Page 31 of Dark Reign of Forever

More questions followed, most of which Cassidy deflected with variations of this last statement. There wasn’t much about Dominique’s current circumstances she could explain without straying into the supernatural. But when Francesca shifted her focus and wanted to know who Cassidy was in her son’s life, she had to stop and think. Then, to everyone’s astonishment—including her own for the monumental understatement that it was—she said, “I’m…his wife.”

Dominique let all these memories wash over him. Cupping her head in one hand, he pressed it to his shoulder. “Oh, mon amour,” he murmured. “I am so very sorry.”

Serge roused from his cot and rubbed his eyes. “My lord? What happened?”

Catastrophe, he thought, and released Cassidy. This was an explosion that couldn’t be stopped, but maybe it could be contained. He turned to Serge, who had his head cocked as if listening to something only he heard. Samantha’s mind, no doubt. “Go to them and compel them not to notice anything out of the ordinary. And…convince them that I called them with an invitation, not a request for help.”

The corners of Serge’s eyes pinched. His mouth went white. Something in Samantha’s thoughts did not agree with him.

“Serge?”

His gaze focused on Dominique. “Yes, my lord?”

“Did you hear what I asked?”

“Yes. But why me?”

“Because I will not compel my family. I have done enough damage to them. Now go. And be gentle.”

“As you wish.” Serge took his time ambling out of the vault and across the house, reluctance in his every barefoot step.

Dominique sped upstairs and traded his usual T-shirt and gym pants for jeans and a dark gray dress shirt. He rolled the sleeves up his forearms, tied his hair back, stuck his feet into the only pair of leather loafers he owned, and returned to Cassidy and Serge, where they waited at the bottom of the stairs.

“It is done, my lord,” Serge said and disappeared out the back of the house in a blur of motion.

Cassidy shook her head and sighed. “Étienne.”

“Étienne,” Dominique agreed. Serge sensed a rival for Samantha’s affections, and, based on what Dominique had seen in Cassidy’s memories, with good reason. Any other time, Dominique would have been amused. Now he could barely believe that Étienne was even here. As Francesca explained it to Cassidy, her nephew had volunteered to stay with her on St. Barth and help with the restaurant after she lost her husband, a daughter, and only son within days of each other. Island life seemed to agree with Étienne, for he hadn’t left since.

Cassidy took his hand in mute encouragement. Through her touch, he saw himself as she did: a hard, pale, mesmeric beauty. Not a look he wanted to expose his mother to. It took him only an instant to deploy a bit of silent compulsion and make himself appear as his suntanned mortal self to all who saw him.

Cassidy raised a doubtful brow but said nothing. She had never been susceptible to his persuasive talents, but she sensed when he used them.

“A small aide to ease their minds,” he said and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

She squeezed his arm and nodded. “Okay.”

Steeling himself for the moment, he rounded the last corner and became visible to his mother. Dominique thought he knew what to expect. He didn’t.

The sliding doors to the side patio stood open, admitting evening air soaked in rain and ozone and a delicate, familiar perfume. Catching the scent of lavender and orange, he was instantly transported back to another life, one filled with the warmth of sunshine and family.

His steps faltered, preparing to turn back, but too late. His mother’s gaze found him and pinned him in place.

The practical, reserved, always-in-control woman he had known all his life disintegrated before his eyes. She stood up, mouth falling open, her eyes brimming with moisture. Her hands made to reach for him, then clapped to her mouth, stifling a sob.

Beside her, Étienne stood and touched her elbow in support, though he, too, only had eyes for Dominique. “Cousin,” he greeted with a tentative smile. “You look well for a dead man.”

Samantha didn’t get up. She gaped at Dominique, or rather at the vigorous mortality he conjured for them. Even the cat looked confused. Instead of launching his usual attack, Brinkley cowered under the table, growling, every hair on his body standing on end. No one else noticed.

“Madame?Your son,” Cassidy said with a warm, if nervous smile in her voice.

“Maman?”

With a cry, Francesca rushed forward. In her haste, she knocked the table, jostling an array of half-empty glasses, then stumbled over the sliding door track. Dominique moved a touch too fast to catch and steady her.

“Mon fils,” she whispered, her hands clutching his arms.“Mon petit.”

“Oui. C’est moi.Welcome to my home.” It was an automatic response, the only thing his stunned mind could come up with.

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