Once Bitten, Twice Burned (Phoenix Fire #2)(54)
Author: Cynthia Eden

She wanted out of the house. But a hand on her shoulder froze her.

“You were two when I found you,” her father said, his hand trembling against her shoulder. “You were floating face down in the river.”

Sabine River. Yes, she knew where she’d been found.

“You should have been dead. I rolled you over . . .” He turned her to face him. “And I saw fire burning in your eyes. A baby . . . with burning eyes.”

She didn’t want to hear any more from him.

“I loved you like you were my own. You are my own.”

A child he’d sold to the devil. “How much did they pay you?” Sabine asked because she knew he’d gotten something from the deal.

“Nothing.”

Her life had been worth nothing?

“I wanted them to fix you, baby. I saw the fire again and again over the years—it would flare in your eyes whenever you got real angry, and I was so afraid of what would happen the moment you lost your control. I’d heard stories of others like you. Supernaturals that were too dangerous to be around humans. Evil. I didn’t want you to turn out like them. I wanted to help you.” His voice broke.

So did her heart.

“Get out of town,” she told him, the last time she’d give her father the warning. “And tell Mom . . .” She had to clear her throat. Had to choke back the lump of pain and fury that had risen. “Tell her anything but the truth.” Because she didn’t want to hurt her mother.

“I-I can’t leave Rhett—”

“Leave on your own,” Ryder told him, his tone lethal, “or I’ll have my vamps drain you and drag your limp body out of this town.”

She knew the words weren’t an idle threat. Her father knew it, too. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the knowledge blazed in his eyes.

Eyes that still watched her with a sad desperation.

“Good-bye, Dad,” she whispered as she walked across the porch and into the yard. Sabine expected Ryder to follow right on her heels.

But he didn’t follow.

“Tell me the name of that old army buddy,” Ryder’s tight demand.

“N-no.”

A thud. Sounded like a fist hitting a wall. Her eyes squeezed shut as her shoulders stiffened. “Don’t hurt him, Ryder. He’s . . . he’s still my father.” The tears fell then, because she couldn’t hold them back any longer. She could even taste the salt of the tears on her lips. “And I still love him.” Maybe he had thought to help her. Maybe he’d thought . . .

It doesn’t matter. I still love him. I love the man who played hide-and-seek with me. I love the man who read Sleeping Beauty to me again and again and again. I love him.

She glanced back.

Her father stood inside the house, with Ryder at his side. “I’m so sorry, baby,” her father whispered.

She inclined her head. “I-I know.” And one day, when this nightmare was over, she’d go back to him. When the pain wasn’t so strong.

Tears fell from his eyes, too.

Ryder put his hand on her father’s arm. “I want the man’s name. He lied to you. He sent your daughter to hell. Give me his name, and give her the justice she deserves.”

Her father’s breath rasped out. “K-Keith Adams.”

Uncle Keith? Vaughn’s father?

Then Ryder was heading toward her.

Her gaze strayed—once more—to her father’s face. “I love you, Sabine,” he told her. “I always have, and I always will.”

She couldn’t stop her tears. “I love you.” Despite it all, she did.

“Lucky bastard,” Ryder snarled. “If she didn’t care for you, you’d be minus a head right now.” He pointed at her father. “Get out of town. Keep her mother safe.”

Ryder stopped in front of her. Gently, carefully, he brushed away her tears. “Don’t.” His voice was gruff. “It hurts me when you cry.”

Why would her tears hurt him?

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I told you before . . . Don’t ever f**king cry for anyone.”

She didn’t know how to stop the tears.

She heard the door shut behind them. The sound was so loud. That part of my life will never be the same.

Ryder pulled her against his chest and held her. Strong. Steady.

Slowly, she took deeper breaths. The pain in her chest eased.

Ryder kissed her lips. Such a light, gentle kiss. “The next person who makes you cry”—his words were a rumble—“I’m killing him. Family or not.”

Her fierce vampire. She was coming to know him so well. Well enough to say, “You wouldn’t hurt my family.” Because he wouldn’t want to hurt her.

His gaze searched hers. “We have to leave here, Sabine.”

Yes. She glanced at the house. She’d been happy there.

Her father was peeking out the window.

It isn’t over, Dad. The love she felt wouldn’t let it be.

But she loved Rhett, too, and he needed her. “I think we know our next stop now.” Because Vaughn had been with her brother when Rhett vanished.

Another betrayal.

“Vaughn’s place isn’t far away,” she whispered. It was a familiar location to her.

Why was the familiar suddenly so painful to face? Because the familiar hides so many secrets and lies.

She’d been foolish to think that home was a safe place.

They were being followed.

Ryder had felt the eyes on them, had heard the rustle of footsteps, ever since they’d left the home of Sabine’s parents. He’d figured it was better for their prey to follow them. At least, that way, her bastard of a father would have time to drag his sorry ass out of town.

He kept his body close to her as they walked. He wasn’t sure if it was his enemies stalking them, hers, or who-the-hell-knew else.

They had a tail. Soon enough, they’d get the bastard to show himself.

They were in front of a small house on the edge of the French Quarter. Time had faded the house, roughened its edges. The place was pretty secluded. Good. That way no one would hear the humans’ screams.

Ryder was in the mood to make someone scream.

Sabine is hurting. That fact pissed him off.

She was standing in the shadows and gazing up at the house. Lights glowed from inside the windows. Looked like Keith Adams was waiting up for them.

A trap. Obviously.

“Who’s watching us?” Sabine asked. “Is it Dante?”

Ah, so she’d noticed, too. Good. Her vamp hunting instincts were definitely starting to kick in. “If it were Dante, we’d have a circle of fire around us by now.” The phoenix wasn’t exactly subtle.