Letting his hands drop away, Domitian straightened and took one slow step back. He nodded and then, voice flat, said, “You are right. We should talk.”
He saw regret flicker briefly across her face, but Sarita took a small step back and simply asked, “Do you know why we were kidnapped?”
After a hesitation, he said, “I was kidnapped because I am immortal. Dressler has been collecting immortals for the last couple of years.”
“Do you see any other immortals here?” she asked dryly and then pointed out, “And I’m not immortal.”
Domitian shook his head slowly, and then eyed her with curiosity and asked, “You have some idea why we are both here?”
Sarita sighed, and nodded unhappily. “Dressler has been experimenting on the immortals he took.”
“Experimenting how?” Domitian asked at once with concern.
“I only know about one experiment, but it was absolutely awful,” Sarita said grimly and quickly told him about the experiment she’d interrupted and then inadvertently helped with.
“At the end he explained about the nanos that made your kind immortal, and mentioned that my life mate was coming.” She frowned and then added, “Before that though, he said he’d made it his business to find out everything he could about your kind. I’m quite sure this experiment was just one of many. I wouldn’t be surprised if every one of the immortals he has is strapped to a table with different limbs or pieces missing. The man is sick.”
“Madre de Dios,” Domitian breathed. His stomach was now churning at the thought of what the one immortal Sarita had seen had suffered and what the others might even now be going through. The worse part was he knew some of those immortals. Hell, he was related to four of them. Glancing at her sharply, he asked, “What color eyes did the man you saw have?”
She appeared surprised at the question, but then thought briefly before saying, “He only opened his eyes once and it was quick, but I remember thinking they were the most beautiful silver-green eyes I’d ever seen.”
“Green,” Domitian breathed with relief.
“What is it?” Sarita asked with a frown. “Do you know one of the immortals on the island?”
He wasn’t surprised she’d guessed that. The woman was smart and a police officer. She was probably trained to put clues together.
“Si. Or at least I know five men who have gone missing and suspect they are on the island,” he admitted, but he didn’t mention that one was his uncle Victor and another three were his cousins Lucern, Nicholas, and Decker. The fifth man, Santo Notte, was related only by marriage and very loosely at that. He also didn’t mention his aunt by marriage, Eshe Argeneau, or her partner Mirabeau La Roche.
“I’m sorry,” she said solemnly and Domitian winced as her words made him realize that while none of his relatives could be the man cut in half, they were probably being subjected to other, equally horrible experiments as she’d suggested.
Concern and guilt battled within Domitian as he realized that while his relatives were suffering unknown horrors, he’d been dropped into a tropical paradise and was mating with his life mate. Shaking his head, he paced away, and then returned, growling, “Why am I here? Why am I not in a lab being cut up? Why is he not experimenting on me?”
“I think he is,” Sarita said quietly.
Domitian stopped midstep and whirled on her. “What?”
She shrugged and gestured to the nightgown she wore and pointed out, “He put us here in this honeymoon haven, left only skimpy gowns for me and boxers for you, along with lots of food, wine, blood for you, and a very big bed.”
“Si?” he said, not seeing how that could be an experiment.
“He said he’d made it his business to learn everything about immortals,” Sarita pointed out. “I think that must include seeing firsthand the life mate sex he’s heard about. There are cameras all over this place. At least inside. I didn’t look to see if there are any outside.”
She frowned briefly and then shrugged. “I suspect this is part one of the experiment—watching us mate in a natural habitat. The next part is probably to force us to mate in a lab with electrodes all over us to measure heart rate and whatnot, and then take blood tests before, during, and after to check for hormone levels and such.”
“El es el Diablo,” Domitian breathed with horror.
Suffering the physical pain this man was likely putting the others through was bad enough, but while Sarita tried to hide it, he could see that the idea that someone had filmed and watched their private moments upset her. He couldn’t imagine how being forced to perform sexually in a lab with electrodes and whatnot would affect the petite woman before him. And he wouldn’t have it, Domitian thought grimly. They would not be making love again until they were away from here and safe.
“Of course,” Sarita said now, a scowl on her face, “he could have taken our blood after we . . . you know . . . banged upstairs in the bathroom,” she said, flushing a bit. “I lost consciousness. He said that happens, but I woke up in bed instead of on the floor and he could have—”
“I moved you to the bed when I woke up,” Domitian assured her and then said stiffly, “And we did not bang, we made love.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly. “I’m pretty sure you have to love someone for it to be making love, and I don’t love you. I don’t even know you.”
Domitian knew he shouldn’t be hurt by her words, but he was. It reminded him that while he’d known for a decade and a half that she was his life mate and had followed her life, coming to admire, respect, and care for her over the years, she’d never even heard his name until just hours earlier. He put that issue aside for now as another cropped up in his mind. “Wait, this cannot be an experiment. There is no way Dressler could know that you are my life mate.”
“He does,” Sarita assured him. “He told me in the lab, and then he talked about how hot life mate sex is and stuff in the letter he left.”
“The letter. Where is it?” Domitian asked at once.
“It’s on the desk in the office,” she admitted, but caught his arm as he turned toward the stairs and reminded him in a quiet voice, “There are cameras everywhere up there, and in the lab down here too. We need to watch what we do and say.”
Domitian’s expression tightened. Giving a short nod, he caught her hand and led her back upstairs.
The letter was on the desk where she’d left it. Domitian urged her into the desk chair, and then settled on the corner of the desk and quickly read the message. Unlike her, he only paused to comment once while reading it and that was to curse.
“What?” Sarita asked curiously.
“He knows my name,” Domitian said on a sigh.
“Okay,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Was he not supposed to?”
He shook his head. “I have lived under the name Diego Villanueva for the last five years, and that was the name he hired me under.”
“Hired you?” Sarita asked with surprise.
“Si.” Domitian supposed she’d assumed that he’d just been abducted off the street or something like the others, so he explained, “Dressler has been offering me a job for years and I always refused. But when this kidnapping business was tracked to him, I accepted his offer. The bastard played me from the start,” he added grimly. “He knew my real name all along.”
“What job did he hire you for?”
“Chef at his home on the island.”
Sarita nodded slowly. “Yeah, he played you. Aleta is the cook there and she’s amazing. He wouldn’t replace her,” she said with certainty.
“I am a master chef, trained at all the best European schools,” Domitian said a little stiffly.
Sarita shrugged that away as if all his training and skills were of little import and then asked curiously, “So why have you been living under the name Diego Villanueva for five years?”
“Immortals live a long time and do not age. We have to move every ten years to avoid mortals noticing.”
“Ah,” she murmured with understanding. “What was your name before Diego?”