all by yourself? Sleeping all day and disappearing all night? What gives?”

“Ah. I knew you were enjoying the view.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Like you?”

“What are
you
doing here, Nick? I can call you Nick, right?” ‘Dominic’ was such a pretentious mouthful. “Who are you really?”

For a while he said nothing, and Cassidy was pleased to think that she had turned the tables on him. Then a corner of his mouth lifted. “Perhaps I am a depraved French serial killer hiding from justice?”

She stared at him, bewildered yet again by this walking, talking, irritating contradiction of a man. Well, two could play that game. “Oh, a
French
serial killer, is it? Good to know. I’d hate to be here with a criminal who might have some manners.”

Now it was his turn to look befuddled. She lifted a brow in challenge. He shook his head and upended the Perrier to his lips.

Male model, she thought again, watching his throat bob. Probably lost his contract because he couldn’t check his attitude at the door. South Florida. Such a magnet for the freak shows of humanity. What a waste.

When the bottle settled back on the faded yellow Formica surface between them, it was empty. His long fingers idly spun it in place. “I have an allergy. To the sun.”

“Don’t tell me. You sparkle,” she shot back. He tilted his head, in exasperation or amusement, she couldn’t tell which. She took a closer look at his skin. It was very fair and did look like it might blister if exposed to anything stronger than a forty-watt bulb. “Um, sorry. I do know that’s a real condition.”

“What? Sparkling?”

“No. Sun allergy. But it’s kinda strange that you’re trying to avoid the sun on a beach in a tropical climate.”

He watched the bottle in his fingers, a small frown drawing his sweeping black brows together. “This house belongs to my family. They do not know I’m here. I would like to keep it that way.”

“Fine. But the rental agency is trying to reach the owners about the busted AC.”

His head snapped up. “Tell them to stop.”

“Are you going to fix it then? Assuming you’re not throwing me bodily out of here, which is about what it’ll take to get rid of me, by the way.”

Another one of those long, searching looks as if he were trying to read her every thought. Abandoning the bottle, he returned to the living room where he sprawled into the sofa, his arms outstretched across the back. “You may decide to leave on your own.”

“I doubt that.”

“There are house rules.”

“House rules?” That sounded promising. Armed with all the best intentions to take every single one to heart, Cassidy settled in the nearest wicker armchair and folded her legs underneath her. “Shoot.”

“If you are going to drink my water, you will keep us both supplied. I don’t like going to the store.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then saw the half-empty green bottle clutched in her hand. “Expensive habits.”

“My least expensive habit, actually. Consider it part of your rent.”

Cassidy smothered a spike of irritation with forced good cheer. “Fine. Perrier it is. And anything else in the fridge, while you’re in there. Be my guest. Help yourself to snacks.”

“Help myself?” Somehow he managed to look aghast and eager at the same time.

“Really. I don’t mind.”

“Oh. I think perhaps you would.” He shook his head. “No matter. Your groceries are safe from me. Except for the apples and eggs, there is not one piece of real food in this house. It is all processed, and therefore shit.”

“Wow. Do you feel better getting that off your chest?”

“Much,” he agreed. “I will give you the money for the Perrier, if you like.”

“That . . . would be good,” she agreed, taken aback by the unexpected offer. “What other house rules?”

“Your radio. When I’m here at night, it will be tuned to Radio St. Barth.” He held up a hand to forestall a protest. “Consider it rent for using my Internet connection,
non?
”

Cassidy sucked in a breath. Her hands clenched around the bottle. “Radio Denver is all I have left of home.”

“Listen to it when I’m not here.”

Which should be most of the time, then, she thought, calming herself. And it was a radio station she could change. It wasn’t like he was carting off the entire state of Colorado.

Dominic leaned forward, elbows propped on his thighs. “Your radio is a blessing,
chérie
. I have not felt so close to home in over a year.”

Something about the soft tone and the casual endearment touched her in a way she didn’t expect. “Sounds like we have something in common then.”

“
Oui.
We are both . . . refugees?”

Tears stung her eyes without warning. She blinked to keep them from spilling. “Yes. That about sums it up.” She cleared her throat and swallowed. “Okay. We share the radio. What else?”

Dominic pulled a crushed pack of cigarettes out of one pocket and a lighter from the other. Tapping one out, he lit it and pulled hard. Cassidy slumped back into her seat with a sinking heart. “How often do you do that?”