by Sunny
He leaned that face down into mine, and repeated slowly, calmly, dangerously, “Did you take the pills?”
I shook my head wildly, my teeth chattering beyond my control. I had never felt such awful, overwhelming fear before. “No, I d-didn’t take them yet.”
“Is this it?” he demanded, looking down at the opened packet. I had taken out one pill and laid it on the desk. The other still resided in its little plastic window.
“Yes, just the two pills.”
“Do not lie to me,” he said in a low and terrible voice that trembled with violence barely leashed. “Not now. Not when I’m like this.” It was part threat, part plea, as if he was asking my help to keep him in control.
It only served to spike my fear higher.
“I’m not lying, I promise you. It was just two pills, you can read the instructions. One to take now, the second one twelve hours later.”
“Mona Lisa.” He closed his eyes and said my name in a swirling mix of agony and hatred. As if it meant both redemption and despair to him.
Those pale blue eyes opened again, focused on me, and I felt something wash over me as they drew me into their cold and furious depths. His eyes turned completely silver, and didn’t just gleam brightly at me. They began to actually glow.
“Sleep,” he said.
His words traveled from the surface of my ears down into the vortex of me, penetrating deep inside like an echoing, expanding wave sweeping to the center of my being. And I was unable to resist his command, though I tried. My eyelids lowered as if a heavy weight bore them down. And I slept.
When I came to awareness again, it was on a silent scream. Pain throbbed my neck, and I tried to put a hand there, expecting to find it hacked open, with a fountain of blood gushing from it, as in my dream. A dream that had been mine, and yet not mine. But I couldn’t move. My hands were restrained behind my back, secured to the bed I was lying on.
I blinked, disoriented, ripped from the past and thrown back into the present. Had I dreamed of my death before, from that other lifetime? I couldn’t remember. And was thankful for that.
Hours had past. It was daylight now, with the sun at its highest point in the sky, just past noon. I turned my head and became aware of the fact that I was in a cheap motel room. And that Dante lay beside me, asleep. He was adrift in peaceful slumber, gentle in repose. And I realized that I wasn’t afraid of him like this. In sleep he was relaxed, free of all strain, all burdens of the past. He had an interesting face: not perfect, not stunningly handsome, not blindingly beautiful. An interesting face, as I said. Strong, aggressively molded with a sharp beak of a nose and a square, firm jaw. The lips, though, were soft and full—generous lips. It was a face of character. And so it should be, having lived so many lifetimes.
Dante. I whispered his name deep inside me, and felt sadness stir in me. Have I made us enemies once more?
As if my mind had touched him, or my emotions, he blinked his eyes open. He smiled when he saw me, a sweet, unburdened smile.
“Mona Lisa,” he said in a voice that was still half caught up in dreams. Then reality and remembrance came crashing back into those eyes and I watched them cool, harden against me…and wanted to cry as fear renewed itself in me.
He could have killed me, came the sudden realization. At any time, he could have killed me had he wanted to…with his privacy charm, his forceful, compelling eyes. I hadn’t known that it was possible for one Monère to compel another Monère like that. That a nondemon could wield that much power.
“Dante,” I said softly. “What are you doing?”
He sat up, totally alert now, his face so different from its softness in repose. It wasn’t any one detail but the entirety of it—the forcefulness of his nature, his ruthless will—that shaped and changed his features, making them harsh, unrelenting.
“I’m protecting my child.”
“It might not even be yours. Chances are that it’s not. It usually takes longer than two days for a pregnancy test to work; it needs eight days at least, usually. And that’s how I found out, Dante, through a human pregnancy test.”
He didn’t look at me, but a muscle jumped in his jaw. Then he turned his head, and his eyes captured mine…no other word for it. Nothing else to define the sensation of being held by those pale eyes—as if you could not look away, even if your life depended on it.
