The nomad’s hand slid from Alex’s shoulder. “Time to go,” he said, slicing a fingernail through the duct tape binding his wrists.
Reluctantly, Alex stood and dropped the USB drive back onto the sofa as he gathered up his belongings, stuffing them into his hoodie’s pockets. He glanced at Heather. “Can I have my gun back?”
“Sure.” Heather went to the dining room table and picked up the S&W. She removed the magazine, then unchambered the round already loaded. Walking back to the sofa, she extended the empty gun to Alex.
“You know the way out,” she said.
With a wry smile, Alex took the gun from her, then tucked it into the back of his jeans and pulled his hoodie over it. Time to take a chance and plant a few seeds.
He stopped beside Dante. “Genevieve begged to hold you after you were born. She was denied the chance. Every minute you let my father breathe, you deny her justice.”
Dante moved. His hand latched around Alex’s biceps and, in an instant, Alex was flying as the vampire hauled him across the room and outside—sounds blur past, a sharp gasp, Heather; the crunch of drywall, the doorknob punching into the wall—and flung him against a Jeep parked at the curb.
Alex hit hard, and bruising pain radiated down from his right shoulder to his ribs. He struggled to catch a breath. Fury lit Dante’s beautiful face, blazed red in his eyes.
“What part of in my own time don’t you fucking understand?”
The True Blood stared at Alex’s throat and, for one cold-sweat-heart-pounding moment, Alex was positive that not only had he grossly miscalculated Dante’s reaction, but that Dante was going to tear into him, rip him open, and feast.
But instead, Dante’s hands knotted into fists, and he yanked his gaze back up to Alex’s face. “Stay away from me. Stay the fuck away from Heather.” His white skin seemed to drink in what little moonlight there was, channeling it into his veins.
“From what I’ve seen,” Alex said, straightening against the car and rubbing his aching shoulder, “it’s you who should stay away from Heather. How long do you think she’ll last with you at her side? They’re hunting her because of you.”
“Fuck you. Ain’t your worry.” But uncertainty flickered across Dante’s face, and his gaze turned inward like he was listening to someone. “Shhh,” he whispered, soothing that someone. He touched his fingers to his temple.
A chill rippled through Alex. Just how stable was Dante’s mind? How secure his father’s programming? From where Alex was standing, Dante was slipping in a big way.
Exhilaration and adrenaline rushed through Alex, chasing away the chill, and feeding him strength. The True Blood looked ripe for conquering.
All Alex needed was the right moment.
Over Dante’s shoulder, Alex saw Heather standing on the front step, her expression troubled. The nomad rested a hand on her shoulder, but watched Dante.
“I can help you remember my dad. Get you past his safeguards and programming. I can put him in your hands.”
“Fuck you. Ain’t playing. Va jouer dans ta cour a toi.” Dante backed up several paces, then, turning, he loped back to the house.
Heather and the vampire nomad went inside with Dante, and then the door shut with a solid thunk. Light spilled into the yard from the front room windows as someone turned on lamps.
Alex sprinted down the block to his truck and climbed inside. He keyed on the ignition. The engine started with a deep, powerful roar, and he let it idle. He had to admit Dante had thrown him for a loop when he’d given back the USB drive; he hadn’t anticipated that the vampire’s stubborn anger would outweigh his curiosity, his hunger for the truth.
Alex drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. The interaction between Dante and Heather was intriguing. It seemed like her presence helped anchor Dante in the here and now. But judging by her expression just now, his violence disturbed her.
Alex switched on the wipers. As the blades whisked across the windshield, wiping away the last remaining drops from an earlier shower, he spotted movement at one of the darkened bedroom windows.
Something dropped from the window into the bushes below. Then a figure climbed out and jumped to the ground. The slender shadow glanced around, then plucked a bag from the bushes and slung it over its shoulder. The shadow jogged down the street, then hooked a left.
Turning off the wipers, Alex clicked on the headlights, shifted the truck into gear, and drove down the street following the shadow’s path. He was pretty certain the shadow had been female, given the curves and the hip-swinging gait.
