Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay)
Page 9
He’d succeeded, right? He had delivered the news of Ray’s death. Although, it rankled that she didn’t appreciate his efforts more. Had to be the shock of hearing the news. Or did her reaction have anything to do with the stark fear minutes ago?
No matter. Despite all her earlier rejections and protestations, here she stood, finally accepting his presence. Her eyes had fluttered at him and her soft cheeks turned pink at his attention.
So why did this victory feel empty?
“You missed the spot. Over a few more books, please.”
Her smooth, low voice brought him out of his thoughts as he searched for the right location for the book in question. Although he wanted to cast his mind toward more pleasurable concepts, he had to concentrate to follow her directions to the fourth shelf space and correctly place the volume of poetry.
How the mighty have fallen.
And the scariest part? He couldn’t care less that he’d been relegated to shelving duty, as long as it meant remaining close to her.
“No problem, boss, your wish is my command.” He winked, hoping she enjoyed looking at his physique as much as he enjoyed flexing it in front of her.
Her cheeks turned red beneath the freckles, and she ducked her head and smiled, releasing the tension in her lips and jaw. Desire to make her blush forever shocked him with its intensity.
What’s wrong with you, dude? Since when did you get all squishy over a woman like this?
Since Marguerite in 1830, come to think of it.
He’d heard about a revolution in France, and never one to miss a citizen uprising in his immortal form, he traveled there to lend a hand with whichever side seemed most oppressed. Besides, he’d been bored and needed something to do. When he met the Paris cloth merchant’s daughter, Marguerite, he fell in love. One bloody revolution and thirty years later, it had nearly destroyed him when she died a natural death at age fifty-two, leaving him alone again. Since his French wife’s death, he’d only gone for brief, no-strings-attached interludes. Anything else hurt too much. Human life was so transient. So fragile.
And now?
He was an idiot. Hannah would eventually leave him just like Marguerite did, even if she survived the minion’s desire to harm her.
She was mortal. Dante was accursed. Not much to discuss. Then why not enjoy her while he could? He had needs; he was still a hot-blooded male. He wouldn’t have trouble getting her in bed—all women succumbed to his charm eventually, right? But the mere thought left him cold. He wouldn’t toy with her and then leave her as was his usual routine. She was a forever kind of woman. Which made for a big problem. His forever lasted a hell of a lot longer than hers, and he couldn’t go through another loss like with Marguerite.
Maybe he should ask Peter again how he got out of his contract. Last time Dante tried to get the information, his previously undead friend wouldn’t tell him. Maybe Peter could be coerced into giving up the information for a curious buddy.
But what would Dante do if he escaped his Indebted existence? At this moment, he had everything: unlimited women, riches, and virtual immortality.
Besides, Peter’s and Barnaby’s Meaningful Kills were flukes, right? Two men returned to mortal form out of how many Indebted over how many centuries? Dante would likely be here doing Jerahmeel’s bidding for hundreds more years. Which reminded him, he’d fallen behind on his quota for the month. He had to go hunting soon.
The throb of the warm blade strapped to his lower leg had been increasing its insistence over the last few days. Desire to plunge the blade into a criminal consumed Dante’s mind. He needed the sweet release of some sick bastard’s soul bleeding into the knife, then the knife’s siren call would quiet down for a time.
“... Dante?”
He blinked and focused on the lovely bespectacled face before him.
“Daydreaming?”
“Guilty.”
He couldn’t stop smiling around her. Not good.
She glanced at her watch. “Well, um, I’m done for the day. We’re done.”
“Excellent. I think we should reward our hard work with a nice meal.”
“Oh, no, I can’t. I need to get home.”
The fear that flickered over her created a surge of protective instinct in Dante’s chest. How disturbing.
“How about a quick snack and I walk you home?”
“No, thank you.”
“Look, are you still upset about the news about Ray?”
“It’s more complicated than that. And, um, I have to thank you for the effort you made to deliver that information.”
“So why can’t you go out to eat with me?”
“We can’t.”
“We?”
“Scott doesn’t—”
“Doesn’t what? Like me?”
She dropped her gaze to the empty cart. “Kind of. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Unless, of course, you also don’t like me?”
Her cheeks blazed red; she looked everywhere but directly at him. “No, I don’t ... No. I wouldn’t say that.”
He touched her shoulder and cursed himself again when she flinched. “Why don’t I walk you partway home and call it good? You don’t have to tell Scott.”
When her eyes lit up with hope, his big, burly heart melted.
She tugged at a strand of her hair. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. There’s a nice café nearby where we can get a bite to eat and then go on home. ‘Hope in the heart of men lives on lean pasture.’”
“More Tristan and Iseult?”
“Of course. It’s surprisingly appropriate.”
“I’m not sure.”
“About the quote?”
“About the snack.”
“Please.”
She thought for several long moments. “Okay.”
When she smiled up at him, his world narrowed down to her lovely face. Hell, he’d only offered her a sandwich; she acted as though he’d presented her the world. And damn him if he didn’t want to give her the world, if only to watch her beam like that over and over.
