Dominion (Book 1 of The Dominion Series) (5 page)

"I can't just
trust
you," I say, frustrated. "Trust is built and based on evidence of trustworthiness."

"You really have no choice. Either you let yourself trust me, surrender to it, or you fight me every step of the way. And believe me, this is a fight you will not win."

"Surrender to it?" I say, barely able to keep my voice under control. "You mean surrender to
you
. I've never been one to just give over to anything."

"I can sense that," he says and sighs. "It will just make things more difficult and painful. So much easier for us both if you just comply."

We stand there at an impasse.

"I'm not letting you in willingly."

"So be it," he says and grabs my wrist. "I'm committed to my cause, Eve.
Nothing
– no paltry resistance on the part of a pretty Adept is going to sway me from it. I'll do whatever I have to –
whatever
it takes – even if I hate myself for it. Even if
you
hate me for it. Now open the door and let me in. I can't compel you but I can hurt you."

I close my eyes as pain burns through me like a knife searing in my gut. I gasp at its intensity and bend over at the waist. It's so sharp it brings tears to my eyes. Then it's gone as quickly as it starts.

"You…
monster
…"

"Yes, I
am
a monster," he says and shakes me, his expression dark. "Don't forget it." After a moment, his face softens. "Eve, I don't
want
to hurt you," he says, his voice quiet. "Quite the opposite. But you have to know with complete certainty that I will do anything and everything to succeed, including punishing you if it's the only way to get compliance."

I turn away from him, my face all hot from the pain, my eyes all teared-up for the umpteenth time this evening. I open the door and step inside but I don't invite him in.

He just stands there for a moment, waiting. Then he closes his eyes and I swear I can see him fuming.

"Don't make me force you. I'm very old and very powerful and very angry right now."

I give in. "Please, come in."

I hear his sigh of relief and then he steps over the threshold.

"You live alone?" he asks, glancing around.

I want to say that I have a boyfriend living with me who plays linebacker on the football team, or a big Rottweiler, but he'll know both are a lie. He's touched me quite a bit tonight and probably already knows I'm a single cat lady in waiting.

"Yes. I have two cats, but otherwise I live by myself. I also have two real Samurai swords on the wall in my bedroom."

Damn
. I didn't really say that, did I?

He smiles and then laughs out loud, his too-blue eyes filled with amusement. My face burns and so I go to my closet and remove my coat and hang it up, depositing my umbrella inside.

He comes over to me and takes my hands in his. I try to avoid him, but he's far too strong. He turns my palms face up and inspects each palm.

"They're already healing," he says. "It's that good old Adamantine magic we have in our saliva and all bodily fluids."

"Adamantine?"

"An undying eternal property. The principle that keeps us immortal. Your mother should have something about it in her files."

"So you really didn't need to come in and fix my palms."

"No," he says lightly. "I lied. People who can't lie aren't very good at detecting deception. They're two sides of the same coin. But we do need to talk."

"Make yourself at home." I wave to the apartment and exhale with frustration. "Since you can now, whenever you want, no matter what I want."

"Thank you."

He's so damn pleased with himself, like he's just won an important battle. He starts walking around my tiny flat, inspecting things like he's searching for something. At my old upright piano against the wall, he sorts through my sheet music, selecting Chopin's
Ballade No. 1
, tilting his head to one side. I don't play it very well because it's so damn hard.

"You were a prodigy."

"Supposedly, but you take any three year old and drill them like they're an army recruit and make it so that every ounce of love they get is premised on performance and you'll produce a little piano playing machine, too."

"
Dieu
," he says and glances at me. "God, you sound bitter. I'd think you'd be pleased that your parents invested so much time honing your talent."

I shrug. I guess I am bitter. All that practice and performance for nothing. All those years wasted taking ballet and music when I could have just been a normal kid and had normal experiences.

"I studied for eight years. Besides dance, practicing piano was my whole life. I used to envy other kids who weren't forced to play or perform. After a certain age, I was pulled out of school and tutored because my father wanted me to be a professional like him and my mother wanted me to be a dancer the way she always dreamed of being."

"Yes, parents can be such beasts at times," he says. "I hope you'll play for me one day." He looks up from the keys and smiles at me, just a quick smile. "Music is one of my great passions."

The way he says it –
passions –
makes me feel suddenly uncomfortable for I can't help but think of him being passionate. He
looks
like someone who could get all passionate – like an obsessive musician or artist – and that's dangerous ground for me.

"Is playing part of my job description?" I say, trying to be a smartass.

"No, of course not. Music is my greatest love. It makes existence bearable."

His words have a strange effect on me. Music makes his existence bearable? I'm a bit unnerved by that and I don't know what to say for a moment.

"I'm out of practice. I've been pretty busy with finals and haven't played for quite a while."

He frowns. "You shouldn't let your skills rust, Eve. When you have a beautiful gem, you should make sure to keep it polished. Such a waste otherwise. And so sad that all you have is this old piece of junk on which to play."

"It's all that could fit in my apartment." I turn away and make a face, unsure how to respond. Is he chastising me for not playing enough? Where does he get off?

He stands in the middle of my piles of paper from my mother's files, which are spread out on the hardwood floor.

