Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

With a shudder, the energy and light recedes, vanishes. Dante lowers his hands. Opens his eyes. He looks down at the moist strands that used to be Johanna. Kicks them apart with his boots. And walks away .

For a moment, excitement burned away Caterina’s exhaustion. She had so much to tell her mother; the Bloodline not only still held, but was evolving, and a whispered myth from the ancient past now walked the earth in a slender, tight-muscled, breathtaking form.

A True Blood prince and Fallen Maker.

Did Dante represent a new path for all—Fallen, vampires, and mortals?

After Caterina had slept, she’d return to the Wells house. After Dante Baptiste arrived in Damascus, Caterina would go to him and lay her Glock at his booted feet. She’d humbly ask to serve him as samurai and protector.

And refuse to leave until he agreed.

COLLEEN SHEP STEERED THE rented Lexus ES into a slot in the Doubletree’s parking lot and shut off the engine. She leaned back in the seat and sighed.

“I hear that,” Norwich said, raking his fingers through his tousled hair. “The flight sucked, the rental desk sucked bigger, and the traffic from the airport sucked huge.”

“Wanna bet they screwed up our reservation?”

Norwich laughed. “You’re on. If they screwed it up, I’ll buy you a nightcap in the bar. If everything’s in order, you’ll buy.”

“Deal.” Shep reached under the dash and pulled the trunk release lever. “How do you wanna handle things tomorrow?”

Norwich opened his door, then paused. “Swing by Wallace’s house during the day, when her neighbors are at work.” He rubbed his face as he considered, and in the silence, Shep heard the whiskers rasping against his palm. “Tell her she was exposed to something top secret and potentially lethal, tell her she’s being escorted to the CDC in Atlanta.”

Shep nodded. “We can even ask for a list of everyone she’s been in contact with to make it sound good.”

“I like that,” Norwich said, stepping out of the car and unfolding his length. “Should keep her cooperative.” A cool breeze smelling of rain blew into the car and ruffled Shep’s hair before Norwich closed the door.

Shep glanced in the rearview mirror and swiped at her razor-cut black hair, trying to spike it back into edgy life. The Lexus bounced as Norwich freed their suitcases from the trunk. She heard a couple of dull thuds. Grabbing her purse, she slid out from behind the wheel. With a tap to the smart key, she locked the car.

“Y’know, we could spend part of the day checking out the waterfront first,” Shep said as she walked to the rear of the Lexus. “I’ve never been to—” She halted, staring at the tall man in hoodie and jeans bent over the trunk’s opened mouth. He sure as hell wasn’t Norwich. Her hand darted for the Colt in her purse.

Not-Norwich straightened and turned, his pulled-up hoodie shadowing his face. He aimed a small black gun— trank gun, Shep realized in that split second—held in his gloved hand.

Shep yanked the Colt up and out of the purse. Wrapped her finger around the trigger. But before she could squeeze off a round, something dropped over her, something prickling and charged, like a net woven of electricity. Shep tried to squeeze the Colt’s trigger. But nothing happened when she attempted to flex her finger. She couldn’t move.

Jaw clenched, Shep willed her muscles to action. Willed her finger to squeeze the goddamned trigger. Sweat trickled down her temple. Nothing. Not-Norwich walked over and plucked the gun from her short-circuited hand.

“I’m a federal agent,” Shep rasped. This close, she caught a glimpse of blond curls under the hoodie.

“Yeah, I know,” Not-Norwich said. “And I’m honestly sorry about this. It wasn’t my idea.”

Shep’s gaze cut to the trunk, and her heart stuttered against her ribs. Norwich was accordioned inside, eyes half-open, mouth lax. Her mouth dried. “Who—”

“You can thank the tightrope walker.”

Something stung Shep’s arm. She lifted into the air, floating toward the trunk’s Norwich-crammed interior, then dropped inside. Liquid pain boiled through her veins. She tried to scream, but her bubbling lungs refused to take in air. The trunk shut with a solid thunk .

And then, Colleen Shep died in the trunk of a rented car, in the darkness, jammed against her partner’s lifeless body, just fifty minutes after arriving in Seattle.

ALEX PICKED UP THE purse that had fallen from Shep’s shoulder and dug through it for the Lexus’s keys. Finding them, he plucked them free, then unlocked the car. He stuffed the suitcases into the backseat. Relocking the car, he trotted to the Dumpster. The ripe smell of rotting vegetables and dirty diapers drifted into the air as he lifted the lid. He tossed the purse and keys inside, then strode across the parking lot.

He’d just used tranks developed for vampires on humans. He felt a little queasy. It was one thing to kill a vagrant or a hitchhiker for Athena’s experiments, another thing entirely to kill fellow agents.

Correction: SB agents.

But since protecting Heather Wallace been part of the assassin’s price to ensure Athena’s safety, he’d had little choice.

Do you intend to give your father to Dante Baptiste?

Amen, sister. That’s my plan, my humble offer to him .

Good. I’ll keep your father alive, then .

The assassin with the low, sexy voice had requested that Alex divert the arriving team from their mission, requested he warn Wallace. True, she hadn’t mentioned killing the team, but death was one helluva diversion.

Beneath the halogen streetlights, Alex’s shadow jittered and jerked on the pavement as he trotted across South 188th to his parked truck. He climbed in and peeled off his gloves, tossed them on the floorboard. He tucked the trank gun under the seat for safekeeping.

The Dodge Ram’s engine started with a deep rumble. Alex reflected on the fact that with his father lunatic-trussed to a bed, his instructions were now null and void. Yet his father’s voice rippled through his thoughts: Only I have a map to the labyrinth within S’s head—a labyrinth I created .

Alex reached a hand into his hoodie pocket, touched the iPod’s smooth shape. Why not test that claim? Why not see if the message actually triggered Dante? If Alex understood his father, Dante would be triggered long enough to follow the instructions from the iPod. Doping him unconscious would nullify his programming again, kick it back into the cluttered cellar of his subconscious.

Pulling his hand free from his pocket, Alex shifted the truck into first and steered it into wee-hours traffic.

S needs to be used in precise strikes against our enemies, Alexander, then returned to sleep. If S remains triggered, there’ll be no stopping him .

Inferno’s latest pounded from the speakers. And Dante’s voice, smoldering and pissed, whispered, “Break me / I’m daring you / see if you can…”

“Amen to that, brother,” Alex said. “Amen to that.”

Gehenna, in the Royal Aerie

March 23–24

LILITH LIFTED HER VEIL and glanced behind her. The gleaming marble corridor was empty, the lights dimmed to a low orange. Dawn was still several hours away and most within the royal aerie slept, except for a few night-duty servants and guards.