Herre Gud. He’d found the one woman he shouldn’t have. The one woman mixed up with Jerahmeel’s minion. The one woman who made him consider ending his endless contract. He envisioned no happy ending here. Only pain and eternal torment.
And he was taking her out on a dinner date.
Du år an idiot.
Chapter 8
Night falling, and her belly full of panini, Hannah strolled next to Dante, north toward the rental. Over the light dinner, he’d even coerced a cell phone number out of her.
Bless him, he didn’t mention their hot and heavy interlude in the bookstore or her weenie meltdown. Just like yesterday’s walk home, he kept the conversation breezy, asking her questions that weren’t too personal. Questions she could answer. Although he avoided serious topics, she glimpsed moments of intensity where he focused on her and nothing else. Like he was hungry. For her.
Yeah, right. He’s only completing his civic duty, and then it’ll be over.
Truth be told, she wanted to get rid of him long before they arrived at the rental. He shouldn’t have to deal with someone as rude as her brother and his creepy friend. Dante had been kind and patient. She could at least return the favor by shielding him from a nasty confrontation.
“I’ll, ah, go on home from here.” She fidgeted with the purse strap slung across her chest and glanced up the street. Not many people around. Good.
“I can walk with you a bit farther.”
His deep voice made her insides tingle. Hannah wanted to drown in that warm baritone.
Stop enjoying it. He needs to stay away. For his sake and for mine.
“No, Scott will be mad. I’m so sorry. It’s really not you. I have no idea what’s gotten into my brother.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position,” he said.
How he remained civil despite her brother’s rudeness and her own weirdness amazed her.
Her heart fluttered wildly against her ribcage. Seriously? Well, sure. What would be the harm?
Darting a glance around the residential street in the growing twilight, she nodded. And shivered.
Thankfully, she had a moment to hold the transfer block in place before he touched her skin.
He lifted her chin with one large, warm finger and exhaled slowly as he bent down. The scent of their dinner and his cologne surrounded her. His firm lips, soft but insistent, felt like paradise. Bolts of happiness shot from her lips straight down her legs.
Dante didn’t move. He only kissed her, one hand caressing her neck and jaw. He kept the other hand at his side. Hannah’s head swam, and she grabbed the front of his shirt, using it as leverage to rise higher and press against his mouth.
This time, she experienced no fear, but only delicate, growing pleasure at his light touch. His warm breath mingled with hers, and warmth, like holding her hands to a welcoming fireplace, flowed through her entire body. Cold panic had been fully replaced by toasty happiness.
The heat radiating from him rose a notch, and she relaxed into him, hoping he would put his arms around her. But he didn’t move except to slant his mouth in lovely new angles. She wanted more. More contact, more of the warmth.
Freedom felt like kissing a handsome man without freaking out.
She sighed into his mouth, not wanting the kiss to end, wanting to stay like this forever ...
The blare of a car horn startled her. The orange Civic squealed up to the curb. Dante tensed, spun around, and tucked her into his side, encircling her with his large arm.
The crystalline happiness shattered.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. She peeked into the shadows. No one was on this quiet residential sidewalk at this hour.
“It’ll be okay,” he said.
His grip around her shoulders tightened as Scott, Brandon, and two of their friends poured out of the car. Dante pivoted so that she stood partially behind him.
Brandon whispered in her brother’s ear and winked at Dante.
Scott called out, “Sis, I thought I told you to stay away from this ass clown.”
“It’s fine. He’s only walking me home.”
Her brother’s expression wavered from anger to sympathy until Brandon nudged him again. Hannah hated that redheaded jerk.
“Looked like he wasn’t doing a lot of walking.”
“Grow up, Scott. It’s nothing.” Damn her quivering voice. And damn Scott for ruining the evening.
“Yeah. I gave an order for your own protection. Why can’t you listen to me for once? After all I’ve done for you, this is my thanks?”
The sickly sweet scent of alcohol drifted over to her. Not again.
“It’s okay, Dante’s leaving.” She willed her shaking muscles to calm down.
Brandon again murmured something into Scott’s ear. Her brother scratched at a sore on his neck as a muscle twitched in his jaw.
“The hell he’s leaving.” Scott stepped closer.
Like the drop on a rollercoaster, her stomach fell out from under her.
“Scott, let’s go home. We’re done,” she said.
“You bet you’re done.”
Scott’s arms jumped with more energy than normal, and he kept picking at his neck.
Brandon sneered behind her brother and said, “She’d better learn to listen to you when you give an order, don’tcha think?”
“Stay out of this, røvhål,” Dante growled.
“Why? I’m just doing my job, same as you.” Brandon snickered.
“What does he mean?” Hannah looked up at Dante’s shadowed face.
“Nothing.”
His fingers dug into her upper arm until she let out a whimper. But she’d rather have his arms clamped around her than face these guys on her own.
Brandon tipped an imaginary hat to Dante. “Now, boys, how about let’s get busy?”
Scott and the other two guys nodded.
The cords of muscle in Dante’s arm bunched, rock hard. Waves of heat radiated from his tense frame.
“You should leave here. Please.” She ducked from under his arm and tried to give him a gentle push. He didn’t move.
“And leave you with these oåkting? I think not.”
