"Here we are," she said, pulling in front of the Conservancy and parking. "Before I start my shift, I'll show you around, let you know the types of things you can do. We're open, but it's a weekday, so it should be fairly quiet. You can feel free to wander around while I help Branson feed and clean everyone up. Is that okay?" She gave him a false, bright smile. "After we close and Bran leaves, you and I can have the place to ourselves for a couple hours. I'll show you some really amazing things."
"Yes," he agreed, then refused to release her hand. "Alexis, what is the matter?"
"Nothing."
But once he asked the direct question, he saw it in her mind as if his query had spotlighted the answer, hiding amid the jungle of her other thoughts. She continued to worry that if she kept giving in to her desires, she couldn't stay objective and truly help him.
"You cannot deny me, Alexis." He spoke softly, holding her gaze. "As I have said, I would not suggest you try."
Before she could marshal the irritable retort her mind was building to that, he caught the stubbornly tight chin. "You are helping me. Whatever happens in thirty days, it will not be your fault. Do you understand?"
"It's not that easy. I want you to be able to live here for hundreds of years to come."
"Yes, I know." And he wondered what the feeling swelling inside of him in reaction to her hope was called. He cradled her jaw. "But I must be able to kiss you whenever I wish."
"Really?" He was relieved to see worry replaced by that light he was beginning to recognize as humor. "Well, I can't think when you kiss me, so I'm no good to you then."
"I like you mindless. A few minutes ago, your mindlessness made me willing to do anything I had to do to stay with you."
She stilled, staring up at him. The shock in her mind was no less than what he felt inside himself. Where had that come from? He was here because he'd spent two decades trying to get free, that was all. She'd been the means to get him here. Since he'd bound her to him, he might possess a territorial need to keep her, but he wanted to stay in this world. He was willing to do anything in order to accomplish that.
A honking noise broke the moment. Alexis's attention went to a car driving by, and she waved to the driver. "That's Branson, my co-worker." As Dante's gaze followed the man as he got out of his car, Alexis's hand tightened on his arm, drawing his attention. "This is going to be like the craft room, only busier, a lot more people. I need you to trust me when I say this is a safe place. Anything you perceive as a threat is 99 percent likely not to be one. So before you decide to incinerate or maim, do you think you could run the situation by me first, so I can clear it up before you strike? I don't want you to hurt yourself. Or anyone else."
"I will try."
Reaching up, she passed a gentle finger over his mouth. "Thank you for saying that, a second ago. Even if it was just a heat of the moment thing."
Then she got out of the vehicle, calling out in a friendly voice to the man, Branson. A relaxed voice to the untrained ear, but Dante could hear the tension beneath it, see her thoughts. She wasn't sure how well this was going to go. She was afraid he might . . . torch the place?
I will endeavor not to do so, he reiterated with more firmness.
She stopped, looked back over her shoulder at him and attempted a smile. Good. Because I suspect Pyel would be really miffed if you did.
I do not fear your father.
I don't want you to fear him, she rejoined, sadness crossing her face. I want you to know him, to respect him. And him to know and respect you. That is what I want.
If I am deserving of respect. He kept that thought to himself, puzzling over the meaning of the word once again.
SHE needn't have worried. After an hour or so, Dante came to the conclusion that most of the people in her world were engaged in entirely baffling but mostly non-threatening activities. He spent the first hour sitting on a bench within sight of the area where she and Branson were doing daily tasks related to the sea creatures. It did take some effort to remain still and relaxed while people sauntered, ambled and scurried from exhibit to exhibit. Big and small, young and old, even some elderly people in buzzing contraptions she called scooters. When he asked her, she explained that they couldn't walk due to health problems.
