The City Beneath (30 page)

Every single vampire, including the dozen rebels who had stood firm against his rule, were knocked back by the force of Dominic's roar. They stumbled to regain their footing, hissing frantically to each other, but they reluctantly kept their distance.

Holding his crouched stance over me, Dominic met each of their eyes. He growled, and the noises that escaped his throat were like aftershocks to the initial blast. The vampires continued to stumble back, some unwillingly and others in complete submission, but not one could withstand the force of his power.

Dominic held the heart a little higher. “Anyone else?” he asked, and his voice scraped through his throat with a very inhuman, gravelly growl.

The vampires each averted their gazes. Even Kaden bowed his head, quelled without Jillian's lead. I doubt Jillian would have bowed her head. She might have been the only vampire in the coven with the ability to overthrow Dominic, but she was still staring limply at the wall, waiting for my next command.

“Anyone else?” Dominic repeated.

The vampires shrank further into shadow, hunched in on themselves from the weight of Dominic's voice. No one rose against him. Even if they still wanted to, and it looked as if a few were straining against the will that Dominic imposed on them, not one vampire was strong enough to act. Their mouths trembled and their fingers locked into fists and some of them even looked to Jillian for guidance or action, but they couldn't defy him.

“I want all of you to remember this moment,” Dominic said, and his voice was harsh, like a cheese grater against my temple. I felt its grazing, and I wasn't even the target of his command. The surrounding vampires hunched further in on themselves and shuddered. “I am your Master. Even as the Leveling approaches, I continue to safeguard this coven at my own peril. Some of you would rather use our temporary weakness for your own gain instead of pooling resources to strengthen us. Even against these adversaries, against vampires I trusted with my life, I still fight for you.

“I want you to remember this moment because should another rebellion rise, although my own strength may appear to decrease, I will not be vulnerable to anyone else's rule; I have resources to counter such an attack. Should another rebellion rise, I will be less inclined to forgive.”

Dominic threw Neil's body and his heart to the ground at their feet. A few vampires from the crowd carefully scooped up his remains and quickly disappeared into the hallway. The remaining vampires slowly exited. They eased out of the room without turning their backs or relaxing their guard, and once they reached the hallway, they fled in a blur of speed.

Dominic held his pose over me. He was powerful and massive and it wasn't just his gargoyle form that gave him that weight, although it certainly helped. The strength of his will and mind and body became one leading force that was irrefutable. His growls urged the last remaining rebels from the room. I could see him with my own eyes—the drowning sharpness of his midnight gaze and the immense strength in his arms and body over me was spellbinding, like the beauty and uncertainty of encountering a tiger—but I could also see both of us from above, from my vantage on the rafters.

I felt myself slip further away, my spirit dampened by the force of his power. My view from above was becoming the more predominant one. I couldn't feel or move or breathe, although I could smell a faint freshness, like the content comfort of coming home.

Dominic didn't break his gaze or retreat from his protective stance over me, but I think he could feel my passing. I think it troubled him. He brushed the pad of his thumb against my bare shoulder. The comfort of his touch, of a wild animal's concern and protective possession over me, brought me back slightly. My vision from the rafters receded, and I could feel the dull pounding of my injuries as if from behind a thick cushion.

From my strange double vision, I watched Dominic's back muscles tense and his lip curl back in a grim snarl. He had expected me to stir from his touch. He had expected me to moan or respond, but I suppose even a night blood's capacity for blood loss had its limits. I'd reached mine.

When the last vampire departed, Dominic gathered me in his arms and held my body against his chest. I couldn't move to wrap my arms around him or support my head, so my arms and neck arched back, still grazing the floor as he lifted my back. Blood from his bite leaked over my jaw and behind my ear. This close, I could feel the vibration of the rattle in his chest before sound emerged from his throat.

“I can taste the thready squeeze and contraction of your heart, Cassidy DiRocco,” he murmured against my neck. The whisper of his breath caressed my skin when he spoke my name. “You are mine, and I don't care if it takes an eternity to receive your forgiveness. At least you'll be alive for me to receive it.”