“You gonna take lip from this meathead, Scott?” Brandon egged him on.
“No way, man. Get your hands off my sister, asshole.”
The guys fanned out in a loose semicircle around them. Hannah shivered in earnest now.
“Dante, get away from here,” she whispered.
“I’ve managed far worse than four morons at a time.”
Jaw set, he let go and stepped in front of her.
The guys approached Dante who, to his credit, held his ground with his arms swinging loose and knees bent. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t swallow.
Four against one? Not good.
Scott’s two nameless friends jumped in first, landing a few blows. Dante leveled one guy with a punch to the guy’s jaw and swept a leg around to send the other one sprawling. Scott shot a worried look at Brandon, who sneered in his thin, pinched way, produced a tire iron from the car, and sauntered toward Dante.
“How about you pick on someone like yourself, shit-for-brains?” Brandon said.
Before she could intervene, Scott grabbed her, holding on tightly.
“Don’t want you getting hurt, sis.”
Scott exhaled a disgusting cloud of stale alcohol and a strange chemical smell. Like cleaning solution, fresh shower curtain, and ... cat urine? He smelled like this yesterday morning.
Meth.
“Let me go!”
She struggled, unable to escape her brother’s freakishly strong grip.
Brandon circled Dante, grinning. “My turn.”
A few test swings of the iron whistled through the evening air, but Dante held his ground and kept Brandon squarely in front of him.
Hannah’s blood ran ice cold, leaving her lightheaded.
“This is all your fault, sis. If you would’ve listened to me, this never would have happened. Brandon’s going to teach you and your pimp a lesson.”
Scott wrenched her arm behind her back. She couldn’t move an inch. He had way too much energy tonight.
Faster than she could follow, Brandon swung the iron into Dante’s raised arm with a crack. He then clanged the iron into Dante’s lower leg, rocking the big man, but Dante didn’t fall. As more blows rained down, he grunted against each one but somehow remained upright.
Dante then countered with a blur of meaty punches, pushing Brandon back. But the jerk kept attacking, a nasty snarl pasted on his thin face. It didn’t make sense. One of the men should be dead with as many blows as they were taking.
One harsh strike impacted Dante’s ribcage, the snap loud in the evening air. Hannah screamed and pulled against Scott.
Dante spun around, his black eyes locking on to hers, blood running down his temple. He pressed a hand against his ribcage and wheezed. With an expression of murderous rage, he took a step toward Hannah and Scott.
Brandon took advantage of the distraction and smashed the back of Dante’s head. Dante went down like he weighed a ton, hitting the ground with a stomach-turning thud. The blond giant didn’t move. Oh God, Dante’s dead. She kicked against Scott, desperate to get to the man who’d stood up for her.
Scott’s remaining conscious friend kicked Dante while Brandon’s relentless shots with the tire iron pummeled unmoving bone and muscle. The thick weapon had actually bent. Dante tried to get up once, groaning. Brandon hit the back of Dante’s skull again, dropping Dante to the pavement. Blood stained his fair hair dark red and ran onto the cement.
He no longer moved.
Bile burned its way up Hannah’s throat.
She stomped on Scott’s instep with everything she had, freeing herself when he yelped and jumped
back in pain. Throwing herself on Dante, she absorbed a glancing blow to her back when Brandon didn’t check himself in time. Her muscles knotted in fiery agony.
Beneath her, Dante didn’t move.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
“Let’s get outta here. This guy’s learned his lesson,” said the other attacker. “That is, if he survives.”
“Help him up.” Brandon ordered Scott’s friend to pull the semiconscious buddy to his feet.
Scott yanked on her arm as she lay draped over Dante’s inert form. “Come on, Hannah.”
“Get away from me!” she screamed, pulling away. “You can go to hell.”
Her wet tears dampened the back of Dante’s bloody and torn shirt. The sirens were getting louder. Police. She couldn’t be discovered here. They’d figure out who she was and what she and Scott had done to Ray. She wanted to run. But Dante—
“Come on, man. Just leave her. She’s shit.” Brandon yelled from the driver’s seat.
Scott froze, torn between Hannah and the car for a long moment. She saw a flash of her old brother, and then it was gone, replaced by a paranoid tweaker.
“Bro, come on!”
Her brother flipped her the middle finger, jumped in the car, and the guys sped off.
With extreme effort, Hannah rolled Dante’s massive body over onto his back, his strong face bruised and bloodied. Was he still alive?
His chest rose and fell.
Blue and red shadows flashed on the trees and houses as the police turned onto the street. She couldn’t drag him anywhere. His limp bulk wouldn’t budge.
She wouldn’t leave him. If he died, it would be her fault. She should’ve left him after dinner. Should’ve made him leave. Damn.
There was only one thing to do, and it was going to really hurt. Could she control her gift enough to wake Dante? And do it without killing herself? She had to try.
Hannah pressed her hands to the side of his warm face, her grip slippery from the blood pouring from all of the cuts.
Come on.
Nothing happened.
Come on, Dante. Please.
The transfer, fast and intense, nearly blew her off him. She held on, taking it all in, like drinking water through a fire hose. No time to prepare.