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He leaned forward, his tone hushed and urgent. “You only think that. It’s what he wants you to believe. Cass, listen—”
She threw up her hands and pushed her open palms toward him. “Oh my God. Can you just please leave already? I. Am. Not. Compelled.”
Their eyes locked, the sudden silence tense enough to scoop with a spoon. In his jaw, a muscle twitched.
“Fine. Prove it. Prove you’re not compelled.”
“Seriously? Me being here, working my day job, having this conversation isn’t proof enough?”
“Nick…Dominique is one of the strongest we’ve ever seen. Whatever hold he’s got on you is deep and complicated. So, no. It’s not enough.”
Beyond deep, she thought. But not at all complicated. She had tried to explain their connection to Jackson once, to make him understand that not every vampire was like the monster that had slaughtered his twin brother. It had been like shouting at a wall.
She suddenly felt tired, longing again for the day to be over. “Maybe I don’t care what you believe, Jack. Maybe I just want you to leave us alone.”
“Maybe you’re being evasive.”
Cassidy huffed out an at-the-end-of-her-rope sigh. “How can I prove something to you that you don’t want to believe?”
“Simple. Come to Thanksgiving dinner next week and bring Sam.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. A holiday dinner is a totally human experience. No vampire would care for it, but it might do you a world of good. Remind you of what you’re turning your back on.”
“Oh, right. Your mom would think we’re back together, I’d make you stammer an explanation of why we’re not, and your father would plot to poison my plate while I’d be swiping the carving knife so I can defend myself against your uncle when he pulls a gun on me again on my way to the powder room. Yeah, that sounds about like the real human Thanksgiving I just can’t wait to experience.”
He flashed a grin of pure wickedness. “Now that sounds way more fun than last year’s dinner. Except you wouldn’t have to worry about Uncle Garrett. He’s out of town on—”
“Still hiding from Dominique? Or off killing someone?”
“My mom knows we’re purely platonic now—”
“Platonic enemies, right.”
“And my father is seeing reason.”
“Oh, do tell.”
Jackson became grim. “Cassidy. I know there’s hope for you, or you wouldn’t still be alive, much less looking as good as you do.” He swept her with an almost suggestive appraisal. She didn’t react. He cleared his throat. “My father is finally coming around to that, and he wants to help you as much as I do. You’re human, for God’s sake. How can we not?”
She stared at him, though in her mind she saw again the horrific abuse Dominique had endured at Garrett Striker’s hands, the manipulation she had fallen victim to from Jackson, the bullet that had almost killed her. She shook off a shiver.
“Um. No. I’ll pass. Of my own free will, thank you.”
“Would it change anything if I said that if you come over and have dinner with us, it would be so unprecedented that we’d have no choice but to be open to the idea that maybe, just maybe, Dominique really is…different?” To his credit, the vampire hunter’s face cringed only mildly with discomfort at these words.
She considered the possibility of a truce between Dominique and the Strikers for all of three seconds before realizing that the vampire didn’t need one. As long as he could hide during the day, he knew how to avoid the Strikers at night as well.
“But if you tell me no,” Jackson continued, “that can only mean you’re compelled and he is, in fact, the lying, bloodsucking demon I know him to be.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Why? Because you think Dominique would never let me go to such a dinner?”
“You tell me. Would he?”
“Dominique doesn’t tell me what to do, but he would…” She broke off as the realization slammed home. There was only one reason Jackson Striker did anything. With a bitter smile, she nodded and finished her thought. “…follow me. Of course. You’re counting on me wanting to prove my point and Dominique following me to your house because you know he would never trust you. I bet you’ve got some fancy new trap all ready to go for him there. Am I right?”
Jackson said nothing. But the way his mouth paled and face turned dark red told her all she needed to know. She could only manage a hissing whisper. “And you call him a lying demon?”
