Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

Draping the restraints over her shoulder, Athena crouched and grabbed her father’s ankles. Between the two of them, they managed to wrestle Wells’s slack body up off the floor and onto the second bed. A few moments more and he was restrained at wrists and ankles. Caterina wiped sweat from her forehead.

“Do you know if your father received a package from Nevada a week or so ago?”

Athena glanced at her father, a dark smile twisting her lips. “Yes,” she said and walked into the hall.

Caterina followed Athena, listening to the sound of her renewed whispers, down the hall to the faint pool of light and the room beyond, a well-appointed office decorated with spears, shields and breastplates—most likely Hellenic, given Wells’s interests in all things Greek.

Athena led her to the desk. She bent over the computer and tapped her fingers across a couple of keys and clicked open a file. She stepped back. “There.”

Caterina took Athena’s place at the desk and glanced at the monitor. Black wings arched behind the back of the man— man? No, Fallen —who held Dante in his arms.

“Do you remember Genevieve Baptiste? My son’s mother?” the fallen angel said.

Knees weak, Caterina sank into the chair, her heart pounding hard against her ribs, her thoughts whirling.

At long last, she learned what had become of Johanna Moore.

And why Jon Bronlee had stepped in front of a semi.

Seattle, WA—Vespers

March 23

VESPERS REEKED OF SPILLED beer, clove cigarettes, and patchouli. Heather grabbed Annie’s hand and held it tight as she steered her away from the gleaming brass and mahogany bar and into the sweat-soaked crowd jammed up against the rail in front of the stage.

Dogspit had finished their set and Heather was sorry she’d missed them. Annie had taken forever to get ready, changing clothes at least three times and fussing with her hair, but that was her little sister.

The crowd buzzed and chattered as people waited for Inferno to hit the stage. Goth princesses in velvet and black lace and fishnet stood side by side with cyber-Goths in PVC and fetish wear; neo-punks in Mohawks spiked in purple and red shoved against muscular misfits in leather and latex, their black-dyed devil locks hanging over sullen faces; a handful of nomads in road-weathered leathers stood off to the side, the black bird-vee tattooed on their right cheeks marking their clan as Raven.

Male and female, the crowd fought for places along the rail, anchoring themselves in place with double-handed grips and feet braced against the struts.

Heather felt underdressed in her Skechers, black jeans, and purple fishnet shirt pulled over a purple bra. Or overdressed, depending on who you were looking at, she thought as she sidled past a woman crammed into a black leather bustier and leather hot pants, flesh spilling over at both ends.

“Have you been to an Inferno show before?” Annie shouted above the drunken buzz. The pungent smell of pot curled into the air.

“No, first time I’ve seen them perform.” Heather worked an elbow path through the crowd to a spot at the right of the stage, near the nomads, and behind the first phalanx wedged up against the rail. “Dante said he’d heard WMD,” she shouted. “Said he thought you guys were among the fucking best.”

“Yeah? Cool.” A pleased smiled curved Annie’s lips. With heavy kohl around her eyes, glittering purple shadow on her lids and smeared across her lips, she was a sexy club beauty in her tight, black GRAVEYARD tank, black and purple crinoline skirts, fishnet stockings, and latex-strapped boots.

The crowd stirred as someone—tall, lean, and mustached—strode out onto the stage and waved for the lights to be lowered. The crescent moon tattoo beneath his eye glittered like sun-struck mica under the lights.

“Hey, darlin’!” Von shouted, striding to the edge of the stage. He crouched. “Whatcha doing in the crowd? Dante has y’all signed up as VIPs.”

Heads at the rail craned around to see who he was speaking to. Attention riveted on Heather. People whispered to each other.

“Hey, Von,” Heather called to the nomad. “I wanted to see the crowd.”

Von lowered his shades and winked at Annie. “This must be your sister. Looks sure as hell run in the Wallace family.” He grinned wolfishly.

“Thanks,” Heather said, and glanced at her sister. Annie stared intently at the fangs Von’s grin revealed.

He jumped down off the stage and into the area between the stage and the rail. He motioned for people to move aside and, reluctantly, they did. “C’mere, doll,” he said, motioning to Annie.

Chin lifted, Annie stepped forward and a path to the rail opened up for her as people shuffled to either side. Von slid his hands around her waist and lifted her to the stage as though she weighed nothing.

“Your turn.”

Heather walked to the rail and Von slipped an arm around her waist and jumped onto the stage with her at his side. For a moment, she felt like they were flying.

Von led her and Annie across the darkened stage, past the shadowed equipment and speakers, to the curtained wings. Dante walked out, pale face lit, eyes gleaming, light glinting from the steel ring in his bondage collar. And Heather stopped, her heart in her throat, breathless.

Dammit. Gotta quit doing that. It’s just Dante .

And that was the whole thing in a nutshell: It’s just Dante . No one else like him.

“Catin.” He looked her up and down, appreciation lighting his eyes. “ Très fucking sexy.” He looked at Annie. “Hey, p’tite . You clean up good.”

“Gee, thanks,” Annie said, rolling her eyes.

Dante wrapped his arms around Heather. His latex-and leather-clad body burned against hers. His hands slid up to her face and cupped it, his rings cool against her skin. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her. His lips tasted sweet, like black licorice, and she tasted alcohol. Electricity arced to her belly and between her legs.

“Glad you’re here,” he said when the kiss ended.

“Me too,” Heather murmured.

“Geez,” Annie said. “Get a room, why don’t you?”

“Tais toi, p’tite.”

“Speak English, dork.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s better. Heard you were a WMD fan.”

A smile tilted Dante’s lips. Releasing Heather, he stepped back and gave his attention to Annie. “Yup. Y’all ever gonna get together again?”

“Maybe,” Annie said. “Depends. You ever gonna let me put that collar to use?”

Dante laughed, but Heather sucked in a breath, stung, and whirled on her sister. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing. Just teasing. Fuck, relax!” Annie crossed her arms over her chest and a familiar, sullen look masked her face.

“He’s…” Heather paused. What was she about to say? He’s mine? He’s taken? Was that true? Sudden heat warmed her cheeks. When had she made that decision?

“You’re fucking blushing,” Annie said, her tone incredulous.

A smile tilted Dante’s lips. “I think I like it when she blushes,” he said. Then he stepped forward and touched his forehead to Heather’s. His hands settled on her waist, his fingers hot against her mesh-draped skin. Heated tingles rippled though her. “Anytime you want,” he whispered. “I’m yours.”