No
, I thought, not liking where his thoughts were leading.
Find a better solution or let me die, damn it! I don't want to be a vampire.

But I couldn't respond aloud, so my opinion went unspoken and unheeded.

Dominic pressed closer, rubbing his cheek along my cheek. “Thank you for saving me and for helping me keep my coven.” He laughed slightly, and the human vibrations of his laughter coming from the depths of his gargoyle throat were deep and rattling, like his growl but without the intent. “Thank you for having my back.”

Dominic shifted my body, so my head was supported by the bend of his arm. He lifted his right arm to his mouth and tore open the veins at his wrist with his own fangs. Blood poured over his forearm. He stared at me, then at his arm, and back at me for a moment, undecided, and I wondered if he was having second thoughts about keeping me. He hesitated with his arm raised, the blood dripping over his entire hand, wrist, and lower arm in a thick crimson glove. I braced myself for him to drip the blood into my mouth, but part of me, a denied, unheard part that crept out unexpectedly from the darker shadows of my heart, braced herself for him to change his mind.

Dominic's arm finally lowered, but not to my mouth as I'd expected. He wrapped his arm under my back, so his dripping, blood-gloved hand grazed the wound I'd sustained from Jillian. The wound hadn't completely healed even after using the vial or being soaked in the puddle of his blood. It was too deep, and his blood hadn't reached the more extensive, debilitating injuries inside.

I couldn't feel the pressure of his fingers against the torn skin, but I could feel the burn of his blood mingling with mine. It began as a dull tingling on the skin around the wound and quickly escalated to a deep, unrelenting inferno.

The pressure of his hand became unbearable. My body twitched.

“Yes,” he breathed. His own voice sounded strained. “Come back to me, Cassidy.”

His cheek grazed over my skin until our noses slid against one another, and he stared at me from inches away with his solid, midnight, gargoyle eyes. I didn't feel the pull of his gaze capturing mine, but I felt a different kind of pull, a hypnotism that had nothing and everything to do with his strength of will.

He breached the mere centimeters of air and breath and anticipation between us and pressed his lips firmly against mine. My entire being rushed back into my own body. In a single blink, the double vision was gone; I could taste and breathe and hear and want again, but I could also feel.

The pressure of his lips was overwhelming, but not nearly enough to wash away the pain completely, like his bite. I understood why he'd chosen to kiss me—my body couldn't sustain further blood loss—but my injuries coupled with the burning of his healing blood was anguish. I shrieked and writhed against him, desperate to find an escape. Dominic kept a steady pressure on my lips, nipping and licking and sucking and moving in the rhythmic motion that curled my toes. Although distracting, his kiss was like a Band-Aid for a torn limb. It couldn't staunch the blood. It couldn't salve the burn. It could only serve as a temporary, makeshift solution that would eventually succumb to the very injury it was attempting to maintain.

“I know this hurts,” Dominic whispered against my lips, his tone calm and deliberate. “Find something to anchor your mind, and just breathe.”

His hand slipped inside my back, deep into the wound to heal the torn muscle and flesh and organs from the inside. My breath caught, and I couldn't think beyond the twitching writhe of agony.

“You can survive this,” Dominic growled, throwing my own words back at me. “Do you hear me, Cassidy? You have survived worse and have lived to bear the scars of others' betrayals. You'll live to bear this one, too.”

I tried to breathe with his hand inside of me and choked instead. His fingers caressed a muscle inside my back, places that fingers should never touch, and as he shifted his hand to caress an adjacent muscle, it burned even hotter.

“How did it feel when you realized that your source had betrayed you all those years ago? How did it feel when the first bullet was fired, and you realized that you'd placed your friends at risk, friends who'd trusted you and were willing to put themselves at risk on your judgment? And your judgment had been so terribly wrong. They would die because you were wrong,” Dominic said harshly, pressing deeper into my back. “Can you still taste the bitterness through to your core? Does it still rot inside of you and taint your judgment of others? Who can you trust when you can't even trust yourself?”

