“Your father told me,” Heather said.
Dante nodded, then looked away. A muscle flexed in his jaw. After a moment, he said, “I’m pretty sure it’s a Fallen thing. I used to think it was nightkind, but…” He shrugged.
“Can you control it?”
“Not always. No.” Dante looked at her, reflected light gleaming in his eyes.
“Were you controlling it then?”
“More or less.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I didn’t have an outcome in mind,” he said, voice low. “But I wanted to finish it—end her fucked-up game.” His thumb once again rubbed back and forth across the back of her hand, a soothing gesture—for them both, she had a feeling.
Dante was nightkind and Fallen, and a killer. More than enough to send most women—sane women, anyway—screaming into the night. But there was so much more to him—a boy wishing his princess night-night, then walking into a basement alone; a man struggling with his emotions as he spreads his jacket over a friend’s body and sits beside her so she won’t be alone; a lover fitting against a woman like no other ever has—body and heart—asking her to stay.
It’s quiet when I’m with you. The noise stops.
Run from me.
Did either of those statements reflect Dante’s true center? Or did both? Had his life ever been his own? Heather scanned his dark eyes, his beautiful face. In spite of all he was or, maybe, because of it, he’d somehow captured her heart. Not knowing which scared the hell out of her. She needed answers. She needed a chance to catch her breath.
“Where is this going?” Dante said, watching her. His thumb was motionless on her hand. “Heather?”
“I want you to go home,” she said quietly. “I’m heading back to Seattle as soon as I’m released. There’s gonna be a ton of shit to deal with.”
“You don’t hafta deal with it alone.”
“Yes, I do.” Heather slipped her hand from his, grasped the cool metal railing. “Dante, I do. I’ve got things to think about—to sort through. I need a little distance. A little time. Nothing’s what I thought—what I believed it was.”
A half-smile tilted his lips. “Nothing and no one. Believe me, I understand.”
Heather cupped a hand against his face. “I bet you do.”
Closing his eyes, Dante leaned into her touch and closed his hand over hers.
“You need time, too,” she murmured. “You more than anyone.”
“Don’t tell me what I need.” Dante’s voice was rough, raw.
“Pigheaded,” she whispered.
Despite his denial, his life, his world, had been ripped apart—his hidden past, revealed. Did he know any of it yet? Would De Noir tell him? Should she?
“Has your father said anything about Bad Seed?” She slid her hand from his face.
Dante’s eyes opened. Something flickered in those dark depths—pain, maybe grief, maybe rage—then vanished. “No. Elroy told me. But I can’t hold onto it.” He shook his head. “No matter how hard I try.”
Jordan. That hurt. “Oh, Dante, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” A smile brushed his lips. He pulled his shades from the top of his head, slid them on. “Not your fault.” Standing, he bent over her and brushed his lips against hers.
“This doesn’t need to be good-bye,” Heather said against his warm lips. “I care about you, you know that, don’t you?”
“I care about you, too,” he whispered, tracing a finger along the edge of her jaw.
Heather closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Dante was gone. But the feel of his lips lingered upon hers; his scent hung in the room. She pictured him walking out into the snow-covered night, alone.
She had a feeling he didn’t expect to see her again. She’d known his leaving would hurt, just not how much. And it did, heart-deep—sharp and unrelenting. Tears slipped hot down her cheeks, into her ears. Folding her arms across her eyes, she wept.
For all the voiceless dead Elroy Jordan had left behind.
For justice unrendered.
For Dante.
She thought of all that could’ve been—traveling between New Orleans and Seattle; Dante creating music, touring, putting his past together. She might become a victim’s advocate, a PI, something to help those who could no longer speak for themselves, and—together—she and Dante could work to heal his wounded mind and help him find the redemption he sought.
Could still be. Nothing’s written in stone.
Penance.
Could he be redeemed? She believed he was worth the chance. She just needed to find out if she was strong enough to give him that chance. And herself.
I won’t walk away from you.
A song wisp suddenly curled through Heather and, for a moment, she thought she heard Dante’s voice, smoky and low, burning like a flame in her heart: Shhh. Je suis ici. Always.
* * *
Glossary
« ^ »
TO MAKE THINGS AS simple as possible, I’ve listed not only words but phrases used in the story. Please keep in mind that Cajun is different from Parisian French and the French generally spoken in Europe. Different grammatically and even, sometimes, different in pronunciation and spelling.
For the Irish and Welsh words—including the ones I’ve created—pronunciation is provided.
One final thing: Prejean is pronounced PRAY-zhawn.
