Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

Von blinked, then his eyes focused. He jumped to his feet in one smooth, light-blurring movement. Did a whirling 360. “Where the hell is Dante? Did she take him?”

“Who?” Heather asked, cold seeping in through her wet skin.

“One of the Fallen, a chick,” Von said. “She ordered me to give Dante to her. Said others were on their way. God dammit ! Lucien asked me to guard Dante from the Fallen.”

Heather pushed her wet hair away from her face. “But Dante’s part Fallen too, why would he need—”

“Dante Baptiste is a Maker.” The dark-haired woman’s voice joined the conversation. She stepped beside Annie. “And a True Blood prince.”

Von fixed a hard gaze on her. “And who the hell are you?”

“Caterina Cortini, llygad ,” she answered, her voice laced with respect. “I was sent by the SB to kill Wells.” She looked at Heather, her gaze steady. “And you.”

Von’s hand blurred to his jacket, a creak of leather. Heather blinked. A Browning muzzle was shoved against Cortini’s temple. “Care to explain that comment before I pull this trigger?”

Cortini’s gaze remained steady, but Heather had caught a flash of surprise in her eyes at Von’s action. “The order changed,” Cortini said to her. “The SB sent another team to bring you in. But even before then, I’d decided to protect both you and Dante Baptiste.”

The muzzle didn’t waver, not one iota.

“Why would you do that?” Heather asked.

“Because I learned who and what Dante is and guessed at what you mean to him.”

“And why do you care?” Heather replied, voice tight.

“My mother is vampire.” Cortini’s chin lifted a shade. “I was raised in a vampire household and I’ve listened to fables about True Blood all my life.”

“A child of the heart,” Von said. “Who’s your mom?”

“Renata Alessa Cortini.”

Von whistled. “Holy hell. One of the Cercle de Druide.” He lowered the gun to his side. He looked at Heather. “I say, let’s trust her for the moment. She fucks up, she’s dead.”

Cortini inclined her head toward Von. “Thank you, llygad .”

“Good enough for me,” Heather said. “Let’s find Dante.”

WINGS RUSTLED. DANTE SMELLED wing musk and smoky incense. Heat radiated against him. The ache in his heart eased.

Lucien’s here and safe .

But the scent was wrong and the scent was female.

Dante opened his eyes and looked into a woman’s rain-beaded face—golden eyes, midnight hair, a slender sapphire-blue torc around her throat. The black tips of her wings arched above her head, sheltering him from the rain. She traced a finger along his jaw, trailing down to his collar.

“You had a seizure, Dante. But you mustn’t rest for long, we need to leave.”

“You know my name. You a friend of Lucien’s?”

“Yes, he sent me,” she said. “And you may call me Lilith.” She flicked a glance at the sky. “We need to leave.”

“No, ain’t leaving. Why’d Lucien send you and not come himself?” Dante pushed himself up off the ground. Pain lanced through his ribs. Scraped through his mind. The night pinwheeled around him and he would’ve taken another header if Lilith hadn’t steadied him with a hand to his shoulder.

“Merci,” he murmured, stepping free of her support. “Is Lucien okay?”

The light in Lilith’s eyes softened. “Your father’s dead, little one.”

“Liar. I don’t fucking believe you!” He reached for his bond with Lucien again and touched emptiness. Pain burned like acid through his mind. He reeled, touched trembling fingers to his temple.

“He died to protect you from his enemies,” Lilith said. “And that sacrifice has injured you, more than you know. Let me help you.”

Dante couldn’t catch his breath. His heart felt cold and still, the blood cooling in his veins. He shivered convulsively, his hands knuckling into fists. “No,” he choked out. “T’a menti . He ain’t dead, he ain’t .”

Je t’aime, mon fils, toujours.

I shoved him away and now he’s gone forever .

Will he be with me now, Dante-angel?

Red hair, freckles, blue eyes, and giggles. Chloe. This time her name didn’t slide from his mind, a pebble skittering across ice. This time, her name, her face, stayed .

Chloe .

Dante’s breath caught in his throat. Grief knifed his heart. His muscles coiled, trembled. Blood trickled from his nose. “My princess,” he breathed.

“We need to go,” Lilith urged. “I promised your father I’d keep you safe.”

Lucien’s voice whispered through Dante’s memory: I tried to keep you safe in silence .

You promised me I’d never be alone again. And I abandoned you.

Dante’s eyes stung. He met Lilith’s golden gaze. “Why should I trust you?”

“Lucien told me that you once gave him a gift he cherished, an X-rune pendant.”

Memory splashed acid through Dante’s mind.

“Hey , mon ami, I saw this in a boutique. And I thought of you.”

A sterling silver and tungsten chain slides from Dante’s hand into Lucien’s palm .

“The rune for friendship,” Lucien murmurs. A pleased light warms his eyes. He teases: “What possessed you to think of me?”

Dante shrugs, a smile tilting his lips. “Dunno. Just happens from time to time.”

“Where’s his body?” Dante said, voice low and raw. “Wanna see it.”

Lilith blinked. “Gone to ash. Nothing remains.”

A muscle flexed in Dante’s jaw. Lucien’s words flashed through his burning thoughts: I hid you from others. Powerful others who would use you without mercy .

The Fallen will find you. And bind you .

Lilith pointed a taloned finger at the sky. “ They are why you should trust me. They murdered your father so they could claim you.”

Dante looked up into waves of intense blue and purple and green light shimmering across the sky. Song suddenly resonated through the night air, warbling from many throats, each individual rhythm and melodic strand weaving into a flawless whole; an ethereal concerto ringing to Dante’s core.

Ain’t binding me. Not ever. Not unless they know how to bind a fucking corpse .

Dante’s song rose in response, a dark and furious aria.

THE RAIN STOPPED.

Sheridan knotted his tie around his thigh, hoping to slow the bleeding. The pain hadn’t set in really, not yet, but he knew it would soon. He wondered if he could make it down the slope, down the driveway and to the road before the vampire…

Something flared in the sky.

Sheridan looked up.

And his mind quietly and irrevocably unwound.

“THERE,” VON SAID, POINTING across the yard and up the wooded slope.

Heather peered into the darkness. Dante wasn’t alone; a winged figure stood beside him—the Fallen female. The night rustled, a massive rushing sound, like a powerful wind gusting ahead of a storm or a tidal surge or hundreds of wings.

“Holy fuck,” Von whispered, his gaze on the sky.

Heather looked up and gasped. An aurora borealis of ghostly light danced and shifted across the night. Huge black Vs circled beneath the clouds; dozens of the Fallen swooped back and forth in a figure-eight loop like thermal gliding hawks, their stroking, black and gold wings glistening with rain and vibrant light.