“There is nothing more guaranteed to rouse my ire than if someone harms or threatens one of my family,” he said in a very gentle voice that sent chills skittering down my spine. Barrabus’s death by my hand flashed again through my mind.
“Save your breath,” he said. “Nothing you say will convince me that the child growing in you is not mine.”
“You…” I wet lips that were suddenly dry. “You can’t think to hold me prisoner for nine months.”
He braced his hands around me and leaned his face down into mine, dominating my vision, my world, for a moment. “There is nothing I cannot do,” he said softly.
It was fear that he was right, fear at what he was determined to do—was doing—and my helplessness before his will that made me lash out at him suddenly, viciously.
“If that is true, then why don’t you break your curse and save your dying bloodline?”
His face grew even harder, if that was possible. Became rock-like. A charged stillness fell with just the sound of our harsh breathing. Then he moved.
He did nothing more than draw back away from me, but I flinched.
He turned away from me, the muscles in his back and shoulders knotted tight. “You do not have to fear me striking you,” he said.
“Just cutting off my head, right?” I said with a half-hysterical sob.
He turned, glanced sharply at me. “You remember?”
“Not really.”
I remember killing your father. I remember the feel of my own death by your hand, but I don’t remember how it was done. I said none of this to him, though.
“Please, Dante. What you are doing will stir not just my men, but everyone that Halcyon can rally from High Court and all the other surrounding territories to hunt you down. And not just you, but your mother, father, and brother. Please don’t do this.”
“My mother was aware of that possibility when she came and told me of the new life you carry. My family will have gone by now. They will be safe.”
“Dante, not just Monère will be hunting us. Eventually demon dead will be tracking us also. I’m Halcyon’s chosen mate. Didn’t your father and mother tell you that?”
He growled, a silent emanation felt more from the vibration of his energy spiking rather than from any real audible resonance. It was even more frightening than simple sound would have been.
“You are my mate. You carry my child.” He crawled over me, lay the entire length of his long body over mine, bracing himself on his arms. That one thoughtful gesture amidst the dominating one—sparing me the pain his full weight would have caused me with my hands handcuffed behind me the way they were—brought those annoying tears welling back up in my eyes. They overflowed, spilled down my cheeks.
His harsh face softened, and a surprisingly gentle finger brushed away the wetness. “Don’t cry, dulcaeta.”
It was a word my inner stirring consciousness half-remembered. An endearment. It made my breath hitch. “Dante, please. Let me go.”
His face hovered over mine, his eyes grave, inscrutable. “I will. If you promise to do nothing to harm the child you carry.”
“What if doing nothing is the greatest harm?”
“How can allowing life to grow be harmful?”
“A part of me is becoming demon dead, Dante.”
He rolled off me to lie on the bed, his eyes staring up into the ceiling. “My mother told me. So?”
“So?” I repeated, incredulously. “I’m becoming Damanôen. Demon living. It’s changing me, Dante. I’m growing fangs in human form and drinking blood. If it’s changing me, how can it not change what is growing inside of me?”
>
“So you wish to kill our baby before it has even a chance to live? To end its life when you do not even know if it will be affected, as you fear.”
I tried to roll over to face him, but the restraints would not allow it. Scooting back up toward the headboard, I sat up instead. “Dante, you of all people…you know what it’s like to be cursed. If my child is different, not just part human, part Monère—that’s bad enough—but part demon as well, it will be looked upon as a freak, a monster, a curse. Something to be hunted down and killed as anything different, anything perceived as a threat would be. That’s just how our world is.”
“You are determined to view it as a curse. But what if it’s not? What if it ends a curse, instead?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said that fate crossed out paths once more for a second chance. What if that second chance is this child that we have made together? Creating new life to balance the lives taken in the past. Mona Lisa.” His blue eyes deepened. “Please, do not kill our child. Let it live.”
The poignancy in those eyes, and the possibility of his words hammered like a giant spike into my heart. Broke a sob from me. Oh God. I didn’t know what to do. What was true, what was not. I didn’t know what was best for the baby.
