Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay)

by David, Jillian

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  At Hannah’s soft voice, Dante’s world tilted off-balance for a split second. It had to be his fatigue. Only he didn’t get tired, did he?

  Ivy jumped up from her position near Allie’s feet, ears perked, tail wagging eagerly.

  “No, Ivy. Stay,” Allie said sternly.

  Peter shrugged. “She’s gotten more protective of Allie since the pregnancy. Unfortunately, all she’d do to an intruder is lick him to death.”

  Dante grinned and followed Allie, Hannah, and a not-staying Ivy to the guest room. His gaze was drawn to Hannah’s slim hips, swaying beneath her skirt.

  Allie pointed out the bathroom, set a change of clothes for Hannah on the bed, and then quietly withdrew.

  The room smelled faintly of cinnamon and breakfast and ... home. Dante gave a deep, contented sigh.

  Standing in the middle of the room, Hannah rubbed her arms.

  Dante would’ve loved nothing more than to curl up with her and rest. Or not rest. But he needed to talk to Peter first.

  He lightly touched her slim arm.

  “You can have the shower first. Take your time. I’m going to catch up with Peter. Get a nap if you like, too. You’re safe here. With friends.”

  “Okay.” She pivoted back. “Dante?”

  Her mellow, vulnerable voice sliced through him.

  “Ja,” he answered hoarsely. His shoulders ached, so badly did he want to hold her.

  “Thank you. For everything. For...” Tears shimmered.

  He fisted his hands at his side to keep from yanking her into his arms. She looked so fragile, hugging the towel to her chest.

  “No one’s ever done anything like that...” She cleared her throat.

  He kept his tone light. “Of course. My pleasure. And even better, all of that mess led us to a fresh breakfast, a hot shower, and a nap. Everyone wins. Enjoy.”

  He backed out of the room, closing the door. Anything more said, and he’d never leave the room, which would be dangerous on every level imaginable.

  As he entered the cozy living room, he paused. Allie rested her head on Peter’s shoulder as they sat on the couch, murmuring to each other.

  Never in Dante’s 300 years did he consider himself lacking as a man, a protector. But right now, this—what his friend had found—was what Dante never truly had. This connection. This partnership. Even though he had loved Marguerite all those years ago, their relationship still never had the binding and lasting strength of what Peter and Allie had. Apparently, Dante required an additional 200 years of personal growth to get to the same maturity level as his friends. Late bloomer and all.

  With a wave of longing, he wanted to achieve what Peter had, to attain the Meaningful Kill, to be free of the knife, to live a life as a human. Just thinking about the damn knife, it throbbed again. It had been much too long since he’d fed the weapon. The longest he’d gone between kills had been two weeks, and he was pushing that limit right now. The sick siren song of the blade heated his leg with its undeniable hunger as the red desire to kill blinded him. With immense effort, he forced his base compulsions under control.

  Peter stroked Allie’s hair as they talked quietly.

  Dante cleared his throat. They pulled apart as though it took effort.

  “Come on in, Dante. Grab a chair,” Peter said.

  “Hey, professor, push me up.” Allie laughed as Peter helped propel her off the couch. “I’ll be resting if anyone needs me. Dante, when you two are done catching up, I should probably speak with you.”

  Not good. Had Allie’s unnatural ability picked up ever-present death from Dante? Or from Hannah? Herre Gud.

  Allie’s visions always predicted death.

  “Sure thing, Allie.”

  Peter watched Allie with a stark hunger until she left the room.

  Dante leaned back on the chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. “Pregnant, huh? So your boys can swim?”

  Peter’s smirk mixed chagrin and pride. “Apparently so. Ultrasound shows my girl has two arms, two legs, and only one normal-appearing head, so she’s not a freak of nature. Yes. My ‘boys’ must still be good after 70-plus years of Indebted service. Not bad for a 100-year-old guy, huh?”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “It sure shocked us. Didn’t think it was possible, so we never tried to prevent anything.”

  When Peter smiled, creases Dante hadn’t noticed before lined his friend’s face. The gray at the temples suited Peter, gave him a less harsh, more relaxed appearance. Finally. Time had begun to march on for his friend.

  “A pleasant mistake.”

  “We thought so.” Peter stretched his arm along the back of the couch. “So, what’s this about trouble in Portland?”

  Dante scrubbed his grimy forehead.

  “Peter, my man, it’s complicated. How much beta did Barnaby give you?”

  “He mentioned you’d killed some guy in Philadelphia. And the guy you killed asked you to find the person he’d hurt. Hannah, I presume. And now you’ve managed to unearth a minion in the process, one who now has knowledge that Hannah can ... heal people? Is that about right?”

  “You’ve got the bare bones of it. What I haven’t told you is that last night her brother, two other men, and the minion attacked me.”

  “I wondered why you both looked like hell. But they only attacked you, right? So what happened to Hannah?”

  “You know how I’m normally pretty good in a fight, right?”

  “You’re understating things, my friend.”

