Supernova (12 page)

“Goodnight, Querida,” he whispered into her ear before placing a light kiss to the spot just below it. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she relaxed her grip. It was the distraction he needed to allow him to pull his hand free of her grasp and retreat to his bedroom.

Once he was back in seclusion, he opened the window before turning his stereo on and picked up his guitar. His fingers drifted over the strings of the instrument in tandem with the delicate rift of Kansas’
Dust in the Wind
. He closed his eyes and allowed the words and the melody to consume him. The song’s meaning weaved in and out of his mind, its delicate undertones taking over the rhythm of his heart. He was living it, and that brought his thoughts back to Kerrigan Cruz.

She had only been there a week, and already she was embedded under his skin. Dominic had gone to her room every night, his curiosity getting the best of him. She never knew he was there. The cover of night shielded him from her knowing eyes. She was restless, getting very little sleep. It was obvious that she was still mourning the loss of her grandmother. He had noticed her reluctance to visit Availia’s room all week, and he knew that if she didn’t face it, that reluctance would eventually turn into a full-on fear.

Just as he had on many occasions, she had to face that fear before it festered and crippled her.

But he was a hypocrite. His fear was of letting himself feel something, anything, for someone else. As much as he wanted to, he just couldn’t.

As the song ended and switched to a new one, Dominic stopped playing and shook a cigarette from the pack that lay on the table next to him. He flipped open his Zippo lighter and lit it, savoring the instant gratification the nicotine provided as he inhaled deeply. Sure, he knew smoking was bad for his health, but there were things out there that were far more dangerous.

The boisterous laughter of Kerrigan and her friends saying goodnight out on the front lawn drew his attention. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy that they could be so happy-go-lucky while he was so confined to a life devoid of normalcy. Then guilt edged its way into his subconscious. He considered that they may have decided to call it a night because they didn’t want to disturb him.

It sucked to have to leave his new friends. He had almost let himself believe that he was just like the rest of them, but something as simple as the time was all it took to remind him that he was anything but. And it was all
her
fault.

Sinclair Davis. Shoulder-length black hair, dark sultry eyes, pouty lips and a body so shapely, it could make a grown man cry.

Dominic would have done anything she asked of him because he loved her. Or so he thought. As it turned out, it had all been a lie.

Sinclair practiced black magic, an attribute Dominic found to be a major turn on at one point. But now? Not so much so. Especially since the bitch used that dark magic against him. First, by casting a love spell on him and messing with his head, making him believe that he felt things he never really did. And second, by trying to rip his soul out of him – literally.

December 21, 2009. Winter Solstice.

It was the night Dominic’s life as he knew it ceased to exist, and he became something else. The night he became half a man.

Sinclair and her merry band of delinquents had picked Dominic up from his house. She had her very own coven of sorts, pathetic grovelers who catered to her every whim. Chase, her personal lap dog; Theo, the brawn; Yvette, the brainiac; and Greta, her sidekick/experimental partner. They were the bottom of the barrel, dog shit on the sole of his boot. That night, they were a bit louder and more jovial compared to other nights they had gotten together to hang out, but he really didn’t think anything of it. He tolerated them as long as it meant that he could be with Sinclair. He couldn’t stand to be away from her for even the most miniscule amounts of time. Again, it was the spell he was under, not reality in the least bit. But, he didn’t know that then. Hindsight and all.

They had obviously already dipped into the bottle and the goody bag of white powder. Cocaine was their drug of choice. He had supplied it to them on more than one occasion, even though he never sampled the stuff himself. One addict in the family was more than enough.

He jumped into the front cab of the truck with Sinclair and Chase, not caring where they were going, but their favorite hangout spot had always been the graveyard. They had broken in there on a regular basis and partied until the sun came up or the police were called and they were run off. Whichever came first.

Dominic and Sinclair had never consummated their relationship. Her choice, not his. Every time he had attempted to make a move toward being more physical, she had turned him down, claiming she was saving herself. He thought she meant for marriage, but he soon learned he was way off base.

Sinclair was particularly attentive to him that night. She straddled his lap in the front of the cab and practically poured whiskey down his throat while grinding seductively against him. The entire time, her friends played audience to her attentions, offering wolf whistles and cat calls as encouragement. Whatever. All he cared about was, judging by her newfound affections, he was finally going to get laid.

Once they made it to the graveyard, Sinclair separated from him long enough to guide him to their preferred spot underneath one of the old oak trees that looked to be dying a slow death. It had definitely seen better days as it loomed over a platform headstone belonging to some poor dead guy named Drake D’Mon.

Greta, the blond bombshell, cranked up the music and started dancing seductively with Yvette, the little dark-haired French girl. Chase and Theo passed the booze and powder around, taking the opportunity to ogle the half-naked girls as they fondled each other unabashedly. Chase was a Zac Efron wanna-be with his pretty boy smile and hair that hung in his eyes like a sheepdog. Theo was short and stocky as a motherfucker. He was of the African American descent, built like a pro wrestler with all the brains of one that had gone one too many rounds in the ring with a metal chair to the head. He was a cocky son of a bitch, but he knew better than to fuck with Dominic, so maybe he wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

Dominic looked around, not having ever really paid attention to their surroundings before. He wasn’t superstitious by nature, but what was supposed to be a serene resting place for the dead looked ominous in the pale moonlight. Partying in a cemetery was sacrilegious and a gross disrespect to the loved ones that had passed on and been laid to rest there. The graveyard was old. Most of the moss covered headstones were in need of repair, long since forgotten about. Some of the dates of the dearly departed stretched all the way back to the early 1800s and as recent as present day.

