Blood Revealed (26 page)

Dominic stiffened, trying to thrust away the boy’s thoughts, to
unhear
them.

It was too late.

Dominic wasn’t Patrick Sauvage, who the boy had half-expected would be his mother’s first—

Dominic pinched the bridge of his nose, using pain to cut through the incomplete thought, to disperse it.

“Are you okay?” Jake said, as he opened the laptop.

“I…um, yes.”

“Jake, you should know that Dominic reads minds. It’s how he’s able to hear people. Otherwise, he would be quite deaf.”

Jake’s eyes widened. Then his lips parted as he put it together and pink tinged his cheeks. “For real?” he asked, except he already knew the truth of it. His blush told Dominic that much. He wasn’t prepared to dip into the boy’s mind any more.

“For real,” Dominic repeated. He gave a stiff smile. “Don’t worry. Whatever I might accidentally ‘hear’, I don’t repeat to anyone else.”

Jake’s gaze slid toward his mother, who was warming up the waffle iron and mixing batter. “Like a lawyer?” he asked.

“Better than that. Lawyers can be compelled by courts and judges. I can’t.”

Jake relaxed, even though wariness colored his mood. “So, you hunt with Mom?”

“She does the hunting. I’m the bloodhound.”

“He can hear the Summanus in his head,” Blythe added. “It’s like having radar. Makes hunting a doddle.”

“Then Mom goes in and kills them?”

“Dominic does his share of the killing,” Blythe said, before Dominic could answer.

“Sweet.” Jake gave him a grin and Dominic realized that he had won an initial approval. The boy looked down at the screen of the laptop and his eyes widened. “Fuck me!”

“Jake!” Blythe cried, shock and amusement battling for first place in her tone.

Jake shook his head. “No, really.” He spun the laptop so that it was facing a point half-way between where Dominic sat and where Blythe stood behind the island, beating the batter.

At the top of the screen was a Facebook post. Because it was a laptop, the image took up more space on the screen than a normal desktop and was crystal clear. Part of Dominic’s mind processed what that meant—someone had upgraded the laptop’s image processors for better definition.

Therefore, Patrick was picked out in perfect detail, even though the photo had been taken at night. Last night, in fact, for Nial and Sebastian were on either side of him and Sebastian was wearing the same black jeans he’d had on when Dominic had been at the house yesterday.

Whoever had taken the photo had caught them as they were heading somewhere. It was a candid shot, probably taken by a cell phone from about twenty feet away.

Dominic’s attention was caught by the determination on all three of their faces. The most riveting of all was the big sword strapped diagonally across Patrick’s back, the hilt within easy reach over his shoulder.

The sword looked good on him. It looked right, like it was supposed to be there.

So did the fierce scowl of concentration on his face.

“He looks like he did in that movie last summer,” Blythe said, her voice distant, as if she was dealing with a lot of unspoken thoughts, too. “The clothes are different, though.”

“That’s because this is for real, Mom,” Jake said and tapped the screen. “He’s a hunter, now, like you.” His eyes were shining and his face glowing with what Dominic thought might be pride.

Dominic focused on the fine print below the photo. The photo had been uploaded only three hours ago and it had already been shared over a million times.

It had gone viral.

Blythe stirred, then began beating the batter again. “I didn’t know he could use a sword,” she said, almost to herself. Then her gaze caught Dominic’s.

“He’s trained for years, for his movies. I guess it’s all coming in useful now,” Dominic said.

Jake’s eyes widened again. “You know Patrick Sauvage, too?”

Too.

Dominic kept his face still. “Yes,” he said. He couldn’t find any words to add to make the abrupt response sound better.

Blythe stopped beating. “Jake, set the table, please. The girls will be down in a minute.” She turned back to the heated waffle iron and spooned in batter. The iron hissed and spat and she dropped the lid on it.

“I’ll help,” Dominic said. “Tell me what to do.”

Jake shook his head. “No sweat. I’ve got it.” He put the laptop away and pulled out a drawer on the front side of the island and began counting out forks into his hand.

