Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

“The closet.” Von smacked his forehead. “Never woulda thought of that.”

“Since Annie’s home, I’m going to bed. Wake me before you Sleep, okay?”

Von nodded. “You got it, darlin’. Sleep tight.”

Back in her room, Heather placed her .38 in the nightstand drawer, kicked off her slippers, and left the door open just enough for Eerie to come and go. She slipped beneath the quilt and up beside Dante. She spooned him, tucking herself against his fevered heat, and draped her arm over his waist. As she slid into sleep, his warm scent enveloped her and perfumed her dreams.

Portland, OR

March 23/24

CATERINA LOCKED THE MOTEL room door behind her, then tossed her overnight bag onto the bed. She was exhausted after the long, dirty night and was looking forward to a hot shower and a few hours of sleep. She reeked of soil and sweat and decay, the smell of the dead clinging to her like a fetid perfume.

She eased her laptop onto the lacquered desk, then opened it. She needed to report her progress. She needed to buy time. Keying open the minibar, she pulled out an ice-cold bottle of SoBe Green Tea, twisted the cap off, and poured a long, cooling draft down her throat.

Plunking down on the desk chair, she clicked on NEW MESSAGE and typed in: Wells assignment completed to satisfaction. Since Wallace is no longer ours, we’ll catch some sleep, then a flight home .

Caterina hit SEND and folded the laptop. Closing her eyes, she rested the cold bottle of tea against her forehead. Burying Beck and Mrs. Wells had taken more energy than she’d expected, energy she hadn’t planned on expending.

Caterina regretted Mrs. Wells’s murder. It had never occurred to her that Athena would off her terminally ill mother. Her father, yes, given her hostility toward him. But since Athena was determined to see him in Dante’s hands, Caterina had thought it safe to leave her with her parents while she disposed of Beck.

A mistake.

Remembering what Wells had so enthusiastically done to Dante Baptiste from birth, Caterina had believed the man empty of normal human emotions, soulless.

But Wells’s spittle-flying fury after Gloria’s death had proven her wrong on that score, at least where his wife was concerned.

I’ll have S rip you out of that body and pour your mother into it! I should’ve had you put down like your mother advised! You’re nothing but a flawed and bitter mistake. Alexander will be happy to kill you! He’s looking forward to it!

Wells’s threats had stopped only when Caterina had slapped several layers of duct tape across his mouth.

Small wonder Athena Wells’s sanity had unraveled.

Watching Athena, listening to her, Caterina had realized that the woman who’d renamed herself Hades was a precog. An unusual gift for a mortal, but not unheard of. But was Athena’s future sight warped by madness, the clarity of her visions whirling with debris from the storm raging within her mind?

Caterina had a feeling the answer to those questions would be both yes and no.

Later Caterina had walked Athena to the guest cottage and put her to bed as Alex Lyons had requested. As per their arrangement—she would care for his sister and guard Wells, for Dante’s sake, and Lyons would make sure that Dante arrived safe and sound. And he’d make sure the team coming to collect Heather Wallace failed.

Dante Baptiste had saved Wallace’s life, had carried her from the center cradled in his arms. As far as Caterina was concerned, that marked Wallace as Dante’s beloved. Reason enough to protect her.

“Time for bed,” Caterina says. “I promised your brother.”

Athena strips to her bra and panties, then crawls onto the bed like a child, and slides beneath the blankets. She stares at the ceiling, her lips moving as she whispers . Shadows smudge the skin beneath her eyes, hollow her cheeks .

Cold ices Caterina from the inside out as she looks around the room. Pictures of Dante are pinned to each wall—night-vision shots from the security cam footage—his pale face rapt, his eyes closed, rays of light whipping around him, from him .

Caterina bends and smoothes the blankets over Athena’s chest, tucks them in securely. She seems insubstantial, a ghost, the flickering memory of a woman, and Caterina brushes Athena’s hair back from her face. A pretty face, smooth-skinned and oval, pale brows, gently sloping nose over curving lips. But her eyes are incandescent, as though moonlit. And gazing upon things only she can see .

Athena lifts her arm and Caterina injects her with the sleep meds as Lyons had instructed during their conversation. Athena’s lids droop. Pale lashes flutter.

“Fi la nana, e mi bel fiol, fi la nana, e mi be fiol,” Caterina sings softly, her voice more husky than her mother’s, not as sweet .

Athena’s whispers falter. End .

Caterina finishes her lullaby, and then walks from the room, easing the door shut behind her. She leaves the cottage, Athena’s words spiraling through her mind like a never-ending staircase and chilling her blood —Dante will make us three, holy trinity.

Relaxing into the chair, Caterina lowered the SoBe bottle to her mouth and finished the tea. She’d considered giving Athena a lethal bedtime dose, but honor wouldn’t allow it. She was trusting Lyons to fulfill his end of his agreement; she needed to tend to her end.

But that obligation was now satisfied.

Whatever the twins had planned for Dante would never come to pass. They’d never live long enough to do him harm. Caterina would make sure of that.

Eventually, it would be discovered that Beck was dead and that Caterina had gone rogue. One of two things would happen: she’d be named traitor, her life forfeit, and she’d be hunted by the best; or fear of Renata Alessa Cortini and the hellstorm she would unleash upon the SB if anything happened to Caterina would convince her handlers to look the other way.

No matter the outcome, Caterina knew she’d be wise to look over her shoulder and watch her back for years to come. Many, many years. Some of her soon-to-be former handlers had long memories, indeed.

Caterina set the empty SoBe bottle on the desk and rose to her feet. Walking into the bathroom, she turned on the shower and undressed while waiting for the water to heat up, folding her clothes neatly as she removed them.

She stepped into the shower, the hot water easing the kinks from her muscles and the weariness from her limbs. Steam curled into the air. As she tipped her head back and wet her hair, an image from the footage she’d watched flashed through her mind.

The energy surrounding Dante shafts into Johanna’s body from dozens of different points. Explodes from her eyes. From her nostrils. Her screaming mouth. She separates into strands, wet and glistening. Dante’s energy unthreads Johanna. Pulls apart every single element of her flesh .

Unmakes her .

Johanna Moore spills to the tiled floor, her scream ending in a gurgle .

Energy continues to emanate from Dante, snapping like whips into the air and altering everything touched. The counter transforms into a heaving twist of vines thick with thorns; Johanna’s gun slithers into the vines .

Dante’s beautiful face is ecstatic. He closes his eyes and shivers as energy spikes from his body, flames from his hands .