Sunny - Mona Lisa Eclipsing

“Why would she fear Dante?” I asked. That had been what he’d been implying.

Quentin glanced at his brother’s austere face. “Let’s just say he established quite a reputation at the last service fair.”

“What did he do to earn such a reputation?” I persisted.

When no one answered my question, I turned to Dante. “Tell me,” I urged softly.

“A Queen caused you a grievous injury,” Dante said, his face carefully free of expression. “I killed her men in retaliation.”

So it was partly my fault , I thought. “Men, as in plural, more than one,” I noted.

Dante nodded.

“How many men?”

“Thirty in total.”

I absorbed the information in shocked silence. “So many?” I whispered. “Just yourself, against so many?”

Dante dipped his head. “It was a serious harm done against you. Done with malicious intent.”

Serious enough to kill thirty men for? “What did she do to me?”

“If you do not remember it, I would rather not speak of it now,” Dante said. He bowed his head. “Please, milady.”

“He is correct,” Prince Halcyon said quietly. “You can talk of such matters later. She is clearly exhausted. You should allow her to rest.”

Everyone deferred to the Demon Prince’s wishes and all conversation ceased. Dante moved across the aisle to sprawl his length across the bench seat and stare out the window, while Quentin and Nolan busied themselves reading magazines. Chami took out a cloth and began cleaning a wickedly sharp-looking blade; Aquila nodded at me gravely and looked away. Prince Halcyon simply closed his eyes, setting an example of the rest he wanted me to get.

Everyone was cooperating except for me. I tried sitting back and closing my eyes, but my tired brain continued to whirl with Quentin’s words . . . Could have forced me . . . with a simple command. Probably would have. . . had I been anybody else’s brother . . .

Were all Queens like that?

They said I was a Queen . . .

I succumbed to another yawn. My body wanted to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t shut down. Plus, I’d always been a nervous flyer.

After fifteen minutes of torturous pretend sleep, I opened my eyes and looked across the small cabin. My gaze touched on Quentin, his young and open face, the most normal, affable one among them. From there it went to Nolan, Chami, and Aquila, who had all come to my aid, who were supposed to be my friends.

My glance fell upon the dark, resting countenance of Prince Halcyon and skittered away, uneasy, nervous, despite the fact that I was, allegedly, the Demon Prince’s chosen mate . . . maybe especially because of that. How could I accept as fact this supposed betrothal—to a prince of Hell, no less—when I had no recollection of the feelings that had led up to it? The whole story seemed like empty fiction, make-believe.

As to the others, despite all their helpful aid and assistance, I didn’t know them. The only one I trusted here, the only one I knew, was a confessed killer—of me (or, rather, me in a former life!) and thirty other Monère men. Again, knowing something but not remembering it made it seem unreal. The only real thing was what I had experienced with Dante. Absurdly enough, he was the only one I felt safe and comfortable with.

I left my chair and made my way across the aisle. Dante swung his feet down, and I settled into the freed-up space beside him. Ignoring the closed expression of his face, I rested my head against his shoulder. “I’m totally wiped out, but I can’t sleep,” I whispered.

Dante’s stiff, surprised body slowly loosened and relaxed. His arm came around my shoulder, and his other hand stroked my hair in a tender, soothing caress. “That’s all right,” he murmured. “Just close your eyes and rest.”

Held by him, surrounded by his comforting scent, I did. I closed my eyes and felt the tension in me ebb and float away.

HALCYON WATCHED HIS mate fall asleep in Dante’s arms, so exhausted she didn’t stir as Dante lifted her up, turned sideways, lifting his legs back onto the seat, and settled her in a more comfortable sprawl across his chest.

The two were lovers again; their intermingled scent clinging to each other’s skin. He didn’t begrudge the comfort sought and given, then or now. Indeed, Halcyon was grateful for it even while still bleeding from the sword thrust of her innocent question. I’m sorry. You seem familiar. Do I know you?

Oh, my love . . .

It hurt even more than Mona Lisa’s wariness of him. To be forgotten—everything they had shared. That brief, warm touch of her love on his lonely existence.

Halcyon could likely, in all probability, restore her lost memory. A simple compulsion, a command to remember. But his demon presence had not stirred up the demon essence— his demon essence—in her. A curious thing.

There was no sign of demon bloodlust at all. Was it because she didn’t remember?

Memory—belief—were powerful things. Did she no longer react to him because of that lost memory? Or was she truly different now after Mona Louisa, the other dead Queen who resided in her, had been ripped out of Mona Lisa’s soul, and then remeshed together when the two of them, separate and apart, began dying. Had the experience physically altered Mona Lisa that much, so that the demon essence no longer held sway over her anymore? Was she no longer Damanôen , demon living? Or would that affliction return to her if she regained her memory? Or, another thought, if Halcyon used his demon powers on her, would that cause the weakened essence to grow strong within her once again?

Mona Louisa’s dead, entwined spirit had trapped Mona Lisa in NetherHell, the cursed realm of the guilty dead. Tearing Mona Louisa out of her had been the only way to save Mona Lisa. It had even been her choice. But it had been Halcyon who had had to inflict horrendous pain to do so. He still remembered Mona Lisa’s screams. Indeed, they replayed all too vividly in his nightmares. He had saved his lady and then lost her, because afterward she had feared him. Feared the remembered pain associated with him from that point on.

No. Even with the quietly bleeding wound of Mona Lisa not knowing him, not remembering what they had been to each other, Halcyon would not tamper with her damaged memory. She was wary of him, yes, but not fearful.

Dante, however, could restore her memory, his powers of compulsion almost as strong as that of a demon. Interesting that he, too, had chosen not to do so. But then, his advent into Mona Lisa’s life and his leaving had been filled with violence and tragedy, both then and now. He almost pitied the poor bastard even though he held treasure, the woman they both wanted, in his arms now. The tide could turn, not if but when she remembered. Halcyon had hurt her. But Dante had killed her.

And not just her but everyone she had once loved.

ISLEPT FOR hours, so deeply that I didn’t wake until someone roused me. “We’re home,” Dante murmured, touching my face.

I slowly blinked awake, drifting up to that familiar voice, that pleasant touch. “Where’s home?” I asked drowsily. It took another lazy blink to realize I was draped on top of him like an intimate blanket of arms, body, and legs across the seat we occupied. And that we were in a plane full of other people, who carefully kept their faces turned away from us as they left the plane.

“Louisiana,” Dante said, helping me sit up. “We’re at Lakefront Airport. It’ll take another fifty minutes to drive to your house.”

Outside, we were met by a teenage boy—an older teen. His ginger red freckles were framed by flame-bright russet curls. “Mona Lisa!” he cried, pulling me into a hug. “We were so worried. Dante, good to have you back. Thaddeus wanted to come, as did my mom and sister, but Amber said not to overwhelm you. Is it true that you have some sort of amnesia? That you don’t remember us?”