Dominic studied Blythe’s stiff back. He could dive into her mind and find the answers for himself, but after being scalded by Jake’s uncluttered and honest thoughts, he didn’t want to try.

So he sat and sampled his own unhappiness, instead. What was it neither of them wanted to tell him about Patrick?

* * * * *

When Eloise and Simone came downstairs at Blythe’s call, she watched Dominic win them both over with his Latinate charm and good looks. They melted, any indignation over their mother inviting a man home disappearing like snow in the sun.

The dark mood that had gripped Dominic had disappeared, as he smiled and joked with the girls. They were almost giggling with delight, too young to understand that they were responding to his overwhelming sex appeal. Blythe was just as happy to leave them ignorant.

By the time they collected their lunches and headed out the door, Blythe felt exhausted. She was short on sleep, the morning meal had felt like a battleground and she wasn’t sure why.

Dominic was doing the dishes and worked silently.

She finished clearing up, trying to think beyond the need to sleep. Hazy questions occurred to her but they wouldn’t come into focus.

“You should go back to bed,” Dominic said, his back still to her. “To sleep, this time.”

Blythe almost jumped. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I can’t afford to be. I have a ninety-minute drive before I can go to sleep.”

“Sleep here,” she said. Then hastened to qualify the offer. “On the sofa, if you want. Or…the bed. Either way.” She cleared her throat, then shoved the syrup back into the cupboard and dumped the last dirty plate on the sink next to him. “Besides, it will be a lot quieter in this house than it would be in that mansion full of the undead.”

The sound of swishing water stopped.

She turned to check and saw that Dominic had turned toward the fridge, his hand reaching for the tea towel hanging on the magnetic hook. His gaze was lifted higher than that.

He had focused on the little whiteboard and the phone number written there.

Her heart jumped.

He stirred and picked up the tea towel and dried his hands, moving slowly. He wasn’t even looking at her.

“Dominic?”

There was pain in his eyes when he met her gaze. “You have his private cell phone number. And that’s his writing.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Your thoughts say otherwise.”

She could feel her cheeks heating. “Of course I like him. He’s only an international film star! That’s all it is.”

Dominic shook his head. “Your memories of when he was here, when he wrote that number. They’re…colored. You wanted him. He wanted you.” Then the frown smoothed away. “Nothing happened,” he finished as if he was telling himself that.

“I’m just a fan,” Blythe said softly. Honestly.

“Not anymore. It’s gone beyond that now. Now that he….” He was back to frowning again. “…saved…Jake.” Then he refocused on her face. “What happened?”

“Can’t you read that too?” Blythe asked.

“It’s mixed up. You’re all mixed up about when he was here. There’s too much…guilt.” He added the last word with a note of surprise and studied her. Then he sat down on the chair that Jake had failed to push back under the table and looked at her. “You knew. About Patrick and me.”

Blythe pressed her lips together. “Do you want me to tell you the rest, or do you just want to read it all?”

Dominic pushed out a chair with his foot. “Tell me what happened,” he said. “Then I will understand what you are thinking.”

Blythe sighed and sat down. She forced herself to tell him of Patrick’s visit, which had been only yesterday morning. A small aeon had passed since then. As she spoke, however, the hot stew of feelings returned. Her chest tightened.

How could she feel this way about a man she barely knew—
and had loved forever from afar,
her treacherous mind whispered—when she also wanted Dominic with a power that frightened her with its strength?

“Patrick has presence. He’s the sort of man who takes all the oxygen out of the room when he enters,” Dominic said. “Even I wasn’t immune.” His smile was more of a grimace.

“But I want
you
,” Blythe said quickly. “Last night…” Her .perceptions had shifted overnight. She was no longer content with being a single mother beating back the rest of the world and raising her kids on her own. She had become a woman with needs and she needed Dominic. “Patrick is…yes, you’re right, he tends to suck people to him when he’s standing in the same room. He figured out about Jake…and me. That has probably saved both of us. But I don’t know him. It’s just a stupid fan crush. It’s embarrassing.”

Dominic shook his head. “You should let yourself find out what it really is.”

Horror touched her. “You mean…?”
Pursue him
. She couldn’t say the words aloud, but Dominic would hear them for sure. It felt like she was shouting them. “What about you?”