And just like that, there it was, the right moment.
Amen, brother, amen.
GYM BAG STRAP LOOPED around her shoulder, Annie strolled backward along the sidewalk, thumb out. Car headlights and winking neon signs from trendy bistros, shops, and gas stations dazzled her eyes, adding to the pain throbbing above her right eye. A budding migraine. Just fucking great.
She felt around in her hoodie pocket in case she’d missed an oxy tab last night, but no such luck. Not even a smoke. She felt her muscles coil tighter. She needed something to push back the pain and clear her head. Needed something to sweep away all the dark shit bouncing around in her mind.
Your dad contacted a member of the SB…the SB decided to bring you in for tests to determine what he did to you. And how.
Heather must have realized that Annie had blabbed her secret to Dad. Heather probably hated her now. At last, right? The last chain has fallen away. No reason to stick around. All she’d ever been was a thin shadow angling away from Heather.
But not to Silver. He’d been fun in and out of bed and, unlike mortal guys, could keep it up forever. Even though he was twenty-six, he’d been turned at fifteen, so rolling around with him had made her feel a little pervy, but in a delicious way. Silver had also made her feel lighter than air, an upward-bound leaf falling into the sky.
Silver wraps his fingers around her hand. He slips his arm around her waist, and then he moves. Annie’s breath catches in her throat as they streak through the crowd on the sidewalk and everything rushes past in thin finger-trails of color and light, of sound.
Annie’s flying.
She feels like Silver is her training wheels as she wings through the sky, low to the ground, her hand in his, his arm around her waist—hell, her feet might be only inches above the sidewalk—if that. But she flies, glides, in his arms.
And she never wants to stop.
But when she’d told Silver she wanted to be nightkind and asked him to turn her, he’d refused. Had said he was trying hard to get back on Dante’s good side after fucking up big time, and that turning her probably wasn’t the best idea in the world.
Silver’s pensive face and tight muscles had told Annie plenty, as had his wistful voice—he loved Dante, pined for him. She’d known that she had no hope of changing his mind. At least, not in the time remaining before the band left for the airport.
Annie’d decided if she couldn’t fly or be transformed, then she wanted to disappear. And get blind did-we-just-fuck drunk. All she needed was a beer or twelve.
And man, Heather was going to be so pissed when she discovered Annie had swiped a few souvenirs from Dante’s duffel bag on her way out.
Annie laughed, the sound as brittle as she felt. If she tripped and took a header to the pavement, would she shatter? Like good old Humpty-Dumpty? She drew in a deep breath of air and immediately regretted it as the spicy smells of curry and sausage made her migraine-queasy stomach clench.
Tires hissed over the wet pavement as cars passed her, headlights unfurling banners of blue-white light along the glistening street. A pair of headlights bright as twin suns going nova blinded Annie. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes. The vehicle—a big, rumbling pickup—pulled over to the curb. She walked up to the passenger-side door just as it swung open.
The cute curly-haired blond Heather had been questioning at the house was leaning across the seat, a warm smile on his lips. “Need a ride,
Annie?” he asked.
Because a tiny voice inside of her was yelling no, Annie climbed into the pickup and, pulse thundering, shut the door.
33 NIGHT DESCENDS
Seattle, WA
March 24
Nah-nah-nah! I’m out having fun! Leave a fucking message! Or not!
Heather didn’t bother leaving a message. She ended the call, then spiked the cell phone onto the rumbled bed in frustration. “Shit!” She couldn’t help but think that Annie had taken off because of what she’d heard Lyons say.
She doesn’t know I blame Dad, not her.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Annie’d ransacked Dante’s duffel bag on her way out the window, had stolen his iPod, a couple of shirts, a bottle of absinthe, and his song journal.
“She can fucking keep the other stuff. The only thing I care about is that journal,” Dante had said softly, then had shrugged—no big deal. But Heather had heard the distress in his voice; the journal was special.
She had a feeling that, somehow, Annie had gut-known which item’s loss would hurt Dante the most. Maybe because she was a musician too. Heather wasn’t exactly sure why Annie wanted to hurt Dante, maybe just to see if she could, maybe because she liked him. And maybe it wasn’t even Dante she wanted to hurt, but Heather.
