Dammit, remember me!

Those had been the only words he clearly heard. Those words and her bitter laughter.

He stayed on those stairs as she raced away from him, and images began to flood through his mind.

Cassie had said . . . she was a siren.

Sirens are dangerous. So dangerous . . .

A whispered warning that came from within.

He squeezed his eyes shut and saw images of her.

They were in a crowded bar. Her eyes were wide and scared. He leaned close to her. “I’ve dreamed about you,” he whispered. His hold had tightened on her wrists. “In my dreams . . . you kill me, Cassie Armstrong. ”

Another image. Another time. Another place.

Cassie stood in front of a broken mirror. Blood dripped down her arm. “They’re coming. I have to get it out, or they’ll get me.” She drove a shard of glass into her shoulder and his phoenix roared inside.

Cassie and blood. They were bound in his mind. The blood . . .

“I’m not your f**king experiment.”

She flinched before him. “I didn’t say that you were.”

“But you want to put me in your lab, right? Want to run your tests . . . cut me open . . . just like they did.”

“I’m not like them.”

“Aren’t you?”

The images kept coming, rolling through his mind until all he could see was—

“You killed me. You were there when they cut into me. When they tortured me . . .” She’d stood before him, eyes so wide. “You were in a white coat. In a lab. You were one of them.”

“Let me explain—”

There was nothing to explain. “I should have left you to die when I had the chance. ”

Dante glanced to the top of the stairs. The pipes were moaning. Cassie must have turned on the shower.

He began to climb those steps.

I should have left you to die when I had the chance.

His words.

They were alone. All alone . . .

You killed me . . .

Cassie wasn’t getting away.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The water beat down on Cassie, and it was really freaking cold. Ice cold. But that was fine. She needed the chill to freeze the heat that Dante had stirred within her.

Just from his touch.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned into the blasting water. She’d told him she loved him. Why? Why? She’d kept that secret to herself for so many years, and bam, give her some grief and desperation, and she started to over share.

He barely even knew her name.

Of course, he didn’t love her back. How could he love a stranger?

There was still ash on her skin. She scrubbed harder, needing it gone. The smoke, the flames, the memory of Vaughn’s desperate face. She just needed it—gone.

A whisper of warm air slid over her. Her heart began to beat faster. She’d heard no sound, but that heat shouldn’t have been there. “Dante?” Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned around.

He stood in the doorway.

The water worked in the shower, but there was no curtain or door to shield her from his gaze. No protection.

If he could only remember . . . they’d been like this once before. Though it wasn’t like that scene had ended well—certainly not like the ending in her fantasies.

She yanked off the water. Fumbled for the towel that she’d found in the closet before getting into the shower. Didn’t waste time drying off. She just wrapped the towel around her body and hurried out of the shower. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

He gave a grim nod. His gaze swept over her.

There was something about his stare . . .

Her hold tightened on the towel.

His eyes met hers. “I remember you.”

The whole room seemed to be getting warmer, and all of that heat was coming right from him.

“Please tell me that you remember the good stuff,” she whispered.

“You killed me.” Flat.

Crap. “That’s not the good stuff.” Cassie wanted to back away, but there was no place to go. The shower was behind her, and once again, Dante was between her and the only exit.

“I remembered . . . saying I should let you die . . .”

Still not good. “Okay, look, you might not believe this, but there are actually good memories that we share.” It hadn’t all been death and pain and fire.

Had it?

He stalked toward her. His hands reached out. Caught the edge of the towel.

“Dante?”

“I have all my memories of you. And some are so good”—the towel dropped to the floor—“that I want to have them again and again.”