Dante's Fire

  The grip around his throat loosened. Instead of calling on his power, Dante managed a lucky punch that snapped the man's face back. Evil glimmered. The flash of a knife appeared and he knew he might die. "Wanna play, punk? How does this feel?" The blade came down and he turned away. The man slipped and the knife zigzagged across his face, tearing flesh and spilling fresh blood. Agony bit through him and pain rolled over in waves.

  Consciousness blurred. Time stopped. When he was released, the men punched each other's arms in victory. Pointed at him. Laughed. He crawled through rotten leaves and found his mother's body. Naked. Bruised. Her face deadly still. Dante sobbed and covered her with the ripped fabric, stroked her face and called for her over and over.

  His hands touched blood. Hers. His. Mixed. She was dying. The men's voices became distant. Rage roared and fired in his blood. His vision blurred as the power shook through his body like an answering storm. His hands reached forward toward the men as they walked away, and an ancient curse rose from his lips in a language he only knew from a dream.

  Flames burned to life. The men screamed as fire rose from their arms. Burnt flesh simmered in the air as the symbol cut deep and burned into a scar to never be removed.

  Sirens rang in the distance. The men ran, cries of agony and confusion rattling in the fall evening. He sobbed as he lay over his mother and she opened her eyes. Dark depths shone with gentleness, calm, knowledge. Her voice rose and wrapped around him.

  "It's my time, Dante. I will join your father and be happy. You have found your destiny - your call to power. Women need your help. Find them, heal them, and mark the ones who will burn in hell. This is a gift of great responsibility. Through you, I will be avenged, and you will save many. I love you, my child...I love you."

  She slipped away to the gods to join his father and left him alone.

  And he knew what he must do. Knew with every act of fire, he would avenge his mother's death. And would heal the innocent.

  But he was always alone. Alone, alone, alone...

  Dante's eyes flew open. The lingering remnants of the dream throbbed in his head, and he sat up, his hands fisted over his eyes. For a moment, he forgot where he was, until he noticed the soft female body pressed close against him.

  Selina.

  What had he done? The lines of propriety blurred. He'd never gone as far with a woman he set out to heal. Cuddling, talking, and safety were his main concerns. His usual iron control failed the moment she responded so sweetly, giving her body to him in complete trust. Had he let her down? Had he failed?

  Dante shuddered. He wanted to claim her for his own. Instead, he'd brought her to orgasm, watching her face as she shattered in release. The image of her attack had faded from her mind, and he shook with the power to bring this woman to the brink and beyond.

  She begged him to stay. He'd only meant to wait until she fell into a deep sleep before disappearing, but the temptation to wrap his arms around her and catch a few hours was too great. Was the dream a sign he had failed to protect her?

  "Bad dream?"

  Her voice floated up in the darkness and enclosed him in crushed velvet. He breathed in the heady scent of sandalwood and feminine arousal. "I guess we all have them."

  "Even superheroes?" He turned and studied her face. Her jeweled eyes held questions. She lifted her fingers to trace the edge of his mask.

  Dante wondered if the others looked upon themselves as superheroes. Most of the time he felt battered, alone, and world weary. He couldn't fly, stop bullets, and had no cool gadgets. He was human, not immortal. He knew there were others with different types of magic - men and women who controlled earth's elements, able to help humankind in their own unique ways. Dante had never met them - only knew they existed. Chase had urged him many times to try to search for the others, but how did you possibly do it? Hire a private detective to find hidden superheroes that helped humankind? He wished he could start a therapy group for people like him, and then pushed the thought aside to answer her question.

  "Yes," he answered honestly. "Superheroes probably have some of the worst dreams because they live with evil. But I don't consider myself one of them."

  "Who do you think you are?"

  In the middle of the night, with the woman he loved pressed to his side, he allowed himself to share the jagged pieces of his soul. "I think I was born with special powers I didn't learn to control until I was older. My father and I had the gift of fire. My mother was a normal human, but when she was killed, I inherited the ability to appear when someone was in trouble. I have no control over that part. But I used my calling for fire to mark evil in plain sight." He took her hand and pressed her open palm against his lips. "Is that a wizard? A superhero? Or just a plain man trapped with a power he can't ever deny?"

