Burn For Me (Phoenix Fire #1)(105)

Usually was the keyword. Dante had been through so much in the last few years. 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.

Then 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, and 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. So many times over the years 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 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 beneath his fingers 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.

“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. 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—”

He leaned over her even more. 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. A person just had to look hard and deep enough to see them.

“Why should I trust a woman who’s killed me before?”

“Because I’ve saved you, too.” She’d risked so much to save him. “Believe it or not, you actually owe me.”

“I don’t believe it.”

Her lips trembled.

His gaze dropped once more to her mouth.

“Dante …”

He kissed her.

She hadn’t been expecting the move, and when his lips closed over hers, shock froze her for a moment. Then she realized—Dante.

Her lips parted eagerly for him, and the wall that she’d built to hold back her need for him started to fracture. His tongue pushed into her mouth. Not sampling, but taking, and it was just like she remembered. He kissed her, she wanted. Lust tore through her, and her wrists twisted in his grip because she needed to touch him.

She wanted—

His head lifted. His eyes blazed down at her, the gold starting to heat. “I remember … your mouth. Your taste.”