Maybe it’d been all of those things.
Heather could puzzle out a killer’s identity, decipher his motives, and sometimes predict his next move, but she couldn’t figure out her own baby sister no matter how hard she tried.
Heather plopped down on the bed and rubbed her face. She felt drained, tired. Annie could be anywhere, with anyone, doing anything. And time was running out fast. For herself, for Dante, for Annie, even. Heather refused to leave her sister behind to be used by their father or the powers that be.
The SB exists. A chill rippled along her spine.
And Dr. Robert Wells…
Though Dante hadn’t said anything, she knew Lyons’s words—Every minute you let my father breathe, you’re denying her justice—had cut deep. Dante wanted Wells and she didn’t blame him. But it’d be impossible. How could he confront the man when he couldn’t even keep Wells’s name in his mind?
Dante walked into the bedroom, his hair wet from the shower, a blue bath towel tied around his waist. “Still nothing?” he asked.
Heather sighed and shook her head. “She might be headed to Portland. She’s got an apartment there and our dad’s in Portland too. She might want to confront him.”
“Yeah, she might.” Dante took off the towel and draped it over the doorknob. “I would. I bet you would, too.”
“Still might.” Heather’s pulse raced as she watched Dante dress, muscles rippling beneath his pale skin. She wished she could keep him naked for a while longer, wished they had the time to play.
Dante pulled on black leather pants and a twilight-purple PVC shirt crisscrossed with black latex-and-metal straps. He sat on the bed beside her. She caught a faint whiff of her honeysuckle shampoo laced beneath his autumn scent.
“We’ll find her,” he promised. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
Heather closed her eyes and leaned into him. “You need to fly home with the guys,” she said. “It’s not safe for you here.”
“Don’t tell me what I need to do, chérie. I ain’t leaving you alone.”
“Lyons could’ve been lying through his teeth.”
“Lyin’ Lyons. Probably, yeah. But not about everything. I think he told the truth about you. I ain’t leaving you alone.”
“Pigheaded.”
“And you ain’t?” Dante brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “Where you planning on going?”
Heather opened her eyes. “I don’t know, to be honest. Just out of Seattle. My brother’s in New York, but I hate the thought of bringing trouble or worse to his doorstep.”
“How ’bout you, Annie, and Eerie come to New Orleans? Stay with me until it’s safe,” Dante said. “I’m the reason you’re in this fucking mess. Let me help, Heather.”
“None of this is your fault.” She held his dark gaze, studied his beautiful face. She could tell he thought otherwise. “I got into this by doing my job. And I don’t regret that. We’re in this mess together.”
“Then let’s fight them together, catin.”
Together, guarding each other’s backs. That felt right, just like it had backstage at Vespers while she’d protected him as he’d Slept. An intuitive rhythm pulsed between them, electric and elemental and night-blooded. She touched the spot where the bullet had entered her chest. He had no idea how special he was.
“I’ll have to check with Eerie. If he’s against the idea…” She shrugged.
A smile tugged at one corner of Dante’s mouth. A devilish smile. And sexy, damn him. “I promised him my seat on the plane.”
“You can do that?”
“Make promises?”
“No, the other thing.”
“Yup. First class and Eerie-minou can lounge in his carrier on my paid-for seat.”
“Good idea,” Heather said. “Less stress for Eerie.”
“Oui.”
“We can take the guys to the airport, then come back, load up the boxes I packed, and head for Portland,” Heather said, mulling over their options. “We’ll find Annie, drive to New Orleans, stay in motels during the day.” She stroked a finger along Dante’s jaw, touched his lips. Lips like a cupid’s bow. He kissed her fingertip. “This could work.”
“Je pense bien, especially since you said it aloud,” Dante said. “Von told me that whatcha say from the heart has power. That a spoken thing or a wished-hard thing takes a shape in the heart and becomes real.”