"You need a filing cabinet."

No shit, Sherlock
. I start picking up the piles, placing them on my desk at the side of the room.

"They're my mother's files. The university just released them from the archives."

When I'm done, I sit on the couch while he wanders around my apartment, my knees just a bit weak from everything that's happened since this afternoon.

He moves to my desk eyeing the pile of books and papers, pushing them around, stooping to my wastebasket – the
letter
… I've been writing a letter to include in a birthday card to my best friend Cecile, who's off in Philadelphia to do her MD. I've handwritten them and crunched up one after another draft, unhappy with the results.

"Those are my private things," I say, alarmed.

"I know."

"Leave them alone." I try to sound forceful, which is ridiculous, given who and what he is, but I don't want him to read anything too personal. He rustles through the letters in my wastebasket and pulls out the one on top.

"
Don't
," I say, dreading the thought that he'll read my uncensored remarks. "That's private."

"Dear sweet Eve," he says with his soft almost-imperceptible French accent, "I've already been in your mind. This," he says and holds up the letter, "
this
is nothing in comparison."

He reads it, and I close my eyes, grimacing in embarrassment at what I've written. I go to him and snatch it out of his hands and go back to the couch, reading it over to see which version he's read.

Dear Ceci,

Happy Birthday, girl! I miss you so much and wish you were here or I was there so we could go out and dress all up and pretend we're the geek versions of Carrie and Charlotte and drink those crazy cocktails you love so much!

What's new with me? I finally have my mother's research – after three years of fighting. Looks like some interesting stuff in her archives. Should keep me busy all summer.

In answer to your question, I really hate blind dates, so thanks but no thanks. You know I have a weakness for men in uniforms but I'm afraid of flying so dating an airline pilot? Not such a good idea …

Don't worry about me living by myself now that you're in Philly. I really don't mind being alone. Much. Not really much at all. Hardly. Barely lonely. Really… I'm sleeping well enough. Besides, it's time for nightmares to stop. I'm a big girl now so no more being afraid of the dark. After I check all the closets at night and triple lock the door and windows, I'm fine… Honest, I will get rid of my old Barney doll – some year! He's twenty now and time for the back of my closet. Where he can protect me from the monsters…

Yes, I have been seeing my counselor about the cutting. She says I have to keep my mind busy so hopefully I'll find something in my mother's files to occupy my summer. It's just that I'm so bored sometimes I cut myself just to know that I'm alive. She says the cutting stops the memories. She wants to do this whole regression stuff but it scares me. Some things are better left forgotten.

Really, Ceci. Don't worry. I know you're afraid I'll end up a crazy cat lady dying alone in my apartment, no one noticing until the meowing of my cats drives the neighbors crazy and the police break down the door to find my rotting bloated corpse . . . But I'm sure things will eventually get better for me. I'm so happy the university finally released mom's files. It makes me feel closer to her to carry on her work.

Happy twenty-second birthday and I will come to Philly and see you soon,

Love, Eve

Oh,
damn
.

Then, I feel him on the couch next to me, and I try to cover my face, but he takes one arm and pushes up my sleeve. He sees the scars running up the inside of my forearm – some old, silvery ghosts of past pain, some new and still angry and red, barely scabbed over. Razor blades are my weapon of choice.

I freeze, my body tensing. He runs his fingers over the scars.

"I didn't see
these
," he says quietly and looks in my eyes. "
Eve
…"

He takes the letter from me and pushes me down on the couch, lying on top of me. He holds the letter in one hand, and with the other, he turns my chin so I have to watch him reading it, his blue eyes so intense.

After reading for a moment, he stops and shakes his head.

"You're so bored sometimes you
cut
yourself just know that you're alive?"

I close my eyes, but he shakes my chin and I open them again, my vision suddenly blurry. And then he leans down and
kisses
me. Softly, the kiss chaste, and I feel him trying to enter my mind, as if he's hoping to find out why I'm a cutter but there's nothing to find except a big black hole of fear. When he pulls away, he examines my face, touches my cheek with a finger, running the tip through my tears once more, licking his finger and closing his eyes.

"I can't see why you need pain when I read you," he says. "It must be very deep."

I turn my face away. I don't know why I need the pain. It must be because of my mother.

"It makes everything so much easier," he says quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Your need for pain. Your need for someone strong to take you, protect you, make you feel alive."

"Don't get any ideas," I say, but of course I'm a liar. I've already had so many of my own ideas even in the short time I've known him. But he's a monster. I can't let myself feel anything for him but hatred. The fact that he's beautiful should make no difference.

He makes a small noise once more in his throat.

"You have no idea, Eve, what ideas I have. One day, you may find out if you're capable enough and can pass the tests. And then maybe, you won't have to cut yourself."

"What does
that
mean?" I say, but he just shakes his head.

Finally, he gets up and takes the letter back to my desk, smoothing it out, leaving it on top of the pile rather than in my wastebasket.

I sit up and feel as if I need a drink of something strong for his touch and the feel of his body lying on top of me have made me uncomfortably aroused. He's still standing there, staring at my things and I'm sitting here, wondering what it would be like to fuck a vampire.