Would a baby—our baby—truly undo Dante’s curse? Would fate be so warped as to play our lives this way in this second twining? Of course it would, something in me whispered.
I trembled. Said in a tremulous voice, “Dante, whatever my sins in the past, I will gladly pay for them. But I don’t want my baby to have to pay for the mistakes that we made. To bear the burden of our past deeds.”
Sitting up, he reached a hand out to me and laid a rough, callused palm gently over my stomach. “Of all the things in the past I have done, this one thing, making fresh, innocent life with you…how could that ever be a mistake?”
I didn’t know what to say or do or feel anymore.
As the silence spun out, he drew his hand away and rose to his feet, his expression closing down once more. “Come, we must be on our way. Do you need to use the toilet before we go?”
To my hot embarrassment, I did.
No matter how much I begged and pleaded and then threatened, he would not undo the cuffs. I ended up using the toilet and then standing, a painful flush sweeping over my entire body, as he wiped me down afterward.
“You cannot expect to keep me like this for the next nine months!” I said, utterly appalled and humiliated.
“I will do whatever I have to do to give our baby a chance. You can stop this at anytime, Mona Lisa. Think about what I’ve said.”
As if I could do anything else, I thought as he led me out into the bright sun. Even wearing a baseball hat, sunglasses, and light jacket, the warm solar rays must have pained him. If they did, he gave no indication of it.
Part of me wanted to lie, to give him the promise he’d asked of me—that I would not abort the life growing in me. But I could not bring myself to do that, to lie to him. I’d hurt him so much already—brought a curse down upon him and his family—how could I hurt him anymore?
How can you think about harming his child then? a voice inside me whispered.
I don’t know that it is his child, I argued back.
Part of you believes it is his.
Hard to argue with yourself.
Now who’s acting like the crazy one?
Go away! I told the bothersome voice as Dante seated me in the front passenger seat. Slumping back against the soft leather, I shut my eyes, blocking out the sight of him. Wishing it were as easy to ban him from my thoughts.
Think about what I have said, he had asked.
I did, as the miles rolled by.
I did.
SEVENTEEN
WE PASSED A sign announcing we were leaving Mississippi and approaching the Arkansas state line. One moment we were driving sixty-five miles an hour, the maximum speed limit, the next moment we were suddenly backed up in traffic, ten cars in front of us. There was some sort of road block ahead, with police lights flashing.
“You’re heading north,” I said.
Dante didn’t bother answering.
In a few minutes, we would be entering another Queen’s territory. I wondered if that would be better for us or worse.
“They’re checking car registrations, making sure they are valid,” Dante informed me, apparently already having ascertained the reason for the checkpoint up ahead. He seemed unconcerned, which I took to mean that his registration was current and up-to-date. A pity. The thought flashed in my mind and my body tensed: Should I call out to the policeman for help?
“Don’t try it,” Dante warned without looking at me. “I won’t hesitate to hurt him.”
“Damn you, Dante.”
He smiled bleakly. “I have been damned for a long time now.”
“Don’t you dare try to make me feel sorry for you,” I said in a low, heated voice as we pulled up to the waiting patrolman.
“I would not dare, milady.” Rolling down the window, he gave an easy smile.
The patrolman didn’t smile back. “I’ll have to ask you to pull over onto the roadside.”
“What’s the matter, Officer?” Dante asked politely. “My registration is current, and I haven’t been drinking.”
“I just need to look over your driver’s license and proof of insurance,” the officer answered just as politely, but his tone was insistent. “It will only take a few minutes, sir.”
Nodding, Dante pulled off the road as instructed and parked the car. Instead of walking over to us, the patrolman returned to his car. With our acute senses, both of us heard him clearly as he called in a match on the stolen car that had just been reported. He recited the license plate and requested backup.
Dante cursed.