  "I don't know," she said. "And I don't care. You save people. You care. You make a difference. Isn't that what matters?"

  Was it? Was it enough? Not enough to call her his own. He belonged to the world, and appeared at its whim. She'd never be able to settle with a man who lived in the dark, in other women's bedrooms. A man who walked with secrets during the day. She deserved a man to bring in the light of day, make her happy, and give her everything. He wasn't enough.

  Yet, he loved her anyway.

  "I have to go."

  "You never told me the final rule."

  Her voice was sleepy, husky, and he longed to take her mouth and pleasure her again, until she sobbed his name and those sexy little hitches of breath echoed in his ears. Dante tamped down on his lust and gave her the only thing he could now.

  Answers.

  "The final rule is simple. I'm not allowed to make love to any of the women I heal. It is against the law, and violates the boundaries. I'm able to touch. Kiss. Bring pleasure. But not for myself. All of these things must only be done with true intention of healing, and only for her."

  He waited for her disgust. Her sharp, indrawn breath, and her distance. Instead, she laid a hand on his arm. "I'm glad you told me," she said softly. "You stayed with me when I asked. You helped." She paused. "Thank you for everything."

  Raw pain shot through him. He was nothing to her either, just a man who able to help her overcome the nightmares. Hadn't he learned long ago that nothing was real? Just a misty image of fantasy he happened to live in.

  Dante nodded, rose from the bed, and walked away.

  Her voice made him pause. "Promise me you'll be back."

  Dante shook his head. No. She'd tear him apart if he saw her again. He sensed the rising strength coming back, the slow process of healing from time, gentleness, and patience. "You don't need me anymore, Selina. I must free you now."

  She sat up in bed, eyes lit with fury and determination. "I need to see you again. Promise me, damnit. Promise you'll come back one more time."

  His mind and heart fought viciously. His mind lost. "I promise."

  Dante's spirit lifted at the thought of one last visit. Then he would release her.

  ***

  "Dude. You're killing me. I am so pulling your man card."

  Dante glowered at his friend and took a sip of beer. He'd been too jacked up to go home and try to sleep. Images of Selina haunted him, so he called Chase, who was in the middle of a hot encounter and damned if the guy didn't extricate himself just to babysit him.

  Chase groaned and snapped back a neat shot of whiskey. Besides being wicked smart, he drank like a fish and had never nursed a hangover. In Dante's mind, he was some sort of human superhero dedicated to the pursuit of pleasure without pain. He pitied the women in his trail who had fallen for him, since his friend had never looked behind. Chase's gaze was trained firmly ahead. Maybe it was his crappy past. Maybe it was his genes.

  Maybe it was something he had yet to understand or explore yet.

  "Why did you leave?"

  Dante waved his hand in the air in dismissal. "I had no choice. I told you before the rules are made for a reason. I can't break them."

  "Why not?
Because your father came to you in a dream and issued a decree? What if Selina is meant for you? You've been in love with her for two fucking years, Dante. What if she's meant to be your soul-mate?"

  "We've gone over this. I'm not meant for soul mates. I visit strange women in the middle of the night. Care for them. Touch them. I'm eating dinner one moment, and the next, I'm zapped into a dark alley. What do you want from me?"

  "For you to try. You've been a martyr too long buried in a mailroom. This Daniel/Dante shit is too much for any of us. Tell her the truth. Hell, she'll find out you own the company, you can promote her, and everyone will be happy."

  Dante grit his teeth. His fingers clenched around the neck of the bottle. "Screw you, Chase. She's more than that. Remind me why I called you again?"

  White teeth flashed in the shadows of the pub. "Because I'm the only who will tell you the truth. And not to get all lovey dovey, but I love you, man."

