Adrian Phoenix - A Rush of Wings

Étienne flew up the steps, only stopping on the third when Von, in a nightkind blur of speed, leapt behind him and seized his arm.

“Arrogant lying prick!” Étienne hissed, his narrowed gaze dark and seething. “You need to be leashed! Brought to your knees!”

Cool air fluttered Dante’s hair as Lucien rushed from behind the throne. Dante flung out an arm, blocking his passage. “You calling me out, Étienne?” he asked quietly.

Étienne yanked free of Von’s grasp and smoothed the front of his suit. He touched fingers to the carved ivory rose cuff link at each Armani-sleeved wrist. “No,” he said, his hands knotting into fists. “Not yet.”

“Too bad.” Dante lowered his arm.

“But one night,” Étienne added, a smile stretching his lips, “I’ll be waiting.”

Dante stood. “Bring it on,” he said.

“I delivered the order,” Étienne said. “I hope you ignore it, marmot .” Whirling, he stalked into the silent, staring crowd, Von on his heels. The mortals melted away from him as though he were on fire.

Dante sank down onto the throne. Pain throbbed at his temples and behind his eyes. His stomach knotted. He gripped the armrest with white-knuckled fingers.

“What was that all about?”

Dante looked up to see Agent Wallace down on one knee beside him. She scanned his face. He had the feeling she missed very little. “Nothing much,” he sighed. “Ass-kissing denied. Harsh punishment threatened. The usual.”

“Funny,” Wallace murmured, her tone sounding as though he was anything but . “De Noir told the truth about the headaches, didn’t he?”

“Indeed, Agent Wallace,” Lucien said dryly. “I am right here.”

Wallace’s gaze flicked from Dante to Lucien, then back. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice low, no longer official. “My sister suffers from migraines, too.”

Dante glanced at her. The FBI mask had slipped from her face. She met his gaze, her expression open and her blue eyes steady. For a moment, he thought he saw into the heart of her, warm and compassionate and tough, edged in flame and steel.

“Yeah?” he said.

Wallace nodded. “Dante, listen, I can save us both a lot of time and trouble. Just give me your permission—”

“No,” Dante said. Her mask was back in place. Maybe that was all there was to her; maybe what he’d thought he’d seen within her was an illusion. White light edged his vision. Hurt his eyes.

Wallace’s smile faded. She stared at him in frustration. Standing, she said, “This is pointless. I can get a search warrant in an hour.”

Unhooking his shades from his belt, Dante slipped them on. “Get it. I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll do that,” Wallace said. She strode down the steps and into the crowd.

Wallace’s clean, fresh rain scent lingered, as did the heated aroma of her blood. But her spiky rays of authority receded with every step she took, and Dante found himself breathing a little easier. She was strong, persistent, and gorgeous. Too bad she was a fucking cop.

A hand, cool and soothing, brushed against the hair at Dante’s temple, icing the pain for a moment. He closed his eyes.

< Don’t make me sleep .>

< You need rest. You need blood .> Lucien’s thought curled past the pain. < I’ll take you home before the pain gets worse .>

“No.” Dante pushed Lucien’s hand from his temple. “I’m gonna get in the Cage.”

Lucien stepped around in front of him. Dante looked up into golden eyes. “Not tonight,” Lucien said. “You’re in no shape—”

“I’m in exactly the right shape,” Dante cut in.

“Hey, sugar.”

Lucien turned, and Dante saw Gina and Jay standing on the step behind him, holding hands, satiated smiles on their lips. Gina’s bodice was still unlaced. The cleavage created by her corset, fragrant with black cherry perfume, reawakened his hunger and twisted around the pain, braiding the two together.

Releasing Jay’s hand, Gina stepped past Lucien and settled herself in Dante’s lap. She cupped his face, bent her head, and kissed him. He tasted Jay on her lips and tongue; tasted her, too—pungent and rich. He bit her lip, sucked at the blood oozing from the wound. She gasped, then moaned.

Burning. Restless. Dangerous.

< Child… >

Trembling, Dante ended the kiss. He licked her lower lip until the bleeding stopped and the wound healed. Gina looked at him with half-lidded eyes. Sleepy. Happy. He caressed her jaw-line with shaking fingers. Sweat trickled along his temple.

Gina touched a finger to his lips. “We gotta go, sexy,” she whispered, sliding from his lap. “Tomorrow night?”

The pain was an ice pick through his brain and his control was slipping. He released her without a word. Jay leaned over and kissed him.

“Tomorrow,” Jay murmured. Grasping Gina’s hand, he led her down the steps. Gina waved, an impish smile on her lips.

Tomorrow night .

Dante watched them walk away.

BOURBON SPLASHED INTO THOMAS Ronin’s shot glass, dark amber under the low lights. The bartender swiped the debit spike Ronin had left on the counter, then sauntered on to the next customer bellied up to the long, polished bar. Ronin picked up his glass and turned around.

“Looks like you fucked up,” E drawled. Shaking a cigarette from the partially crumpled pack of Marlboro, he stuck it between his lips and lit it with a silver Zippo.

Ronin plucked E’s cigarette from between his fingers, and dropped it onto the floor. Twisted out the embers with the toe of his snakeskin boot. “Amuse me,” he said. “Tell me how.”

E glanced at Ronin, his eyes hidden behind shades, a stretched-out grin on his face. He shook another cigarette from the pack, jammed it between his lips, then lit it. He exhaled gray smoke into Ronin’s face. “Think you know everything, dontcha, Tommy-boy?”

Ronin nodded, sipped his bourbon. “Most things.”

“Yeah?” E’s grin widened. “Didcha know the chick talking to Dante is Special Agent Heather Wallace?”

Ronin’s hand hesitated in the act of fanning away the cigarette smoke. Lifting his shades, he stared at the trenchcoated woman on the dais. Yes, it was her—the profiler working the Cross-Country Killer case.

“Even changing MO and signature and shit didn’t fool her,” E said, his gin-scented words smug. “I knew it wouldn’t. Heather’s in the house.”

The admiring tone in E’s voice drew Ronin’s gaze. E stared at Wallace, his face lit with love. Or what passed for love in a twisted and stunted thing like E.

Ronin finished his bourbon. It burned through his veins, awakening another kind of hunger. He watched Dante and the woman. The boy was exquisite. His assessment went beyond Dante’s stunning exterior. Ronin had read the files. He knew what the boy was and what he could be.

De Noir stood behind the cheesy throne like one of the statues guarding the mausoleums in St. Louis No. 3. And what was De Noir? Not vampire, no. Something else entirely. Something Ronin suspected to be far older and far darker.

Her lovely face composed despite the anger tightening her movements, Wallace whirled and trotted down the steps to the dance floor. She disappeared into the crowd.

Ronin turned to face the bar again. Nudged the bartender with a gentle flick from his mind. The bartender refilled Ronin’s glass. Ronin’s pulse quickened. In all my centuries, I’ve never seen or felt anyone like Dante. Not once . He tossed back the bourbon. It burned, untasted, down his throat to his gut.

E remembers his past. Dante doesn’t. Why is that ? Was Johanna harder on Dante because of his bloodline ? Did she push him over edges a mortal could never endure ?