A couple of the wheeled contraptions didn't have a motor, and he preferred their quietness. He was surprised, though, when one came to rest next to his bench. Glancing left, he saw a young girl studying him. She was dressed differently than the others, whose wide variety of colors in T-shirts, shorts and jeans had a certain symmetry to them that blended. She, on the other hand, was all in black. She had silver rings in her nose and large, heavy boots and red and white striped stockings on her thin legs. Despite her age, she was dying. The scent of fatal sickness was undeniable. In the Dark One world, she would have been his next meal. From what he'd seen of the environment here, she perhaps had a year or two.
She met his gaze with frank interest. "Want to go get naked with a jailbait crip? Give her a lasting memory before she croaks?"
He blinked. "I am with a female." He nodded toward Alexis. "She told me that it would make her angry, and she would no longer want to . . . get naked with me. Though I think I could talk her out of that, I sense it would upset her."
The girl's heavily lined eyes widened. "And you don't want to upset her."
He shook his head. "I have done that too much already."
"You talk weird. That's cool, though. I like your collar. It's Goth chic. Not every guy can pull that off without looking like a poser." As Dante raised a brow, she looked toward the tank. "That's her? With the manatees? She's really pretty."
"She's beautiful." The words came to Dante before he realized he was going to say them. Her brown hair gleamed in this lighting, the tendrils wisping around her face from the way she had it pulled back. While her outfit was similar to those of the other staff, and not too different from the visitors', there was lithe grace to her movements that emphasized every curve the clothes modestly delineated. Her angel blood emitted those waves of warmth and reassurance, and when her blue eyes turned to someone asking a question, she offered a genuine smile and an interest that instilled confidence in whomever she was addressing, bringing balance and . . . peace. He thought of how she'd looked with her snowy wings and the sparkling jewel-like scales of her tail.
"Yeah." The girl was studying him. "You're gone over her all right. My name's Reba." She extended her hand. "You're the most interesting guy visiting this place today. All the rest are tourist cookie cutouts."
Dante studied her hand, then took it. When she shook, guiding him through the unfamiliar greeting, there was a faint tremor in her hand and her grip was weak. "My name is Dante. You are pretty, too. You are dressed differently, though."
"Yeah. You dress the norm, like one of them"--she nodded to the brightly colored visitors--"and you're just another pathetic kid in a wheelchair. You dress like this, you're mysterious, intriguing. Bad attitude waiting to happen. You looked at me like you'd never seen anyone in a wheelchair."
"I hadn't, before today," he said honestly.
"There are no people who can't walk where you're from? What does someone do who breaks a leg or hurts themselves?"
"They die," Dante responded. "Only the strong survive, and only if they are clever. Strength is not enough."
"Hmmm. Yeah, you figure out quick in this thing that your brain has to be better than your motor control. So woohoo to survival of the fittest. Want to see what I can do?"
"As long as it doesn't involve taking off your clothes."
"Your loss." She shrugged. "Perv. But no. Watch this."
Fishing a rubber band out of her jacket pocket, she stretched it between her fingers. "I'll bet you a kiss--no tongue, out of respect for your girlfriend, and she'll give me that much, unless she's a heartless bitch--that I can hit that asshole over there."
She nodded across the carpeted area to where a boy about her age was hanging over the ledge of the stingra
y exhibit and using a pen to poke the creatures, despite signs noting the animals were not to be touched. "I'll hit him in the ass hard enough to make him jump and put his hand on his butt in front of everyone."
Dante gauged the distance, the number of people moving through the area, the velocity capability of the band. It would be near impossible. "All right."
She took aim and then went still. Utterly still, in a way Dante recognized from having waited in secret places for the right second to move, to attack, to maneuver. He'd focused so hard on everything, it was as if all things started moving in slow motion, until he knew precisely when to--
Snap.
The boy at the rail yelped and clapped his hand to the seat of his baggy jeans, looking around and glaring. When he spotted the rubber band, his attention went to a group of younger boys laughing at him. In two steps he'd reached the first one and grabbed his shirt front.
"Hey, pukeface," Reba called out, loudly enough to get his attention. When he looked toward her, she toggled another rubber band around her erect middle finger, which appeared to be some form of insult. He scowled, but when he noted the chair, whatever retaliation he'd had in mind apparently vanished. He settled for sneering "freak," before he disappeared down a corridor directing patrons to other attractions.