“I like that,” Heather said softly. She lowered her hand to her lap. “I like it a lot and I’d like to think it was true.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll say this aloud, then. I picked up the flash drive Lyons left behind,” she said. “When you’re ready, we’ll watch it together. Maybe seeing your past will help you keep the memories.” Even though she wished he didn’t have to see all the nasty, fucked-up shit that Wells and Moore had put him through.
“Bon, chérie. I want to know.”
“About what happened?”
“What I’ve done. What I’ve become. What I am.”
Heather sucked in a breath. “Dante, no—”
“Things are unraveling inside. I feel it and I’m fighting it, but…”
“But nothing. I trust you.”
“Don’t.”
That single husky-voiced word shocked the air from her lungs like a bucket of ice water over the head. She suddenly saw him on the stage floor at Vespers, Von’s arms wrapped around him. Heard him ask: I didn’t hurt no one, did I?
“I’ve seen you unmake a woman, true, but you also saved my life and you restored Eerie’s leg,” Heather said. She grasped his hand and threaded her fingers through his. “You’d sacrifice yourself without a second thought for those you love. Your heart won me, Dante Baptiste, not your looks. You need healing, and maybe you’ll never heal completely, but you won’t have to do it alone.”
“T’es sûr de sa?” His dark eyes searched hers.
“Yeah, I’m sure. For now. So shut up, Baptiste.” Heather stroked his hair, tucked a shower-damp tendril behind his silver-hoop-rimmed ear. “Time to go.”
Dante kissed her lips, a heated, lingering kiss that sent hot flutters through her belly as she savored his amaretto taste. When the kiss ended, he lifted their joined hands, kissed her knuckles, then released her. Bending, he pulled on his socks and strapped on his boots. Stood, and offered her a hand up. A hand she was happy to accept.
A new future was taking shape in her heart.
PANIC FLASHED THROUGH SHERIDAN as he watched a cab pull up to the curb in front of Wallace’s house. Three men, none of them Prejean, exited the house, loaded their bags in the cab’s trunk, then piled into the vehicle.
Sweat beaded Sheridan’s forehead
, stuck his shirt to his back. Was he about to miss his moment? If Prejean left and returned to New Orleans, then he’d have to fly to New Orleans as well, and hunt the vampire on his own turf. That possibility left him cold. And still no sign of Cortini. He thought it likely she was waiting to catch Wallace alone.
Maybe she was watching right now.
Sheridan’s heart triple-timed and, for a moment, he couldn’t catch his breath. Too many pick-me-ups, too many hours crammed in the SUV, breathing his own ever-ripening odor, and chewing stick after endless stick of spearmint gum.
He watched the mini-mon, the screen quivering with every hard beat of his heart. Wallace and a dreadlocked male carrying a pet container walked out of the house. She unlocked the trunk to her Trans Am. Prejean and what looked like a punkedup teenager carried suitcases to the opened trunk.
Prejean was leaving.
“Fuck,” Sheridan breathed.
Then the teenager called, “What about your bag?”
Prejean shook his head. “Leave it. We’re coming back to load up Heather’s stuff. I’ll grab it then.”
The teen nodded, then climbed into the backseat of the car.
We’re coming back…
Sheridan exhaled. Blotted sweat from his face with his shirt sleeve. He hoped to hell Prejean was referring to just himself and Wallace. Sheridan felt confident he could find a way to justify Wallace as collateral damage to Rutgers. He just needed to be damn sure that he caught Prejean off guard and put him down with the first shot. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t live long enough to fire a second.
ALEX TUGGED A BLACK-AND-WHITE composition notebook from Annie’s gym bag and paged through it. He studied the lyrics slanting southpaw style across the white sheets, beautiful and raw phrases; he had to admit Dante was a poet, a dark poet. He thumbed past pages full of musical composition—measures and chords, along with margin doodles and notes to himself: Start drums here; loop the bass; falsetto chorus…
Closing the notebook, Alex tossed it back into the gym bag and continued rummaging through lavender-scented clothes for the other item Annie had bragged about stealing. His fingers glided over the bottle’s smooth shape and wrapped around it. Pulled it free.