  His anger drained. Dante rubbed his face and let out a half laugh. "God knows why."

  "Because you save them."

  The simple words tore through his heart. For a brief second, the humor and sarcasm drained away and Dante gazed at a man who'd almost lost his sister to sexual violence. The memory of that night they'd met flashed before him.

  The back alley of a nightclub. The stench of garbage from the dumpsters. A half drunk teen pushed against the wall while two men groped her. Ignored her nos. Stripped and humiliated her in a torrent of filthy language that still caused his blood to run cold.

  He'd marked them in a fit of fury, noting her young age, barely able to restrain himself from going too far. He'd bent to pick her up in his arms when Chase ran into him, fists flying, trying to protect his younger sister who he'd tracked down at the club.

  The fight was vicious, but he stench of burning flesh and screaming voices broke through his trance. It was then Chase saw the men on the ground. And for the first time, Dante experienced a strange connection with another man, as Chase took in the violent scene before him.

  And slowly smiled.

  "Did you do this to them?" Chase asked.

  Dante nodded. He prepared himself for endless questions. Confrontation. Rage and suspicion.

  Instead, Chase gently picked his sister off the ground, who was curled in the fetal position and softly sobbing. He tucked her beneath his chin. "What do I do?"

  Dante stared. It had never happened this way before and he wasn't prepared. He'd never met another person who witnessed a scene and even pretended to understand. "I heal her. It will take time. The men will be marked for life, and will never be able to commit another crime against women."

  Chase nodded. "Tell me what you need."

  "Nothing. Bring her home. Stay with her. Talk. Be there. It will be hard. I'll visit her when she needs me."

  "Good." He turned. Stopped. "What's your name?"

  "Dante."

  "I'm Chase."

  He took his sister home. Over the weeks that followed, Dante visited Brittany many times. She was strong, resourceful, and battled through the attack with a fierceness that seemed to run in the family. One night, Chase ended up coming in from the living room where he kept watch. The two of them began to talk, long hours into the night, and an unbreakable bond formed.

  In a way, Dante sensed fate had stepped in. Perhaps in another time and place, they were brothers. There was a connection he'd never felt before. Dante took him under his wing, trained him, and Chase carved out his own niche, becoming indispensible and his right hand man. Now, they were equals and shared something even greater than blood.

  The choice and respect of friendship.

  Dante returned to the present, watching his friend throw back another shot of whiskey. "Chase?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What the hell am I going to do?"

  His friend grinned. "Tell her the truth. Take a shot. But tonight? Just drink."

  Dante laughed and raised his glass.

  Chapter Eight

  SELINA re-checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror before walking into the Waldorf Astoria. The lush Manhattan hotel was perfect for wining and dining. From the hand cut crystal and china, to the lush carpet and glittering chandeliers, opulence was the key word.

  Time to meet William Forrester with her team to try to close the deal. The papers were immaculate; the property was prime. They were in competition with two other firms, but she believed Inferno had the best deal and the best team.

  She hoped so. This promotion was everything she'd worked for.

  Selina took a deep breath as she stared at her reflection in the empty ladies room. The conservatively cut black suit and white blouse allowed no weaknesses to show. Chunky diamond studs winked in her ears to show Forrester she made money. Lots of money. Her bruises had faded enough to cover flawlessly with make-up. With her severe chignon, her eyes still seemed shadowed, but the night with Dante and her dinner with Daniel elicited a faint healing light. Selina clung to the promise.

  The past week had been difficult. The team had given her some leeway due to the mugging, but she noticed a few slip-ups that concerned them. She couldn't let them down--they'd worked late hours and weekends for months. Today was payday.

  Selina raised her chin high in the air and walked out. Her heels clicked on polished marble as she made her way to the dining room. Fresh cut flowers spilled from ceramic vases and mixed with the scents of exotic perfume. She spotted trays filled with steaming fish, creamy risotto, vividly green vegetables, and colorful exotic drinks.

