The City Beneath (25 page)

I choked from the sharp angle of my neck as I draped limply in his arms. My body spasmed again.

“Damn it,” Dominic hissed. He shifted his elbow to better accommodate my head, and I could breathe again.

He knelt on the ground. Dust and pebbles kicked up around us, and suddenly, we were soaring. Wind rushed over me, cool and whipping. Dominic's arms were icy around me, as well, and I shivered as the wind and Dominic's body stole what little heat I had left. His arms tightened around me as I shook, but his coolness pressing closer only made me colder.

We dipped down sharply into the subway systems, curved crazily through the tunnels, and jetted into the sewer until we finally reached his rooms in the coven. Dominic slowed to a walk. His bed was set by the far wall, and the caged bedroom was positioned at the opposite end. He bypassed the cage this time and settled me gently on the bedspread. The mattress was thick and soft. My weight dipped into its downy softness, and my mind finally released from reality. It leapt to another time and place, to my first apartment with Adam where we'd shared a bed equally soft.

His smooth, handsome baby face stared down at me as his body pressed me deeper into the bed, forming a cocoon of mattress and sheets and man around me. The warm, beefy weight of Adam's muscles shifted in my arms as I nibbled up his neck to his ear. I felt him tremble from my touch. I bit his earlobe and squeezed him intimately, and he kissed me deeper into the mattress, blind to everything except our love and desperate lust, touching me until I was just as desperate as him. We'd only lived together for three months, but those first two months before my parents had died had been unimaginably beautiful.

Adam had always tasted heady and smooth, like strong coffee on a frosty morning. My eyes opened drowsily, and I realized that Adam was gone. My depression and anger and sarcasm hadn't been a part of the person he'd fallen in love with, and he hadn't loved the person I'd become after my parents' deaths. We parted, both equally heartbroken and hopeless and miserable with each other.

The love and joy and connection I'd shared with Adam had been real at the time, but I'd drifted in a tide of grief in those horrible months following the fire. By the time he'd realized how far the distance had grown between us, he hadn't stood a prayer's chance of breaching the gap. He still lived in a bright world, ripe with excitement and anticipation for the future, but I knew the truth. Adam didn't exist in the world I knew. I would never again open my eyes after a kiss, and see his smooth baby face smiling back.

Dominic was the man smiling back at me now, and he certainly did exist in the world I knew. His lips were sliced and bleeding from his own fangs.

“You came back for me,” I whispered hoarsely, reality still feeling like a dream.

“I didn't want to leave you,” Dominic said deeply. “But I feared that Kaden would escape if I tended to you first.”

My heart skipped. “Where—”

“Shhh,” Dominic murmured. “He is chained and imprisoned until his sentencing. He betrayed me. He betrayed the coven, and that is punishable by his final death. You don't need to worry about him any longer. We've succeeded, Cassidy. Thanks to you, we've won.”

He leaned over me, and we were suddenly kissing. The blood oozing from the cuts on his lips flowed into my mouth. It pooled at the back of my throat. I resisted swallowing but without swallowing, I couldn't breathe. More blood poured from his mouth into mine as his lips parted and urged and nipped my lips.

I strained against him. Dominic sensed my resistance and halted my struggle with a hand on either side of my face. I tried to pull away, but the more I struggled, the more he kissed me, and the more blood poured into my mouth. I let myself choke rather than swallow. The blood spat between us as I coughed and gagged in Dominic's face.

He finally stopped kissing me.

Blood spattered over his handsome features, and he really was handsome. His face hadn't contorted into the vicious, animal-like muzzle he usually displayed when he fed. Before I'd coughed, he'd taken a moment to wash his face clean from his battle with Kaden. Now, the blood and spit I'd choked on spotted his forehead, cheeks, nose, and chin. He stared at me, unblinking after my sudden outburst, and I couldn't decipher his reaction.

“I said no,” I whispered in defense. “Numerous times, I've told you that I don't want to be transformed.”

Dominic blinked. “Yes, you've made that clear.”

