Playing With Fire (Phoenix Fire #3)(3)
Author: Cynthia Eden

She stared up at him. Those high cheekbones, that square jaw. The firm lips that she’d never seen smile, despite all of her attempts to make him happy. His eyes were dark, so dark they appeared almost as black as the thick hair that hung a little too long and grazed the back of his shirt.

Those eyes were watchful, guarded, as they swept over her. “Burn?” Dante repeated carefully.

In the next second, he lunged forward—his move faster than the vamp’s had been. His hand—big, strong, hot—wrapped around her arm and pulled her close against his chest. “Now just how the hell would you know about that?”

Cassie wasn’t as tall as the redhead. Not even close. She was barely skirting five foot five, so she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. Dante was at least six foot three, and the guy was built along some very muscled dimensions.

His hold tightened. “Answer me.”

His fingers seemed to heat even more, and she knew his power was coursing through his blood. If she wasn’t careful, he might burn her. Just how much control would he have then?

“Please.” Cassie kept her voice even with an extreme effort. “I’m not here to hurt you.” No, she was there to beg for his help. If he’d remembered her, even a little, that begging would have gone over much better.

Since he seemed to not know her at all . . .

His gaze swept over face, then . . . narrowed on her mouth. His left hand lifted, and his index finger reached out and lightly touched her lower lip.

Cassie stopped breathing. Her body was far too tuned to his. The man had pretty much ruined her for any other guy.

Not that Dante was a man. He was much, much more. The Immortal.

That was the name he’d been given during his captivity. A captivity that she had been a part of.

His finger lightly grazed across her bottom lip. Just that touch had her ni**les tightening and her whole body aching for him. But it wasn’t the time. Definitely not the place. She had a mission to complete.

His head bent toward her, and Cassie wondered if Dante was about to kiss her. She even arched up to meet him halfway.

But he shook his head, and his hand fell back to his side. So much for the moment.

Cassie cleared her throat. “The burn must be fresh. Your memory usually comes back within a week or so after your rising.”

His face seemed to turn to stone.

Usually was the keyword. Dante had been through so much in the last few years that his memory was a very brittle thing. So was his sanity, a situation that made him a walking, talking nightmare for many.

“You must have been attacked,” she whispered. Attacked . . . and killed. Because death was the only way—

He lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

Cassie yelped, totally not expecting that move. She shoved her hands against his ass—um, a very nice ass—and pushed herself up so she could see around her.

Some of the club’s patrons were looking at her, amusement on their faces. They weren’t exactly the kind to help a lady in distress. The redheaded vampire was staring her way. Glaring her way, rather.

And Dante was stalking away with her, his grip on her legs unbreakable.

Okay, so that was one way to get his attention.

She heard the sound of shattering wood. Had he just smashed a door? Sounded like he had. Cassie tried to crane around and see where they were going. It looked like they were headed inside some kind of back room. Stacks of boxes and bottles of alcohol lined the shelves.

“Get the hell out of here!” Dante’s snarled order.

Three bodies ran past her, fast.

The world spun a bit, and Cassie found herself sprawled on top of a wooden table. Dante held one of her wrists in each of his hands as he stood between her legs.

Oh, wow.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“My name won’t matter to you.” She barely breathed the words. “If you rose recently—”

“Your name!”

“C-Cassie Armstrong. Cassandra . . .”

His eyelids flickered. “Cassandra.” He said her name as if he were tasting it.

Please, remember me. There had been so many times over the years, when she was sure that he did remember her, but then the tortures would start again. Torture and death.

He’d lose the memory of her, and she’d have to try so hard to get close to him again. To make him remember.

An endless cycle that left her hurting inside.

“I’ve dreamed about you,” he whispered. His hold was an unbreakable grip on her wrists.

At his confession, her heartbeat picked up and hope blossomed inside of her. Finally, finally, he’d—

“In my dreams”—a muscle flexed along his jaw—“you kill me, Cassie Armstrong.”

Oh, hell. “I told you. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“But you have killed me before, haven’t you?”

Cassie knew she had to be careful. She wasn’t like him. Dante could die, again and again, but he would just come back from each death.

He’d rise from the ashes and be born again.

While she would just—well, die. There would be no coming back for her.

With a thought, he could incinerate her. The heat that warmed her skin could turn into a blazing inferno at any second.

“Last night, I dreamed about you.” His words were a low growl as he leaned closer to her.

The noise from the bar drifted into the room. The blaring beat of music. The scents of sex, blood, and booze.

“You stared right at me, then you stabbed me.”

His bad memories weren’t going to make things any easier.

“So maybe you should tell me why I shouldn’t just pay you back for that right now.” His breath blew lightly over the sensitive skin of her neck. “And end you.”

She shook her head, sending her long hair sliding over her shoulders. “Please . . .”

“Oh, I like it when you beg.”

Actually, he did. But that was another story.

“So you’ve had dreams.” Cassie started talking, fast, because she had seen him incinerate a man before. She didn’t want that same fate. “Well, I’m your key. I know you. Every dark spot in your mind? I can shine the light and show you—”

His mouth was just inches from hers. Inches? More like an inch. “What are you going to show me?”

“Everything,” she whispered, promised. “I can tell you the secrets of your life. I can tell you who you are, if you’ll just trust me.”

His gaze searched hers. Some people thought that his eyes were just dark—mirroring his black soul, but they were wrong. There were flecks of gold hidden in his eyes. You just had to look hard and deep enough to see them.