I finally managed to squeeze in a breath, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.

“Is that why you have such a crisis justifying why, despite your better self, you actually trust me?”

I felt the steady, constant anger that always boiled below the surface rise up and ground me. I knew what Dominic was trying to do, as I had done for him, and it was working. I could feel my mind shifting from the insanity of unrelenting pain to a more focused state of mind, but the pain was too much even for my temper. My vision spotted and dimmed in ebbing flashes.

Dominic continued to speak. I could see his lips moving, but I couldn't hear him anymore. The black holes swiftly expanded and melded together into one inky sheet across my eyes until the inferno across my back, the pressure of his demanding lips, and the comfort of his arms cradling my body faded into nothing.

L
iving was sucking the life out of me. Loved ones died. Physical injuries felt like death, and emotional wounds felt like physical ones. People I'd known and trusted and confided in had betrayed me, and if I didn't check myself when my wants interfered with my morals, I might betray them. It wasn't until I was at risk of losing it that life even seemed worth having. These days, I'd been at risk of losing it more often than most, proving without a doubt, despite grief and addiction and heartache, that I wasn't ready to let go.

Someone was holding my hand. The person's fingers fit loosely between mine. An achy stab shot through my midsection, and I tightened my grip, trying to anchor myself. The pain was fleeting and disappeared almost as soon as it came, but I embraced it. I was still in pain. I was still weak and achy and recovering.

I was still human.

The hand squeezed back. “Cassidy? Are you awake, babe?” Meredith asked.

Feeling returned in ebbing waves. Although he hadn't turned me, Dominic hadn't finished healing my body, either. The pain was dull and becoming constant. I took a deep breath to manage it, the familiarity of recovery bearing over me. I never wanted to experience that again, but I'd lived. For now, that was enough.

“Can you please do
something
to make her more comfortable? This is ridiculous. She's obviously in pain,” Meredith snapped.

“We must moderate her dosage until she regains consciousness, ma'am,” a deep voice responded calmly, and by the patient deliberation of the voice, I'd guess this had been explained several times to Meredith already.

“She's in pain,” Meredith repeated, just as deliberate. “She needs more.”

“I'm fine.” I forced my eyes open, and indeed, Meredith was next to my bed, holding my hand, and about to burst into tears. My voice was hoarse and scratchy. I cleared my throat. “It's all right, Meredith.”

“Oh,” she breathed, turning back to me. “Cassidy.” Meredith sandwiched my hand in both of hers before whipping back around to face the nurse. The movement made my bed dip slightly. “More meds. Now.”

“No, I said I'm fine, and I meant it.” I winced as pain lanced through my back at the bed's movement.

Meredith pursed her lips. “You're the furthest thing from
fine
.”

I shook my head. “Where's Walker? Is he—” I swallowed uncertainly. Dominic could hide his death so thoroughly that I'd never know the truth. “How's Walker doing?”

“Just rest, and I'm sure—”

“I need to know how he's doing, Meredith, I—”

“What you need is—”

“What the woman needs is to use her breath answering my questions, not wasting her energy fighting with you,” Detective Wahl interrupted.

I glanced across the room, and Greta winked.

“Give her his damn note, not that it divulges anything. The bastard knew I'd read it,” Greta muttered.

“Note?” I croaked.

“Questions?” Meredith squeaked. “What kind of questions? She solved your entire investigation for you. How many more questions could you possibly—”

“There are always questions, but they'll all keep for today. I'm content to see you still breathing, DiRocco. For now.” Greta pushed away from the wall and walked along the opposite side of my bed across from Meredith. She leaned in close, so only I could hear her whisper. “And to have the
vampires
behind bars,” Greta murmured. “Thank you for the tip. Brilliant.”

I raised my eyebrows. “But there are still questions, after everything I risked for you?” I asked, trying to act like I knew what the hell she was talking about. God only knew what cover Dominic had fabricated for the police and press.