“And you knew I was choking. You deliberately held my head still, hoping I'd panic and swallow your blood rather than choke,” I accused softly.

“It's usually an effective technique,” he admitted.

I glared at him. “You use it often, I suppose.”

Dominic shrugged. “When necessary. My night bloods have always been willing, but sometimes, the physical act of swallowing blood as a human is distasteful. My last night blood wanted to be transformed, but she rebuked my advances at the critical moment.”

“Jillian?” I asked, remembering her speech about Dominic's bite.

“Jillian isn't my night blood. I adopted her into the coven after her Master met his final death. My last night blood was Sylvia.” Dominic's gaze unfocused as he remembered her. “Sylvia Lamb.”

“She changed her mind at the last moment, so you forced her?” I accused quietly, hoping to keep my voice neutral and not excite him with my anger.

He frowned. “She didn't change her mind. She simply refused me in the moment. I ensured that what she truly desired was accomplished.”

I pursed my lips, unimpressed. “Maybe that was true for her, but I'm not Sylvia. I'm not simply refusing you in the moment. I'm refusing you entirely.”

“No, you're certainly not Sylvia Lamb.”

I waited in silence, unsure what else to say in response.

He smiled. I could tell that the smile was reluctant, but he smiled anyway. The smile wasn't a baring of fangs to frighten me, it wasn't a sneer of disgust, and it wasn't sardonic or derisive. Although his fangs did gleam in the candlelight, their threat wasn't his intent. He had a beautiful smile.

I smiled back, helpless not to, and asked, “Why am I not like your Sylvia Lamb?”

“In a dangerous situation, Sylvia wouldn't have questioned whether to run or stand her ground. She would have run every time. She wouldn't have chosen to willingly endure sustained, debilitating pain in the hopes of gaining a favorable result, like you have for me. Transforming into a vampire didn't change any of those qualities,” Dominic said. “Her own survival was her priority, and in the end, it had unfortunately been her undoing despite my efforts to teach her otherwise.”

“You expect too much from people. You expect too much from me. I'm not going through this again,” I said, holding up my arm to show him my snapped thumb, but the bone was straight. I wiggled it, amazed. I checked my arm, moved my leg, and breathed air deep and heartily into my lungs, but my ribs expanded and exhaled without one twinge of pain.

Dominic grinned, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Why did you heal me?” I asked in a hushed whisper. “If you were going to transform me anyway, why bother?”

“Your body was broken and unfit for anything besides medical attention, so I gave it the attention it needed. You still need more blood to fully recover, so if you won't accept mine, you must rest until your blood regenerates on its own. When I do transform you—”

“I don't want—”

Dominic covered my mouth with his fingers. “When I do, you'll enjoy my bite. You'll beg me to taste you. I'll give you all of me, and when you taste me, you'll be mine. Forever.”

I shook my head at him.

He nodded at me, smirking.

My anger skyrocketed. “Thank you very much for healing me,” I snapped. “But I'm never playing your sacrifice again. I
suffered
, Dominic.”

“Our plan was a success.”

“Our plan nearly killed me!”

“Only nearly,” Dominic dismissed. “I've healed you. With time, the memories of pain will fade, and all that
will
remain is the advantage we gained.”

“The advantage
you
gained,” I reminded him.

“This was for the city, as well,” Dominic growled. “You wouldn't have agreed to my plan otherwise, and I certainly didn't force you.” He narrowed his eyes on me. “You've sacrificed and suffered for others in the past, and you'll sacrifice and suffer for me again if necessary.” His face softened slightly. “You bear the evidence of that on your body.”

His hand stroked down to caress the scar at my lower back.

I squirmed uncomfortably. “That's different.”

“Why is this scar different from the others you've endured?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

A rattling growl vibrated low and menacing from his chest. “Try me,” Dominic rasped.

I sighed, wanting to avoid his anger, but more than that, needing to keep him distracted. Despite the wrong turn our plan had taken, I had nevertheless still infiltrated the coven, achieving my half of the plan. If Walker was going to achieve his half, I needed to keep Dominic talking while Walker entered the coven after me.

