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This gave Cassidy pause, but then she shook her head. “I don’t see how. It feels more like he’s trying to destroy it.”

Samantha glanced over her shoulder at Serge, who appeared oblivious to their conversation but surely followed every word. “Then I’m guessing. I don’t know.”

“But I bet Serge does,” Cassidy said, watching the lounging vampire for any hint of a reaction. There was none. She exchanged a look with Samantha, who put a hand on her arm and gave an encouraging squeeze.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. As long as you two are together, nothing can harm either of you. He is smart enough to figure that out. You’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right. And I hope he figures it out soon.”

A sharp knock at the door made both women jump. They looked to Serge, who hadn’t moved. “Who is it?” Samantha whispered.

Serge muted the already indistinct sound of his movie and gave them a doleful look. “Go and see.”

“Oh great,” Cassidy muttered. “More ominous mysteries.”

The knock repeated, strong enough to rattle the door on its hinges. Samantha approached it as though venturing into a tiger’s den. What she found glowering on the other side wasn’t far off.

“Dominique?”

His gaze darted past her, first finding Serge on the sofa, then Cassidy at the kitchen counter.

“What can I do for you?” Shock strained Samantha’s voice. Dominique avoided her like he avoided daylight. He rarely came near her home. And he never knocked on her door.

“Cassidy?”

“Yes, of course.” She stepped aside. “Come in.”

Dominique entered the room, a vision to behold in his full black leather regalia, all effortless grace and leashed power, bristling with agitation. He came to a halt five feet away from Cassidy. The heart-stopping scowl on his face hardened. No doubt he would have preferred to speak to her privately, but without their link, that wouldn’t be happening here.

Nor was Cassidy particularly inspired to leave with him just now.

“You’re back early,” she said, breaking the awkward silence. “What happened?”

“I almost fell into Jackson’s latest trap.” His tone was clipped and his French accent thick as a stew.

Samantha smothered a gasp behind one hand.

Cassidy slid off the barstool. “What? Where? How?”

“La maison…euh…Jim Lawley’s home has been made into a trap for me,” he declared, hands gesturing to encompass the room as though it might harbor a similar threat. “If not for the smell of new paint, I would not have noticed the changes and would now sit in a silver-lined cage, awaiting my tormentor’s twisted pleasure.”

She grabbed the counter edge for support. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not again.

He took two more steps toward her and leaned in close. “Sais-tu…do you know anything about this?”

“Me? Are you insane? Why would you think that?”

“You are the only one who knows I go to see that useless man and why.” He glanced at Samantha, who had paled by several shades. “Or should I ask my tormentor’s sister?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the sister sputtered.

Serge still hadn’t moved from his nest of sofa pillows, though he watched them all with a strange, far-away stare that gave Cassidy chills. He didn’t watch them so much, she knew, as he watched the possible future events being triggered by this very moment.

“Jim Lawley is out of town. Has been since Tuesday.” On a more sarcastic note, Cassidy added, “But you’d know that if you had bitten me when you were supposed to.”

Another five or ten seconds, then the outrage drained from his face. “Why did you not tell me this?”

“I’m sorry. Jim’s personal plans aren’t a priority for me right now. Want to guess why that might be?”