Dominic walked around the old oak tree and ran his long fingers over the carved initials in the trunk on one side.
SD + DD, eternally
. He wondered if it was the forlorn tribute of a desolate lover. Before he could contemplate it any further, Sinclair appeared beside him. She took his hand in hers and curled the index finger of her other hand, beckoning him to follow her with a seductive look in her eyes. Like a lost puppy dog, he would follow her anywhere. It just happened to be that she only wanted him to sit beneath the oak tree on the other side so that she could straddle his lap once again.

“Bring my lover his drink,” Sinclair ordered her lackeys.

They were scared of her and the power she had. Dominic had seen them back down and cater to her every whim, out of fear, not respect. He might have been a bit scared too, but he dealt with far more lethal people on the streets than her. Plus, he was quite enamored of her. It was kind of hard to be scared of someone you loved.

Theo turned his back to them and took a baggie from Chase. After a moment, he dangled the bottle of Jack Daniel’s in front of Dominic’s face. “This one’s just for you, because you’re
special
,” Theo laughed. Sinclair’s head whipped around in his direction, her eyes narrowed in warning.

“Chupame la polla, punta!” Dominic spat back at him with a menacing snarl. “And because you’re an ignorant fuck, I’ll even translate for you. Suck…my…dick,
bitch
!”

He snatched the bottle from his hands and took a long swig, keeping his eye on Theo the whole time. Dominic was scared of no man, but he didn’t trust Theo not to contract a momentary case of the really fucking stupids and try to land a sucker punch or two. He was a big motherfucker, and that shit would hurt. They say the bigger they are, the harder they fall, and Dominic was more than capable of proving the theory, but he was convinced he was going to get laid, and he’d rather save his energy to pummel Sinclair’s lady bits than waste it on redecorating Theo’s face.

As if reading his mind, Sinclair started grinding against him again, increasing the pace and intensity of her movements for maximum distraction. It worked like a charm.

It seemed like they were there for hours doing the same thing: drinking, listening to music, making out, and generally being nuisances and disturbing the dead. Dominic had consumed his fair share of cheap whiskey and was exhausted to the point his body didn’t even want to move. He looked down at the bottle that he still held in his hand, noticing that he had only drunk about half of the contents. It was nowhere near as much as he normally would, yet he felt like he had drunk a gallon instead.

“It’s amazing how much you look like him,” Sinclair said, fingering his hair.

“Like who?” Dominic nuzzled her neck and sucked at the tender flesh that covered her collarbone. Although they still hadn’t moved past the whole clothes burning phase, he remained hopeful there would be some skin to skin contact by the end of the night.

“Your father, of course,” she answered matter-of-factly.

Well now,
that
killed the mood. And his hard on.

“You knew my father?” Dominic tried to sound angry at the mention of the man that made him a motherless bastard, but he was feeling the effects of the alcohol and he couldn’t put that much energy into it.

The others must have found his question amusing because they suddenly burst out into a drunken fit of laughter, Sinclair joining them. That just irritated him more.

“Knew him? Silly little boy. We’re
soul
mates. That woman who raised me wasn’t as convinced as I was, and she did her damnedest to keep us apart. Tried, and failed. You see, not even death can keep us apart.” Sinclair’s hand trailed over his chest and down toward his stomach. “And, you’re going to help reunite us, physically.”

Her hand reached between them to his crotch, and in a bold move, she cupped him firmly. “Oh my,” she gasped when she felt his true size. “I’m going to have so much fun with your body once the switch is done. Pity you won’t be here to enjoy it.”

Dominic wanted to fight her off, protest what she was doing, anything to stop whatever was happening because none of it was making any sense whatsoever to him. He felt lethargic and weak. Unable to even hold on to the bottle of booze anymore, it tumbled out of his hand. The contents spilled and were soaked up by the lush, green grass that grew beneath him. He turned back toward Sinclair with a quizzical look on his face, unsure of the reason she was talking about his father like she knew him, when
he
didn’t even know who he was. He wanted to ask questions, but his lips were so numb and his throat so swollen, he just couldn’t form the words. She was still straddling him, her face a blur as she cocked her head to the side and stuck her bottom lip out in a mock pout.

“Aw, poor baby. Not feeling much like yourself?” she asked with faked concern and then started laughing at him. “You’re the guest of honor, Dominic. You’re about to give me the greatest gift anyone ever could. The love of my life. And, I could just kiss you for that. In fact, I think I will.”

Sinclair grabbed him by the hair of his head and forced him to look at her. She leaned forward and pushed her way between his lips, accosting his mouth with her thick tongue. There was nothing he could do about it because his body just wouldn’t cooperate with his mind enough to push her off.

His head spun, and everything became hazy, moving in slow motion around him. Echoes of taunting laughter consumed his brain, making his head hurt even worse. He was going to pass out, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Sinclair bit down on his lip hard, tearing the flesh before she sat up. With one swipe of the back of her hand, she wiped the wetness from her mouth. “Mmm, you taste delicious,” she cooed, licking her lips.

“It’s time,” a voice he recognized as Yvette’s said.

“Oh goody!” Sinclair beamed, clapping her hands in front of her. She stood from Dominic’s lap and sneered down at him.

“Greta, light the candles,” Sinclair ordered, her eyes never leaving Dominic’s paralyzed form. “Help our guest onto the platform, boys. Make sure you don’t hurt his body. Drake will rip your hearts out and eat them for breakfast if you make him look like shit.”

Drake?
Dominic remembered the name on the platform headstone that marked the gravesite they frequented, Drake D’Mon.
Could that be who she was referring to? But, how is that possible? The man is presumably dead.