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Nor would Jackson Striker use himself as bait. Yet, there he was, at a table on the far, uncovered side of the deck, long past sunset. Jackson didn’t like being there; Dominique could tell from the tight, squared shoulders and the way the man’s hooded eyes scanned the crowd.

He focused his hearing to catch Jackson’s words over the restaurant’s bustle. The girl with him was pretty in a boring, faultless sort of way. Even her long, artfully highlighted hair was ruler straight.

“Your turn,” she said. “Tell me something about yourself no one else knows.”

Jackson laughed, bashful, and Dominique’s lips pulled into a sneer. The hunter’s secrets were nothing this girl would ever know.

“I don’t know, Avery. It’s only our first date.”

“Yeah, we’re getting to know each other. So spill, and I’ll tell you something about me.”

“Well. Okay. I…well, I sleep in the nude.”

“Pathétique,” Dominique muttered.

Avery giggled. “Oh, c’mon. Like I wouldn’t have figured that out before the end of the night.”

“Oh, would you?” Jackson’s grin grew lecherous.

Outrage seized Dominique out of nowhere. Neither he nor Cassidy cared what this man did or with whom, as long as it didn’t involve killing vampires. But this was not the Jackson Striker she had once given her heart and body to. How easy was it for this superficial man to hook up with the first girl to throw herself at him? After years with Cassidy who was worth a hundred of this inane tramp? Or was this one really the first? Had he cheated on Cassidy? Had she ever meant anything to him? Just how long had this salaud been manipulating her?

Dominique flowed over the rail like a ghost and flitted between the tables so fast as to be invisible in the muted light. He reappeared in a crouch behind Avery’s chair and hovered there to relish the undiluted shock claiming Jackson’s face. Locking his gaze with the hunter’s, Dominique spoke at the girl’s ear in his spookiest voice. “He kills vampires.”

By the time she spun around, he was gone. “What the…did you hear that?”

From his new hiding place, deep inside the restaurant, Dominique watched Jackson try to keep it together with only marginal success. It took a full minute before the hunter had regained his composure and several more to convince his date that he had seen and heard nothing. She shifted in her seat, dubious, but seemed to think better of making herself appear a complete lunatic by insisting otherwise.

When their food arrived, Jackson excused himself and made for the men’s room at a brisk clip. Dominique followed, maintaining his guard for any sign of deception.

Jackson hunched over a sink and splashed water on his face. He paid no heed to the door opening and didn’t know a vampire had entered until he looked into the mirror—and froze.

“Do I trouble you so, cher?” Dominique wondered, a seductive purr in his voice.

Jackson said nothing, didn’t move. In the mirror, his cold, bright eyes blasted Dominique with rage.

Jackson could resist verbal compulsions. It would take a bite and plenty of serum to manipulate him, but even then, the compulsion would be tentative and temporary. The hate that fueled him would not be subdued. If anything, it would only burn brighter if Dominique so much as touched him. There was no point in going that route. Unless he meant to kill him.

“Relax,” Dominique said. “My pledge to Cassidy stands. You are safe from me, you worthless piece of shit.”

Jackson turned to face him. Water dripped off his reddening face and soaked his shirt collar. His fists clenched by his side. “Then what the fuck are you doing here?”

Good question. Leaning against a stall partition, Dominique hooked his thumbs into his pockets and mustered a reluctant smile. “You should know that I am aware of your updates to Jim Lawley’s home. I won’t be visiting with him again.”

Only the slightest shock registered on Jackson’s face.

“If he makes Cassidy’s days unpleasant again now, she can blame you, non?” He watched the other man’s throat bob and fantasized about ripping it open.

“Maybe you should let her fight her own battles. Get out of her head and—”

The door swung open. A bulky, middle-aged man in an expensive blue blazer took in the scene and seemed to consider the wisdom of being anywhere near them. His need apparently outweighed his sense of dread as he gave them a small nod, averted his eyes and made use of a urinal.

Dominique’s smile widened. “Pardon,” he told Jackson. “My dinner has arrived.”

An instant later, he was behind the stranger, pushed the head aside, and drove his fangs home. He allowed himself only three deep swallows of blood. By then, the prey was oblivious, convinced he had a crick in his neck, and relished his piss. Dominique shuddered a little as he withdrew. He hungered for so much more. Instead, he sealed the wounds into neat, tiny scars with a swipe of his tongue, and stepped back. The prey ignored them, concluded his business, and washed his hands.

Jackson stared at Dominique with an expression of stunned disbelief. There was a small flashlight in his hand, unlit and about to slip from his fingers. It was a miniature version of the full-spectrum light guns that had once charred Dominique to the bone. Why hadn’t the hunter used it? Not that it mattered; its feeble light would have been little more than annoying.

“Au revoir,” Dominique said, inclining his head, and followed his erstwhile meal out the door.