Dominic shrugged. His gaze would not meet hers.

Fright touched her.

He looked up quickly. “No, I don’t think you’re losing me. Not exactly.” He sighed. “This would be much easier if you could just read my mind, too. The words are hard to say.”

“Yes,” Blythe said heartily.

There was misery in his eyes.

“Why did you break up with him?” she asked. “I know you did. You would not have let me kiss you if you were still together.”

“We…argued.” Dominic pursed his full lips. “I don’t think Patrick realized how strongly I resented him trying to push me back into music again. He loves it so much himself, he doesn’t understand why I would ever want to avoid it.”

“He was making you play?”

“No, I wanted to,” Dominic said quickly. “I know that doesn’t make sense if I’m trying to avoid it. It’s a bit like a drug addict trying to stay away from heroin. They love the high, you know. They love how it makes them feel and at the same time they hate it. They hate the way they feel when they’re sober. They hate their lives. They hate that they can’t resolve the dilemma.”

“And Patrick was encouraging you to play,” Blythe said slowly, as she began to understand. “Like a pusher, holding out hope.”

Dominic pulled in a deep breath and let it out. “I can’t hear the music through him. It is imperfect…like hearing only half the melody. I can remember the notes in between, but I don’t hear them. So I can’t even find the high anymore.”

There was a deep sadness in his voice, that made Blythe want to cry for him.

His dark gaze met hers. “You…you touch a different side of me. One I did not know I had.”

“The warrior?” Blythe smiled as she said it. “Every man has a warrior inside.”

“I thought it was just survival,” he explained.

“It is, in the end.”

Dominic nodded. “Yes.”

Their gazes met and this time there was no discord there. Just understanding, although there were thousands of questions yet to be answered.

“Answers for later,” Dominic said softly. “You’re drooping. You must sleep.”

She got to her feet. “As long as you do, too.”

Dominic glanced toward the sofa.

“Upstairs, with me…if you want?” she asked, feeling suddenly awkward.

His smile was answer enough.

* * * * *

When she woke five hours later, the sunlight was broad in the window and Dominic’s hand lay heavily over her waist. He was still asleep, breathing deeply. His thick black lashes rested against his cheeks, giving him a vulnerable air. For the first time she wondered how old he was. At times, given all he had experienced, he seemed far older than her.

Not that she really gave a damn.

She realized that while Dominic was sleeping, her thoughts were her own. She was safe to think about matters that might bother him when he was awake. She had swiftly grown used to him rifling through her thoughts for answers, or answering unspoken questions. She had also learned how to push subjects aside without examining them.

Now she was free to consider everything that had happened in the last two days.

Carefully, she lifted his hand and slid out from beneath it, pushed her arms into her robe and crept downstairs. She wanted coffee like nobody’s business.

While the coffee was brewing she moved slowly through the living room, around the stairs to the formal dining room on the other side. Against the inside wall was her mother’s old upright piano. It had been used as a default sideboard for years, as no one in Blythe’s family played, or had any inclination to. Her mother had been the last player Blythe had known and even she had not played for long years before she died.

Blythe’s childhood memories were spotted with melodies and tinkling notes coming from the dusty formal front parlor of her childhood home, while she played outside or swung on the tire hanging from the old oak out the front.

She lifted the lid, knowing that this was what she had come downstairs to do, all along.

Clearly, she did not love music the way either Dominic or even Patrick did. However, she had always liked listening to her mother play and now, suddenly, she missed that.

Except she had no idea how to make the piano produce the beautiful notes. She had never been taught.

Her heart thudding hard, she spread her fingers and pressed them against the keys.

The piano responded softly, for she had not pressed hard. The sound was off-kilter, a jangling of notes.

She was so uneducated about music, she wouldn’t know if the piano was out of tune or not. She had it serviced every year. The tuners always bitched about the L.A. heat and how it made strings warp and stretch even when they just sat there.

How could she think of being with a man who loved music so much he called it an addiction? Her complete lack of musical ability or appreciation would ultimately frustrate him and drive him away.