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She met his eyes evenly. Something about how he inclined his head all but commanded her to not ask any more questions. “You know he’s going to tell me when I see him, don’t you? What really happened?”
He shrugged. “He’d be the one to ask, yes.”
Her energy flagging, she let it go. At least for now. Her fingers picked at the edge of the blanket. “What do the doctors here think is wrong with me?”
His shoulders visibly relaxed at the change of subject. “You have a very rare genetic disorder that periodically causes your body to destroy its own blood supply.”
“I do?”
“You do,” Gil agreed. “Sad but true. Runs in the family. I told them how poor cousin Clive kicked the bucket because of it.” The melodramatic expression on his face melted into a twinkling smile. Clive Chandler had died of stupidity while under the influence.
“Garrett has a doctor in Sweden in his pocket who called and confirmed the condition as well.”
“Gee. Feed that man vampire blood, and he turns into a human being. Figures.”
“Then you give him too much credit, chérie,” a new voice said, soft and warm as a summer wind caressing her battered heart.
Sweet relief rushed through her. “Dominique.”
He was a tall, dark vision melting out of the shadows by the door. Black leathers, jacket unzipped, no swords, ebony hair tucked behind his ears except for the curl that always insisted on falling over his forehead. A gentle smile softened his clean-shaven angular face and danced in the depths of his hazel eyes.
Gil stood. “Hey, it’s the man of the hour. Or should I say, man of the night?” He chuckled. “How’d you get in here?”
“I have my ways,” Dominique said. He accepted Gil’s offered hand and then leaned forward to peck quick kisses on the man’s flushed cheeks in a familial French greeting that made Cassidy’s brows shoot up.
Her father was too caught up in his own sentiments to be more than mildly surprised. He clasped Dominique’s elegant hand with his beefy paws. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for Cassidy, Nick. And I apologize again for shooting you.”
Dominique retrieved his hand and grasped one side of his open jacket, pulling it away to reveal a slug-sized hole in the leather. “You weren’t the only one who shot me tonight,” he said with a pointed look at Jackson, who had neglected to mention this particular detail to Cassidy earlier. Dominique turned back to Gil. “But it was a small price to pay for you being here when she needed you. Finally.”
The quiet sarcasm wasn’t lost on Gil, who dropped his gaze and nodded to himself, lips pursed. A moment later, he swiped at his nose. “Yeah, well. She’s my daughter. Right?”
Nice of you to remember, Cassidy thought, but the words didn’t find her tongue. She didn’t have the strength to pick over these old bones now.
When Gil met Dominique’s gaze again, the vampire’s eyes had darkened along with his voice. “You should go get some rest now. When you wake, you will remember nothing unusual about tonight. Only that your daughter lives and you helped save her.”
“Oh, you’re doing that thing—” Gil broke off. The finger he pointed at Dominique hesitated, curled, uncertain. He scratched the back of his head. “You know, you’re right. I am kind of wiped. Think I’ll go find a place to stretch out. You mind, baby girl?”
He didn’t wait for her to reply before yawning hugely, grabbing his windbreaker off another chair, and ambling out the door.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Jackson said when Dominique turned to him. “Don’t even start with me.”
Dominique tipped his head, raised an inquiring brow.
For several more seconds, Jackson glared, his cheeks twitching with his clenching jaw. “Fine. I’m leaving.” He scooped up a coffee and muffin and headed for the door. He was halfway through it when he turned back and said, “No biting.”
“No biting,” Dominique confirmed after a brief hesitation.
Pulling off his jacket, he dropped it into Gil’s vacated chair. His shirt was clean and unmarred, obviously not the one he had gotten repeatedly shot in tonight. He settled on the side of Cassidy’s bed, leaned over, and placed a kiss on each of her cheeks. Then he gathered her close so gingerly he seemed to expect her to break into pieces. She answered with all the strength she could marshal, winding her arms around his bunched shoulders, pushing her fingers through his thick hair, drowning in the distinct, familiar smell of him: ice and snow, leather and night. His sigh caressed her shoulder as he inhaled her in turn, both of them delirious with relief.
No words passed between them. No thoughts hummed in their non-existent link. There was only this embrace, as raw as it was tender, suspending them in a singular moment of gratitude and love—and uncertainty.
Whispers in the back of her mind. She pushed them aside again and again. Yet they continued to rise with every slow stroke of his thumb along her neck, and with every breath that didn’t culminate with his lips against her skin.
The whispers became a buzz.
“No biting?” she ventured. Much as she hated being separated from him like this, she could understand it. Her body had only just triumphed over a heavy serum load. A bite now might upset a delicate balance. Dominique could have given this possibility as a reason, but he didn’t.
He said nothing.