Greta squeezed my hand. “Don't push my patience, DiRocco. You just crawled back into my good graces.”

“But pushing your patience is one of the few things I'm good at.”

Greta pulled away to lock her gaze with mine, and I knew that she was having a hard time swallowing the bullshit story Dominic had fed everyone. She was mollified from having solved the case, but she was still searching for answers. And apparently, she expected those answers from me.

“Take care tonight. We can talk more tomorrow,” Greta said.

I nodded. “You mentioned a note from Walker?”

Greta sighed. “Walker left without even a good-bye, without waiting until you were stable. He's not worth your worry.”

Meredith stared at Greta, looking scandalized. “He saved her.”

“That's debatable.”

“Be that as it may, I'd like my note, thank you.” My heart fluttered.

Meredith glanced at the beeping monitors. “Maybe the note can wait.”

I stared at Meredith until she caved. With a heaving sigh, she opened the bedside table's drawer and pulled out a smooth, white envelope. She opened it for me, unfolded the letter, and handed it over. For a moment, I couldn't even read it. I just stared at his signature, amazed.

I stared at his signature, and an enormous, suffocating weight lifted from my chest. Walker was alive. He wasn't here and he was facing the wrath of his own Master, but he was alive. Not to mention he'd left me a note, a beautifully informative note. I felt a smile spread across my face even as tears dripped over my cheeks and pooled beneath my chin.

“Cassidy, babe? You okay?” Meredith whispered.

I swiped at the tears with my fingers, and to my embarrassment, they were trembling. “I'm just relieved. I thought maybe”—I cleared my throat—“I couldn't bear the thought that he might have—”

“That he left without saying good-bye?” Greta finished for me. She snorted.

I nodded, letting Greta live with her own conclusion.

“It sounds like he regretted leaving. You two really hit it off this week,” Greta said.

I shrugged.

“It's good to have that kind of friend, someone who's dependable and loyal.” Greta began, and I could tell she was steering the conversation in a particular direction. “Walker found you pretty quickly at the scene, faster even than my squad car.”

Ah,
I thought,
there it is.
Greta didn't believe Walker either. “Walker found me? I only remember calling you.”

“You managed to call Walker, as well,” Greta admitted. “We think you were trying to call him back when you hit my number instead.”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to sound too pleased. As usual, Dominic had taken care of the evidence. “Then it makes sense that he found me so quickly, if I called him first.”

“Right.” Greta pursed her lips, obviously not convinced. She produced something from the inside pocket of her blazer and placed it on the bedside table.

I stared, dumbfounded. “My phone!”

“Don't say I never did anything for you,” She said grudgingly, and then suddenly stepped aside. “I'll see you tomorrow, DiRocco.”

“I'm not sure yet, but I might be calling out sick tomorrow,” I said sarcastically.

“Of that I have no doubt, but I'll have tons of questions for you by then,” She said, her tone wary, but she smiled on her way out. “And this time, I'll bring the recorder.”

I grimaced. “It's a date.”

Meredith and I waited until Greta shut the hospital room door behind her before speaking.

“She's not happy with Walker,” Meredith stated flatly.

I snorted. “You said it yourself. He saved me.”

She nodded. “Obviously, but Greta's asking questions like he didn't, and she's particularly pissed that Walker skipped town before she could ‘interrogate his ass.' That's a direct quote.”

“He didn't skip town,” I said, shaking the letter at her. “Duty called.”

“Right, like Greta cares if the man has a career.” Meredith shook her head.

I smiled. “Speaking of difficult men, have you called Nathan? I'm sure he's freaking out by now if you haven't.” I reached for my phone, clean now of blood and dirt and all evidence of my encounter with Kaden. Clean now of all evidence of any sort if Greta had anything to do with it. I frowned at my phone, wondering about the voice mails and texts Greta might have snooped through.

“Who do you need me to call?” Meredith asked.

“My brother, Nathan.” I frowned harder, looking at two measly missed calls, neither from Nathan. “If you didn't yet, someone must have. He hasn't called or texted me once, the bum.”

