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Shoulders slumping, he shoved the fingers of both hands through his disheveled hair. “D’accord. But what about Jackson? How would he know I might be there?”

It took her only a second to make the connection. Then her stomach fisted with anger. “That manipulative, opportunistic, freaking bastard.”

Everybody looked at her, expectant, but she hesitated. This was a conversation she hadn’t intended to have in words, much less with witnesses. But whatever.

“He came to see me on Monday, and he saw Jim acting at his compelled finest. He put two and two together. There was no point in denying anything.”

Dominique’s eyes rounded, incredulous.

With mounting disgust, she recalled one more thing. “He also heard Jim talk about going out of town. Son of a bitch.”

“Jackson Striker contacted you? And you did not tell me this either?”

Cassidy crossed her arms. “I really didn’t think you’d want to hear about that while we were out on our dates. Or about the colorful things he had to say about you, of which there were plenty.”

He leaned one hand on the cold granite countertop beside her. “Merde.”

“Exactly.”

“Jackson is not going to give up,” Samantha said with a disappointed shake of her head. “Please be careful, Dominique.”

Cassidy saw the subtle tension running through him and recognized it for the hostile annoyance it was. He was moments away from snarling at Jackson’s sister outright—or worse.

The oracle on the sofa chose that moment to speak. “What must be, will be.” Dominique shot Serge a murderous glare that was acknowledged with a careless shrug. “You know what you have to do, blood-child.”

In the silence that followed, the tension in the room folded back on itself and doubled, then quadrupled. They all knew what Dominique had to do—to be whole, to survive.

When he turned to Cassidy, the hunger and desperation pooling in his darkening eyes stilled her breath and made the blood roar in her ears. Would he bite her now? Right here? Merging their souls? Even succumbing to the delirious passion that would follow? In front of witnesses?

So be it. Witnesses be damned, she decided and raised her chin, exposing more of her neck, daring him.

Several more seconds ticked by. Then the darkness ebbed from his eyes. He gently cupped the back of her head and pressed his forehead to hers, silently urging her to understand.

“Je t’aime,” he said, his voice hoarse with ache. “I love you. Never doubt it.”

And then he was gone.

8

Trouble You So

Dominique opened the bike’s throttle and roared out onto A1A.

This was intolerable, this being near her but not being part of her, being sick with longing for her even as the guilty cravings churned his gut. This was his new definition of hell.

That look in Cassidy’s eyes, the set of her jaw, had nearly unhinged him. She was his beloved blue-eyed lioness in full battle mode, fighting for their relationship despite his unthinkable accusation. How much farther could he push her before she truly conspired with Jackson to put him out of his misery?

And would that maybe be for the better after all?

A sickening sense of familiar hopelessness crushed him, making his body feel too small for his insides, for his emotions. He slowed the bike. Where was he going? Why? What was the point of anything if he didn’t have Cassidy to keep him grounded and sane?

The beast stirred with displeasure. To his alter ego—the pure vampire essence of him—there was no problem that couldn’t be solved with a good, terror-fueled blood-letting. Especially when, like now, he was hungry.

The lot he pulled into belonged to the Conch House, a popular waterfront restaurant, and the car by which he stopped—and which had drawn him there, he realized—was a white, high-performance Audi sports coupe. He stared at the license plate number his photographic memory so clearly recalled.

For once, destiny had not found him. He had found it.

He parked the bike and circled the building on foot, following the thickening aromas of grilled beef and seafood, and staying in the shadows until he reached the back deck, which overlooked the beach. If this was yet another trap set by the man sworn to destroy him, it was an unlikely one. There were too many escape routes here, no possibility of cages crashing from the awnings or leaping through the splintered wooden floors. Also, the place teemed with potential witnesses enjoying classical jazz, glasses of fine wine, and plates of gourmet delights.