Playing With Fire (Phoenix Fire #3)(77)
Author: Cynthia Eden

A gunshot blasted.

He felt the bullet tunnel through his back, then it ripped from his chest.

Cassie hadn’t opened her eyes.

He was falling . . . dropping down on top of her because Zura had shot him. Killed him, before he could save Cassie. If he didn’t heal her before he rose, his fire would take her.

And there would be nothing left.

His own eyes closed, and he thought, hoped—fucking prayed—that the tear drop would fall before he died.

Then he felt arms yanking on him, pulling him away from Cassie.

No.

His hands clamped around her, and his face brushed against hers.

She loved him. Screwed up, twisted monster that he was, Cassie loved him.

He wasn’t going to give up on her. Never.

He kicked out, his foot slamming into something soft.

I would cry for you, Cassie. I would bleed, beg, kill, and damn well die for you.

The secret he’d held so long, the one he’d been afraid to reveal—when he feared nothing else—was that he didn’t remember her each time just because they were mates.

It wasn’t about biology. About her being a siren and him being a phoenix.

It was about a man and a woman.

About love.

He’d loved her for years, and the memory of love—that was the only thing that could always get through the fire.

They were both dead.

Cassie. And the big, tough-looking bastard who’d tried to save her.

Dead.

Vaughn craned his neck, trying to see them. They were on the floor. It looked like the one Shaw had called Dante was holding Cassie, even in death.

Shaw was trying to pull Dante’s body off Cassie’s.

Not working. The woman wasn’t physically strong, no matter what crazy mojo she could do with her voice.

Dante made sure he couldn’t hear her. When he couldn’t hear her, she couldn’t control him. That bastard had played hard when he’d driven the scalpel into his own ears.

Smoke began to rise.

Shaw was standing above Vaughn, and she looked . . . scared.

Why? Everyone else was dead. What did she have to fear? Vaughn was strapped. Weak from blood loss, and, unless he missed his guess, about to join all of the others in death.

“When I free you, do exactly as I order. You don’t attack me.”

He hated her voice, even as it seemed to wrap around him like a dark temptation.

She disengaged the straps. Blisters were on her arms. “Drag Dante away from Cassie. If that fool actually cried for her . . . No—no, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.”

It looked like the guy had died for her.

Vaughn rolled off the table. Hit the floor. His blood splattered everywhere. But he was helpless to refuse her orders.

When she spoke, she controlled.

So I have to stop her from speaking.

He caught Dante’s leg. Pulled him.

Cassie’s eyes were closed. Her chest didn’t rise.

And the smoke wasn’t coming from Dante. The smoke was coming from the other guy. Jon. Great.

He dropped Dante.

“Now pick up that stake, and stab it in your heart,” Shaw ordered.

He turned toward the stake, the one the bitch had oh, so conveniently left on the table. The lady had planned well, he’d give her that, but from the sound of things, she’d been planning revenge for one very long time.

His gaze slid to Cassie. Had her chest just moved? It looked like her lips had parted, but maybe he’d imagined that.

Then he heard voices. Shouting.

Coming from outside in the hallway.

“I want my son!”

His father’s voice. Breaking with emotion. It had been so long since Vaughn had seen his father.

His last memory of him, the last clear memory was from the night he’d been bitten.

I think I tried to kill him.

“Damn humans,” Shaw muttered. “Time to kill them all. Vampire, let’s have some fun.”

He knew he wasn’t going to like her idea of fun.

“Come with me.”

He turned away from the stake. The room’s doors had been blown away by Dante, and he followed her outside like a damn sheep to the slaughter.

And there was his father. A guard had a gun shoved into his dad’s back. A boy—maybe around fourteen—stood beside him, and there was another man, with thin blond hair, a guy who was trying to shield the boy.

“Don’t come at him again!” the blond man screamed when he saw Vaughn.

Again?

Shame slid through Vaughn even as his gaze swept over the boy. He was familiar.

I’m sorry.

Vaughn knew he’d hurt the boy. Hurt so many.

His gaze turned to his father. His dad looked as if he’d aged twenty years since the night of Vaughn’s attack.

“V-Vaughn?” his father whispered. “Are you really back?” Vaughn nodded.

“Now for the fun,” Shaw murmured. “Vaughn, go rip out their throats, starting with your father.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “No, son. No!”

“Sorry, but he’s not taking orders from you now,” Shaw said. “It’s my voice that he follows. Mine.”

Helpless, Vaughn started to walk toward his father. “Get away, Dad,” he whispered. “Get the guard’s gun. Shoot me. Get out of here!”

But his dad seemed frozen. Broken.

“I missed you, Vaughn,” Keith said softly. “Your mother . . . had a heart attack a few months back. I lost her. I didn’t want to lose you . . .”

And Vaughn didn’t want to kill his father.

The boy—lunged forward and caught the guard unaware. The kid grabbed the gun and aimed it at Vaughn. “No more!” the kid screamed.

“Drop the gun,” Shaw said, her voice cracking with power.

The gun immediately fell from his hands.

The blond man pushed the boy back behind him.

Vaughn was almost in front of his father. Nearly close enough to kill.

“Make them suffer,” Shaw shouted, her voice feverish and wild. “Make them—ahhh!”

Vaughn’s head jerked around as her words ended. She was . . . gurgling—

Choking.

On her own blood.

Cassie had been breathing. She stood there, covered in blood, and her hand was still around the scalpel that she’d shoved into Shaw’s throat.

“I think you’ve done enough talking,” Cassie whispered. “Now, you can just die.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Every part of Cassie’s body hurt, but she was alive, on her feet, and that crazy bitch who’d tried to kill her was going down.

She yanked the scalpel to the left. “The power’s in the voice, right? Try talking now.” An impossible task since she’d just taken Dr. Shaw’s voice box.