Meredith didn't say anything. I glanced up from my phone, about to complain about uncaring, ungrateful brothers, but her expression killed the words before they passed my lips.

“Your brother,” she repeated.

“Yeah,” I said carefully. “We were supposed to meet up yesterday. Considering the stories I've been covering lately, I thought he'd be worried about me.” I looked down at my phone. “Although now, I'm not so sure he cares at all.”

“Ok. I'll call your brother,” Meredith said. “Nathan, is it?” She was agreeing with me, but it didn't sound like agreement. It sounded like appeasement.

I blinked. “You're kidding, right? Of course, Nathan. My hair. My height. My eyes. Nose ring. Basically a funnier, more pleasant and compassionate, male version of me?”

Meredith stared at me.

“You've known my brother just as long as you've known me,” I said, dumbfounded.

“Sure,” she said. She stood from the bed. “I'll be right back, Cassidy. I could really use some coffee after the day I've had. Do you need anything?”

I shook my head, watching her watch me with very careful consideration.

She squeezed my hand firmly. “I'll be right back.”

Meredith left the room, and dread tightened through my stomach, aching worse than the real pain of my physical injuries. I could only think of one scenario in which Meredith would suffer from memory loss, and only one creature who could possibly confirm my suspicion. Although Meredith's scrambled memory was worrisome of its own accord—I wondered how much a memory could be altered before permanent brain damage incurred—a worse question haunted the rest of my evening: Why would the memory of my brother be the memory in need of alteration?

I keyed up the contacts on my phone, scrolled down to the D's, and called Nathan myself. I thought of all the grievances I'd blast at him as the phone began to ring—skipping our meeting, ignoring my calls, sending Greta to my office after sunset, not caring that I was in the hospital—and as his phone continued to ring, I thought of the most important words I needed to say, the words I'd been too scared to voice earlier:
I'm a night blood, vampires exist, and we're going to survive this together.

But his phone just kept ringing.

 

As the evening darkened, the hospital settled into the drones and beeps of quiet hours, and Dominic, as usual, didn't disappoint. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and shards of sunlight still pierced the sky with red and orange hues when the window curtain fluttered. I couldn't see him. From the angle of the window and the position of my bed, I could only see the sky outside, and not one inch of him had crossed the threshold.

“I thought you had permission to enter, permission that couldn't be revoked,” I said to the window.

Silence answered me.

I sighed. “I saw the curtain flutter, Dominic. I know you're there.”

“I can only enter your apartment,” Dominic admitted. I could hear the grumble of grudging frustration in his voice. “Public places are accessible to me, but this is your room as assigned by your chart. You must invite me before I may enter.”

I swallowed. “You didn't turn me. When you had the opportunity, you chose to let me live as a human. Why?”

“I will not explain myself to you while clinging to the side of a building in plain sight,” Dominic said stubbornly. “My actions speak for me. If I still haven't earned a modicum of your trust, there's nothing I can say to assuage your doubts. Will you invite me of your own free will, or must I convince a nurse to allow my entrance? Either way I will enter your room, but after all we've survived together, I'd say that such games are beneath us.”

I hesitated to agree. Despite what was probably my better judgment, I wanted to let him enter. He hadn't turned me when he'd had the chance, and frankly, I needed answers. On a sigh, I breathed, “Dominic Lysander, you may enter this room.”

I blinked, and he was at my bedside. He stared down at me with those otherworldly, luminous blue eyes that reflected the moonlight like a fractured mirror. He was once again the perfect, polished designer version of himself. Gone was any evidence of gargoyle features, savagery, and blood. His hair was immaculately cut, faded on the sides, and styled in a deliberate tousle. His clothes were once again high fashion, fit to his form, and sleek. He looked like trouble, a different sort of trouble than he truly was, but even posh and polished, you couldn't take the predator out of the beast by pinning a bow to its collar.

I lifted my hand and gestured at him to answer to my question. “Well?”