"So pay up, pretty boy," Reba said, giving him an expectant leer.
Dante settled against the wall, crossing his arms. "Why are you here? You are not looking at sea creatures and educational displays."
"I like it here, so Mom drops me off when she has errands to do. Gives her a break from looking at her dying daughter, and me a break from her looking at me like I'm already dead." Reba rolled her eyes. "God should plan better. If he's going to assign people to be parents, he needs to makes sure the ones who get terminal kids can hold it together until the funeral. Mom's shed enough tears for all the starving people in India. By the time I croak, she'll need drops to fake it for the funeral. The well's gotta be dry."
"That was a nice hit."
Dante glanced up to find Alexis had joined them. She was surveying Reba with her hands on her hips. "We could use you as a regular monitor on the tanks."
"Yeah, make the crippled kid feel useful. Gives me warm fuzzies, cue the sappy music. Piss off, no offense." Reba snorted and put her hands on the wheels of her chair. She couldn't make her exit though, because the odd stranger was holding one wheel fast. No matter how she tried to move it, it wasn't budging.
"She doesn't do that." Dante met her gaze squarely. "She does not lie to make you feel better. She means it."
"I've seen you here regularly of late," Alexis noted, as if Reba hadn't said anything offensive. "If you want a volunteer job, let me know. I think people would pay attention to you."
"Because I'm in a wheelchair."
"Because as long as you have rubber bands, they wouldn't like the consequences of ignoring you. I've watched you maneuver that thing. You'd probably do a better job at getting between a trouble-maker and the tank than someone on foot. After all, if you knock someone down, what are they going to do? Say a crippled girl whipped their ass?"
Reba stared up at her, and Alexis gave her a grin. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to hold on to sarcasm around the woman. She had a freakish urge to ask her for a hug. Unsettled, the teenager glanced at Dante. "I won a kiss off him, and he hasn't paid up. I think he's scared of you whipping his ass."
"With tongue or without?" Alexis didn't miss a beat.
"I let him off without. But if you're willing to negotiate that for my volunteer time . . ."
"Don't push your luck," Alexis chuckled, but she cocked her head at Dante. "The kiss is a fair request."
Reba had the odd feeling they were talking without words. Their eyes stayed locked as if they were the only ones in the room, and Alexis's lips parted as if he'd said something to her that any girl would like to hear. But then Reba got very distracted as Dante rose from the bench, laid his hands over hers on the wheelchair arms and leaned down. Hair as dark as a panther's coat spilled forward. He kept on his dark sunglasses, the ones that had made her think he was blind when she approached his bench. But blind people didn't look toward you, and he had. She sensed a peculiar heat from behind the lenses as he leaned in.
Now faced with the reality, Reba was gripped by a blink of absolute terror. She was going to mess this up, be a dork, oh-my-God he was really going to kiss her, and then he was. Lips firm and the right kind of hot and moist over hers, gentle pressure. No tongue, but definitely not some weak-assed kiss he'd give a kid. It shot heat to parts of her she'd been sure didn't have feeling.
It might have been over in three or four seconds, but when he straightened, her world was doing a slow spin. "Wow," she said, her throat thick.
"Yeah, I've had that reaction, too," Alexis smiled, but there was pain to it. God, Reba didn't want to make her jealous. Everybody should have a boyfriend like this. But Reba had a feeling it wasn't jealousy, particularly since Alexis said right after, "How would you feel about staying after hours and swimming with us and the manatees?"
Twenty-five
AFTER the Conservancy closed, Alexis apprised Bran of what they'd be doing with the girl in the wheelchair. It only took a little push to get him past worries about liability, and a call to Reba's mother reassured him that she was on board, thrilled her daughter had been offered the rare and usually prohibitively expensive chance to swim with manatees. That settled, Alexis locked up after Branson and then took Reba to a locker area to help her change into an extra swimsuit she had.