“You’re driving a stolen car?” I asked. Was he a common criminal as well as a kidnapper?
Those pale blue orbs turned and glared at me. “No, this is my car. Your people must have called it in.”
Dante’s door was flung suddenly open.
“Right on the first guess.” Chami shimmered into view, holding a silver dagger to Dante’s throat. He took possession of Dante’s knife and gun, and reached for the car ignition keys.
“Uh-uh-uh. Keep your hands on the steering wheel,” my chameleon chided in warning as Dante tensed. “I will not hesitate to cut off your head here in front of all these nice people,” he said in a low, deadly voice.
Dante must have believed Chami’s threat, I certainly did, because he kept his hands on the wheel as Chami removed the keys and pocketed them. When Chami eased back on the pressure of the blade, I saw a thin red line of blood trickle down Dante’s neck from where the knife had cut into his skin.
I choked back my instinctive cry—Don’t hurt him, Chami—swallowing back the words because I knew that if I tethered the violence on Chami’s end, it would explode out from Dante.
Oh Goddess, please don’t let them hurt each other.
Chami drew out a thin whistle and blew it, three short blasts. The frequency was too high pitched for humans to hear. But animals—and Monère—would be able to hear it clearly.
“Hey, what’s going on?” the patrolman demanded, striding quickly back to us. There was only surprise not alarm in his voice at seeing a third person suddenly with us. From his tone, I could tell that he hadn’t seen the knife yet.
“Milady, if you can kindly take care of the nice policeman,” Chami requested, keeping his eyes and knife on Dante.
“That’ll be a little hard for me to do, Chami. I’m handcuffed.”
“To the car? Or just behind your back?”
“Behind my back.”
“Hey you, in the black shirt. Step away from the car,” the officer ordered, wariness in his voice now. He released the safety strap from his gun holster.
“Can you open the door and scoot out?” Chami asked. “I cannot handle both of them.”
I had a moment to think, Well, duh.
I should have thought of that. Then I was blindly groping for the door handle. My hands fell on the lever, pulled it, and I started to topple backward as the door swung open behind me.
“Careful,” Dante barked, grabbing my shoulder. That was the only thing that saved me from tumbling out of the car. He looked furious. There was no concern at all over the knife that was cutting deep into the side of his neck, trailing a small rivulet of blood down his shirt. He was focused entirely on me.
“Release her,” Chami snarled.
When he was assured that I had my balance once more, he did, and launched himself at Chami with sudden, swift violence, knocking Chami’s dagger aside with a swing of his arm, the warrior bracelet hidden beneath the jacket striking away the blade with jarring force.
They fell from my sight to the ground as I awkwardly wriggled out of the car, my heart pounding.
“Officer, help me,” I cried with unfeigned terror. “He kidnapped me. Tied up my wrists.”
“What the hell,” the policeman muttered, his attention diverted to me. He lifted the gun he had trained on the two wrestling men, and strode around the car to me.
The officer’s eyes locked with mine, and I had him. Power burned up from within me and spilled out in an invisible gush.
“You see only two men fighting. No weapons, no knife, no blood. A domestic matter that you do not wish to be concerned with,” I said in a voice that throbbed with the power I had called up, compelling him to my will. “You will go back to your car and report that you were mistaken about the vehicle. The license plate was Alpha-Bravo-George, not Charlie. Then you will wave the other cars by, and drive away, forgetting about us.”
The officer returned to his car, obediently radioed in the correction, and waved on the few cars that had slowed down to gawk at us. When he had cleared the road of traffic, when no other cars were in sight, he pulled away.
“Stop,” I cried, rushing to the two warriors fighting in deadly silence.
Without any human witnesses to hinder him now, Chami winked out of sight—chameleon. An unseen punch sent Dante’s head swinging back. He retaliated with a back-handed blow that caught Chami in the stomach, shimmering the chameleon back into view. Chami’s dagger came stabbing down.