  William Forrester was already holding court with a martini at his side. A bulky man, he exuded a rough chauvinism that screamed he was important. From his expensive cut suits, Italian leather shoes, and his favorite gold Phillipe Patek watch, he made sure everyone knew he was a player. His dark hair was cut ruthlessly short, and jowls hung at his cheeks. Selina bet he hated that weakness and wondered if he'd ever considered Botox. He seemed too vain to accept any sloppiness. She may not like it, but learned he liked to chat with the boys, and then occasionally direct a comment or two over her way. Even though he knew she was team leader, he didn't relish working with women. Selina wondered about his wife, and then slowly clicked off that thought. None of her business what type of arrangement the couple shared.

  She got through dinner with success, but he managed to surprise her with his final comment. "Well, boys, I appreciate the meal and the offer. I'd like a few words with Selina in private before I make my decision."

  Tom, Gary and Ed shared a look, but got up from the table and said their good-byes. Adrenalin pumped through her as she scented the end of the deal and circled for the kill.

  "William, I think your decision is simple. Inferno has the best property of choice, with the best deal. Do you really want to build your empire on second-class property in Manhattan? Pick quality now, and you'll always be known as the high bidder on the street."

  He tossed her a shark-like grin and drained his drink. Then popped a vodka soaked olive in his mouth. "Darlin, I already know what I want. Inferno has it, but I need the deal sweetened."

  She gave a cool nod. "Why don't you tell me what you're looking for and I'll see what we can do."

  Forrester pushed back in his chair and studied her. She sat still and refused to fidget over his obvious leer, focusing on her hot spots. Lips. Breasts. Downward. Selina shuddered inwardly in revulsion. "You're an attractive woman," he said casually. "No ring though. Not married?"

  "No."

  "Career woman? I respect that. More than you know." His beady eyes glittered and her stomach sunk slowly to her toes. With slow, deliberate motions, he removed his suit jacket and unbuttoned his cuffs. "I think this deal can put you in the big leagues. With the men. Why don't we discuss the matter further? In private. Come by my condo and we'll close this deal."

  And then Selina realized what close the deal meant.

  Dread slithered like a cobra down her spine. He wanted to sleep with her. Dear God, in this day and age, with sex
ual harassment as the poster child of the politically incorrect - this man believed she'd sleep with him to close a deal.

  Selina hated her naivete in the business world. But she needed to deal with it, and fast. Coldness seeped into her voice as she stared at him with hard eyes and never blinked.

  "I don't think so, Mr. Forrester. Thanks for the invitation though, I did so want to meet your wife. But I have other plans. Why don't you tell me what else you're looking for from Inferno? I'm sure we can work it out. I brought the contracts over."

  His eyes narrowed. His face flushed red. Her rejection was pointed, yet polite enough to continue business. Selina prayed he'd take her lead so they could leave the whole episode behind them.

  "One of those?" He laughed without humor. "My wife is in Vegas at my other property tonight. Pity. I'm sure Inferno will be disappointed they headed you on this project."

  Point taken. He wasn't going to play nice. Selina saw the whole deal heading hard south and there was nothing she could do to save it. Damned if she was going down with her pride, too. She smiled back sweetly. "Nope, my team thinks I'm the best. If you don't really want the property, I'll say good-bye and tip my hat to Smithstone. I guess you'd rather sign with them."

  She opened her briefcase and neatly set the papers inside.

  "I like you, darlin. But don't bluff unless you play high stakes."

  "I don't bluff either, Mr. Forrester."

  She sensed the best thing was to get the hell out of the restaurant and let the whole thing cool down. Selina kept her focus on gathering her materials, snapped up her briefcase and looked up.

  The world tilted.

  Forrester had pushed starched white sleeves up to his forearm. His watch gleamed with obscene diamonds and gold. But what caught her attention was the elaborate symbol burned on his lower left arm.

  Dante's symbol.

  She stared at his arm as horror washed over her in waves. The same symbol Dante used to mark her attackers. The one he promised her a man would wear forever if he ever hurt a woman.