While Dante waited on them, he thought about his merangel. When he'd kissed the girl, he'd felt a wave of sadness from Alexis. He could read her thoughts. He just couldn't understand the emotions that went with them, damn it all.
When Reba returned in the swimsuit, a towel lying modestly over her thin legs, she rolled to the viewing tank and flattened her hand against the glass, watching the manatees swim past it. Dante slipped into the locker room, where Alexis was preparing the oxygen tank that Reba would wear so she could breathe underwater. He propped in the door silently, watching her. The brown tail of her hair curved over her shoulder, and her fingers moved competently, but those feelings had grown like the balloons he'd seen people purchase for their children, expanding in her mind, pushing out any other thought.
"Do you need a tank? You don't have to breathe, right? Not like us."
"No." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Alexis, what is it?"
"I feel her emotions, Dante. I always feel them. She wants to live so much. And she deserves to live. Look at her. What an amazing kid." She shook her head. "I have the filters, but for someone like that, I don't want to use them. I want to give them anything they want, because they're going to get so little, you know?"
Dante wrapped one of her curls around his hand, let it slide away and tumble down her back. "Her lips tasted like that fruit you were eating this morning."
"Orange. She probably has on an orange citrus lip gloss over that black lipstick she was wearing." With a rueful smile, Alexis straightened and stripped off her shirt. "Can you help me cross the straps?"
He wasn't sure what she meant until she'd unfastened the swimsuit straps and rethreaded them over her shoulders, crossing them and explaining where the hooks were. "I can't wear them straight for this. My wings will snag them."
"Aren't there rules about showing humans your true form?" He pulled his attention away from the pleasant display of her bosom she'd given him, suspecting now was not an appropriate time to let lust take the uppermost hand.
"Yeah. Pretty strict ones. But angels will appear to kids and pets, and despairing people, to give them comfort, though it's not really laid out in the rules. It's just known, like upping a dying person's morphine until they drift away in their sleep, rather than keeping them suffering."
As always, the images in her head helped fill in the gaps that his lack of experience with her world created. It captured him for several heartbeats, thou
gh. A place where, when the end came, there was an effort to make it as merciful and pain free as possible. Astounding. Threading the straps down her back, he let his knuckles slide over her soft skin, the delicate protrusion of shoulder blades, the tender nape.
"It's surreal, isn't it? Here you are in a locker room, hooking my swimsuit, when three days ago you were in such a different place, a different frame of mind." Her gaze drifted out to Reba, visible through a crack in the locker room door. "Like her. It's odd to do normal things, like getting up each day and brushing your teeth, combing your hair, watching a dumb commercial on television, when you know that your hourglass is tumbling faster than everyone else's . . . at least as far as they know. I guess I almost died a few days ago, so we never do know, do we?"
He stared down at her nape. "Why do you not hold that against me, Alexis, the way your father does?"
"Because I was in your world." She looked at him at last. "You're scary, Dante. I won't deny that. But two days were unbearable. I can't wrap my mind around being there for decades. What's remarkable to me is not the dark, scary side of you, but the fact you managed to keep that spark of light. That means something, something really important."
He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but if she knew what it meant, he wasn't ready to hear it. Realizing that, he changed the direction of their conversation onto surer ground. "On the other hand, I think my darkness explains many of the things I feel when I look at you."
Alexis couldn't help pressing her lips together, moistening when his gaze fell upon them. He'd hooked the sunglasses in his pocket while alone here with her, and her stomach contracted at the things she saw in his eyes. "There are dark, wicked things that I want to do with that mouth, with your body," he said. "I want to pull your soul inside of me, chain and hold you to me forever. A tether, like those birds I saw upstairs in this place."
"The raptors?"
He nodded. "I heard the woman caring for them say that, when certain ones are used as hunters, a tether is placed upon their leg. The master wraps it around his hand to hold the bird there. I have that desire with you, but . . ."