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She stumbled along behind him until a rock smashed her toe and dislodged a shoe. “Ow! Try to remember I’m only—” She finished with a squawk as Serge swept her up in his arms and literally made the world go away in a blurring rush of wind and night.
Seconds later, he put her back down and handed her the shoe. Bewildered, she put it back on and looked around at a wild stretch of beach about a mile north of the cottage, where the salty wind was even more blustery. She hugged herself and was glad for her fleecy sweat pants and top.
Serge stood and stared at a spot in the dune where the shrubby ground cover was half buried as though hit by a small tornado.
“What’s happening, Serge?”
He didn’t answer right away, eyes now studying the darkening sky. “He’ll wake soon. Then he will need you.”
She peered at the disturbed area. “Oh. Wait. I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“It’s not.” Leaning in close and lowering his voice, he added, “But it is what must be, sweet one.” With that, he was gone.
“Great. Just…great.”
Cassidy sat on a driftwood log, hunched into her sweater, and wondered what Serge imagined she could do here. Deep as Dominique’s wounds were, as long as he wouldn’t let her in, she was powerless to help him. If anything, she had probably added to the scars on his psyche with her initial reaction to Eddie’s murder. But damn it, he had pushed her away, and she had no idea what was going on with him. What was she supposed to think?
Several minutes ticked by. The last of the day faded from the sky, replaced by ever more stars. She slipped off the log to sit in the sand, trying to shelter against the increasing bite of the wind. “You up yet? It’s getting cold out here.”
Nothing. She wished she had grabbed a flashlight along with the sweater.
“If you don’t come out, I’ll start digging you out just so I can warm up.”
A soft hiss rose over the rumbling surf. It took her a moment to recognize the sound of sand shifting at high speed. She couldn’t be sure in the faint light, but the spot Serge had indicated now boiled like a cauldron of quicksand. Shadows appeared, which solidified into hands and arms, a head, a torso. A body.
Dominique stood before her, a still column of darkness. She couldn’t see his face, but his hands gleamed in the starlight. The wind blew sand off him in torrents and carried his winter cold scent.
He wore all his leathers and boots.
Her stomach clenched.
“What are you doing here?” he said, his tone remote.
“You went to see her, didn’t you.”
He turned away from her. She got up and rubbed her arms against the shivers wracking her body. Not all were on account of the chill air. “But you didn’t kill her.”
His silence told her everything. As did the fact that he hadn’t bothered to change out of his gear before he sought shelter for the day. To say nothing of not visiting with her. Not that he had done this lately, either. Wherever his head was, it wasn’t here.
“You didn’t kill her,” she repeated to herself.
“No. I did not.”
“Well, then. I g-guess this is it.” Her teeth clacked with the tremors shaking her limbs. “You’ve made your decision.” She scanned the inky darkness, the stars in the immense, black sky. No lights. No hint of home, warmth, or safety. Anxious fists squeezed her lungs.
“There was no choice about it.”
“Oh, right. No, I’m sure there wasn’t. You’re fine k-killing vampires that want to kill you, but this one you c-can’t bring yourself to put down. I’m not s-stupid, Dominique. I can imagine why.”
“You can imagine nothing,” he snapped.
“Sorry. My bad. Just the s-stupid little human t-talking here. God only knows why Serge thought I had to be here to help you. Just take me b-back to the house and—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t tell him to leave any more than she could tear out her own heart. He wouldn’t be here if he had given up on his humanity—or her—but it was close. He balanced at the edge of a precipice, and she would not—could not—push him over.
His shadowy form moved closer. “I do need your help, Cassidy.”
She shivered, waiting for him to collect his thoughts.
“I don’t want to be the—” He shook his head. “I don’t want to be what she wants me to be.”