Aingeal (AIN-gyahl), angel. Fallen/Elohim word.
Ami, (m) friend, (f) amie. Mon ami, my friend.
Ange, (m) angel. Mon ange, my angel. L’ange, the angel.
Ange de sang, angel of blood; blood angel. Mon ange de sang, my angel of blood.
Anhrefncathl (ann-HREVN-cathl), chaos song; the song of a Maker. Fallen/Elohim word.
Beau diable, mon, (m) my beautiful devil.
Bonne nuit, good night.
Bon á rien, good for nothing.
Calon-cyfaill (KAL-on kuv-EYE-luh), friend of the heart, usually bonded. Fallen/Elohim word.
Ça va bien, fine. I’m fine/okay. It’s going well.
C’est bon, that’s good.
C’est vrai, that’s true.
Cher, dear, beloved. Mon cher, (m) my dear or my beloved.
Cher ami, mon, (m) my dearest friend, my best friend; intimate, implying a special relationship.
Chéri, (m) dearest, darling, (f) chérie.
Chien, (m) dog.
Comment ça va, how is it going?
Creawdwr (KRAY-OW-dooer), creator; maker/unmaker; an extremely rare branch of the Elohim believed to be extinct. Last known creawdwr was Yahweh.
D’accord, okay.
Elohim, (s and pl) the Fallen; the beings mythologized as fallen angels.
Enchanté, delighted, pleased, enchanted.
Et toi, and you.
Fallen, see Elohim.
Fille de sang, (f) blood daughter; “turned” female offspring of a vampire.
Fils de sang, (m) blood son; “turned” male offspring of a vampire.
Foute ton quant d’ici, get away from here.
Frère, (m) brother. Mon frère, my brother.
Gètte le, keep an eye on him.
J’ai faim, I’m hungry.
Je comprend pas, I don’t understand.
Je sais pas, I don’t know.
Je regrette, I’m sorry.
Je regrette, mes amis, I’m sorry, my friends.
Je suis ici, I’m here.
Je va te voir plus tard, I’ll see you later.
Laissez les bons temps rouller, let the good times roll.
Le coeur, the heart.
Llygad (THLOO-gad), (s) eye; a watcher; keeper of immortal history; story-shaper. A Fallen/Elohim word originally.
Llygaid (THLOO-guide), (pl)
Loa, (Haitian) spirit; associated with voodoo.
Marmot, (m) brat.
Merci, thank you. Merci beaucoup, thanks a lot. Merci bien, thanks very much.
Mère de sang, (f) blood mother; female vampire who has turn
ed another and become their “parent.”
Mon Dieu, (m) my God.
M’selle, (f) abbreviated spoken form of mademoiselle, Miss, young lady.
M’sieu, (m) abbreviated spoken form of monsieur, Mr., sir, gentleman.
Nightbringer, a name/title given to Lucien De Noir.
Nightkind, (s and pl) vampire; Dante’s term for vampires.
Numéro un, number one. (Cajun)
Oüi, yes.
Père, (m) father. Mon père, my father.
Père de sang, (m) blood father; male vampire who has turned another and become their “parent.”
Petit, mon, (m) my little one, (f) petite, ma. (Generally affectionate.)
Pour quoi, why.
Sa fait pas rien, it doesn’t matter.
Sa fini pas, it never ends.
Sa vaut pas la peine, it’s not worth it.
S’il te plaît, please (informal).
Tais toi, shut up.
Tayeau, (s) hound. Tayeaux, (pl) hounds.
T’es sûr de sa, are you sure about that?
T’est blême comme un mort, you’re as pale as a ghost.
Très belle, (f) very beautiful.
Très bien, very good, very well.
Très joli, (m) very pretty.
True Blood, born vampire, rare and powerful.
Viens ici, come here.
Vous êtes très aimable, you are very kind.
Wybrcathl (OOEEBR-cathl), sky song. Fallen/Elohim word.
* * *
Genevieve’s Prayer
« ^
POURQUOI TU NOUS AS abandonnes? Je ne sais pas ce que j’ai fait pour vous faire partir, je t’en supplie, sauve ton fils. éloigné le d’ici. Mets-le l’abri. Il est ma lumière et mon coeur—comme tu as pu l’être. Lucien, mon ange, s’il te plaît, écoute-moi.
***
WHY HAVE YOU ABANDONED us? I don’t know what I did to send you away, but I beg of you, save your son. Take him away from here. Keep him safe. He is my light and my heart—just as you once were. Lucien, my angel, please hear me.
Adrian Phoenix, A Rush of Wings
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