Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

She felt the heated touch of his lips and her heart raced. She forced herself to remain still as his fangs pierced her skin. Renata had taught her the skills necessary to keep her alive among vampires.

Never struggle, my little love. That will awaken the hunter, especially among the young ones. If you struggle, they will tear and rend, seize their prey. Keep still. Keep centered. And shout your thoughts—you will be heard. And that will save your life.

Dante’s body, hard and coiled and fevered, pressed against hers as he drank her down in deep ravenous swallows. Caterina caught a whiff of his autumn scent, fallen leaves and rich, dark soil, earthy and warm. Her eyes closed.

She felt like curling up and sleeping. Dreaming deep. Dreaming long.

A thought darted into her mind: Dead, how can you protect this True Blood prince, this Fallen child? If you nourish him with every drop of your blood, who will guard him?

Caterina forced her eyes open. Her heart no longer raced. Its rhythm had slowed. Biting the inside of her cheek, she used pain to push back the tide of sleepiness washing over her. Cold sweat beaded her forehead. She focused her thoughts at Dante.

I’d be honored to be your fille de sang, if you would be my père de sang.

Dante paused in his swallowing, held himself still. Listening.

Caterina funneled all of her concentration, her remaining energy into what might become her last words: I always thought that when I was ready, I’d take the blood sacrament from my mother, but I’d be honored to be your fille de sang, Dante Baptiste, if you would have me.

His head lifted. His gaze now seemed clear, lucid—his delirium gone. He licked her blood from his lips, gorgeous lips, Caterina thought drowsily. Gold light glimmered in the depths of his eyes.

“Your mother’s nightkind?”

Caterina nodded. Wonder flashed across Dante’s face. “ Merci for the gift of your blood,” he said, voice low, the cadence of his words Cajun-musical. “But I ain’t taking any more. I’ll leave the night of choosing between you and your mom.”

Despite the hunger lingering in his eyes, Dante pulled away from her. Caterina regretted losing the fevered heat of his body. Her skin goosebumped and she shivered, cold inside and out.

“Your name,” he said. “You know mine.”

Caterina, daughter of Renata Alessa Cortini, she thought, finally sliding into the long deep dream promised when his lips had first touched her throat.

WITH THE TASTE OF Caterina’s blood on his tongue, Dante swung around on his knees to face Heather. She sat back on her heels, her gaze on his face.

“Did you…?” She glanced past him to the sofa. “Is she…?”

“No.”

Relief flickered across Heather’s face.

But if Caterina hadn’t arrowed her thoughts to him the way she had, he would’ve drained her without thought, and that troubled him. It was one thing to hunt those who hurt others, or to accept offered blood, but it was another thing altogether to feed upon a trussed-up and helpless mortal.

Von’s words returned to him: You’re too young and in too much pain .

Maybe so, mon ami. Still ain’t no excuse .

“Don’t you want to finish your meal?” Athena/Hades asked.

Dante shook his head, and the broken glass in his head shifted and scraped. Light danced through his mind in green electric sparks. His breath caught in his throat.

Heather reached for him, a tendril of red hair sliding across her face, and Dante’s vision whited-out…

Chloe bounces out of the bedroom wearing the purple Winnie the Pooh shirt he nabbed for her from Walgreens. Grinning, blue eyes bright, she throws her arms around him and hugs him. She smells like strawberries and soap .

It fits, Dante-angel! It’s perfect!

He laughs .

Dante blinked. The ceiling with its dark wood beams whirled into focus. He tasted blood, his own. His muscles trembled from strain. Pain bit into his joints.

“Do you need more blood?” Heather leaned over him, her eyes glistening, her lashes wet. “I’ll feed you, if you need more.”

Crying? For him? His throat tightened. He wished he could touch her. “ Merci beaucoup, chérie, but no. Help me up.”

“I’ll do that.” Lyin’ Lyons locked a hand around Dante’s bicep and yanked him upright. The room spun, dipped, and Dante struggled to get his feet under him. Once he had his balance, he jerked free of Lyons’s grip.

“You’ve fed,” Lyons said. “You should be strong enough to do what you promised.”

“ Ça y est . Fuck yourself. I promised nothing.”

With a soft sigh, the whisper-wind awakened. “Holytrinitydantewillmakeusone…”

“You said you’d heal my sister.”

“Yeah, if you let Heather and Annie go, but ’cha didn’t.”

Lyons glanced at his sister as she circled the sofa, her spear tapping out the rhythm of her whispers against the carpet. He blinked hard several times. “All right. What’s it going to take?”

“Ain’t doing nothing till these fucking cuffs come off. Heather’s too.”

Lyons looked at Dante. His pale brows angled down. “How can I trust you?”

“You can’t,” Dante said, holding his gaze. “Gonna hafta take your chances.”

Shaking his head, Lyons walked over to Heather, pulling his gun from the back of his jeans at the same time. “Up,” he told her, motioning with the gun. She unfolded gracefully from the floor, her chin lifted.

“You think threatening Heather’s gonna put me in a helpful mood?”

“No,” Lyons said. He pushed aside a lock of her hair with the muzzle of his gun. “I’m hoping the fact that I’ll kill her will keep you from doing something stupid.”

“Go to hell, Lyons,” Heather said.

Lyons shoved the muzzle’s mouth against her temple. Wrapped his finger around the trigger. “We’re already there.”

Dante’s pulse double-timed. Fire raged through his veins, his mind. “You hurt her and I’ll put you in the ground.”

The whisper-wind fell silent. The Lord of the Underworld stopped pacing. “My realm. No one goes underground except through me.”

A fetid graveyard reek followed Athena/Hades as she walked around the sofa and joined her brother. Mud flaked from her skin, her coiled hair. “Maybe it’s time to give Father to him.”

Dante’s heart thumped hard against his chest. “He’s here?” The room suddenly whirled, and his vision grayed. He sat down on the sofa and lowered his head. He drew in deep, slow breaths. From beside him, he heard the steady beat of Caterina’s heart.

“You okay?” Lyons asked.

“Blow me.”

“I need you—”

“Tais toi,” Dante said, raising his head. The room remained in one place, a good sign. “Don’t wanna hear it. You can still go fuck yourself—twice and hard.”

“It’s time for the transformation,” Athena/Hades said, her voice light and girlish again. “To rule the Underworld, I must first enter it as one of the dead.”

“No, no, no, Athena…”

“Hades,” she corrected gently. She cupped a mud-streaked hand against her brother’s face. “Once our Dante has resurrected me, we shall rule the Underworld together. Isn’t that what it says in Godhead and Divinity for Dummies ?” she teased.