I took another deep, fortifying breath. “I was on a stakeout with Greta, er, Detective Wahl—Officer Wahl at the time—and Officer Harroway as backup. I thought it'd be a big story, the breakout for my career, but my source set me up.”

Dominic nodded with grave understanding. “Betrayal is the most bitter truth to swallow.”

“Wahl and Harroway had the duty to watch my back, and I had the duty to watch theirs because that's what backups do. When shots were fired at us, I literally covered Officer Harroway's back with my own.” I looked away. “That kind of backup isn't something you can demand of someone. It isn't a sacrifice. It's a gift and something they would have given me had our roles been reversed. I
deserved
this scar. I'm proud of it.” My voice caught as I thought of everything I'd irrevocably lost with Greta and my career tonight. “I don't expect you to understand that.”

Dominic sighed. “I understand more than you know, probably more than you'd care to discover. I've endured many hardships in my time, some that have left visible scars and some that have not.”

I glanced back at him, and my eyes dropped automatically to the deep groove that pulled down his lower lip. I opened my mouth to ask about his scar, as he had asked about mine, but his lips suddenly twisted. He'd caught me staring. I blushed, embarrassed, and it took me an extra moment to gather enough courage to ask the question.

“How did you get your scar?”

Dominic stroked the scar on my hip in tiny circles as he spoke. His voice was modulated, and from the pacing and cant of his story, I could tell it was one that he'd told many times over the years and had honed with each telling.

“I was very aware of my appearance, even as a night blood. Today's culture dictates that men be ruggedly handsome without seeming to know or care about their appearance, but in 1537, London society encouraged a more refined man, one who took care of his appearance and flaunted his efforts.

“My father was a skilled smith. His weapons and tools and jewelry were commissioned by royalty all across England for the quality of his work. As the eldest son, I was expected to continue my father's trade, but I was young and ambitious and unappreciative of my father's efforts to provide us with a comfortable life. I wanted more from life than comfort. I wanted riches and power, and since I'd never lived through the struggles my father had endured to simply live comfortably, I'd believed that my goals were attainable.

“Lady Elizabeth Beard commissioned my father from time to time for a variety of services, sometime jewelry, other times household items or weapons for her estate. She was a countess, the title inherited from her late husband, and although she wasn't exceedingly lovely, not like you—”

I stared at him, unimpressed by the compliment, but he continued his story without hesitation.

“—she possessed an allure beyond the color of her comely brown eyes or the lank, dullness of her hair. She was experienced and wealthy and confident in her station and in her ability to command a household. Very much like you actually, with your career,” Dominic commented. “Elizabeth would have made an absolutely lovely vampire, too.”

I didn't much like what he was implying with the “too,” but I bit my tongue in favor of just listening. He wasn't trying to bite me or kiss me or kill me, so I didn't want to distract him.

“As a widow,” he continued, “Elizabeth could travel to town unaccompanied, and after she concluded business with my father, we'd take good advantage of her new freedom. I fell in love with her and the life I envisioned as her husband.

“My father warned me against her. He knew that she'd never accept my proposal. As a talented smith, I was good enough to work for her, and as a handsome, healthy man, I was good enough to make love to her, but no matter how skilled I was in either role, he warned me that I was not good enough to marry. My father gave reasonable, hearty advice, as usual, but I was young and selfish and driven. I accused my father of being jealous, and pursued her anyway.”

“What happened?” I asked, fascinated in spite of myself. “Was your father right?”

Dominic smiled warily. “I never had the opportunity to propose. My father and I suffered an accident at the forge while working on one of her commissions. She needed a new set of cutlery for the kitchens. I had begun the detailing on one of the knife's handles, and my father was tempering the butcher knife when the forge exploded. I don't know why the accident occurred. Any explanation seemed impossible at the time because my father was so scrupulous with his trade, but looking back at the accident now from a world of city codes and regulations, I can see how any number of scenarios could have contributed to the accident.