  “Just making sure your mind hasn’t slipped as you approach senility. Yes, I managed two men and the minion quite handily. But when Hannah’s brother grabbed her, I got distracted, and the minion took the opportunity to deal me quite a blow on the ol’ bucket.”

  “How did that even hurt you? Your skull’s really thick.”

  “Thanks, bro. But yes, I went down. The minion got in a lucky shot. According to Hannah, they kept beating me even after I was unconscious. Right before the police arrived, they ran away. And Hannah healed me.”

  Peter sat up straight. “So explain how she heals people.”

  “She’s got the ability to take whatever injury or illness someone has and absorb it into her body. Obviously, she didn’t realize I’d recover on my own.”

  “You can take more of a beating than any human. What happened when she absorbed your injuries?”

  “She nearly died.”

  “I bet.”

  “It was sick.”

  “All because of a minion?” Peter’s eyes no longer turned black like Dante’s, but the fury shone clearly nevertheless. Peter knew all too well the damage a minion could do to a mortal.

  Dante leaned forward. “Yeah. All of a sudden, I was completely healthy and she was unconscious from my concussion and sporting all of my injuries. So I grabbed her, ran away before the police caught us, drove out of town, and begged her to reverse whatever she did.”

  “And?”

  “Damned if it didn’t work. If I hadn’t taken my injuries back, she would’ve died from internal bleeding or the punctured lung.”

  “She still looks rough.”

  “I’ve seen her after she’s healed other people. She stays sick for a while.”

  “So now what?”

  “I’m not sure. Jerahmeel knows about the situation, about her. He may have inserted the minion after what I did in Philly. I’m guessing. Maybe he figured I would try to find my kill’s victims.”

  “Plural?”

  “Hannah’s brother. He didn’t get the worst abuse, though. He’s quite the piece of work. Easily molded and manipulated, I think.”

  “By a certain minion.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dante, you think Jerahmeel views Hannah’s healing ability as a threat? Like how Allie was a threat to him with her radar for all things death?”

  “Ja, possible. The question is, what’s the priority? Does the minion want to hurt Hannah to punis
h me? Or get Hannah for himself?”

  “You’re not popular, that’s for certain. But Hannah can potentially block Jerahmeel’s desire for someone to die.”

  “One human can’t make that much of a dent in his supply of souls, right?”

  Peter reclined back and rubbed his jaw. “Depends on how many of her kind exist and how many Indebted remain to feed Jerahmeel. Barnaby thinks our numbers are dwindling. That’s bad for Jerahmeel. Fewer killers, fewer souls, less power.”

  “Can’t he just make more Indebted?”

  “Takes too much drain of his power. It’s easier for him to make minions. They’re already evil. Not as much effort to create.”

  “So he needs every single kill.”

  Peter scrubbed at his temples. “A person like Hannah would be viewed as a direct threat to his power sources.”

  Dante’s gut twisted. “I’ll keep her hidden.”

  “Until you have to kill. Then he’ll know where you are.” He pointed to Dante’s leg. “You’re fighting the urge right now, aren’t you?”

  “Ja, but I can keep it under control.” Dante yanked his hand away from extending toward the knife.

  “For how long?”

  His forehead had gone damp with sweat. “As long as it takes, Petey.”

  “At some point, you won’t be able to resist.”

  Dante tried to ignore the eager, poker-hot knife pulsing on his leg. “I’ll do what I have to.”

  “She’ll be in danger.”

  “No, Peter, she will not,” he bit out.

  “Hmm.” His friend leaned back on the couch, breaking the tension. “So how does this involve you? And after your kill in Philadelphia? I wonder if Jerahmeel has become extra vigilant after Barnaby and I broke our contracts. If he’s watching you more closely.”

  “Barnaby mentioned Hannah’s healing abilities might make her either an asset or a liability to Jerahmeel,” Dante said.

  “An asset. Interesting. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  Peter rubbed his chin, lost in thought.

  “Jerahmeel knows about Hannah’s powers, and he hasn’t forgotten about Allie’s abilities ... and now two of his Indebted are out of the business. He’s intrigued and pissed. And you killed his other minion last year. Jerahmeel could be feeling vulnerable.”

  “Jerahmeel vulnerable? You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. He needs a constant supply of souls to maintain his strength. He needs creatures like us, you, to keep him going. And he might think you’re planning to get out of your contract, too.”

  “I wish.”

  “Thought you loved being immortal, had the world at your feet. Nothing stopped you, right?” Peter raised his hands, palms up.

  “Oh, sure.”

  “Maybe something’s changed?”

  “No idea what—”

  A ringing cell phone interrupted them. Peter answered on the first ring.

  “Hello? Yes.” His knuckles blanched as he glanced toward the bedroom. “Hell. Was he harmed? Okay, then. Thank you for the information, we’ll make plans.”

  Dante nearly jumped on him before Peter thumbed off the phone.

  “What is it, bro?”

  “Barnaby just got a visit from a minion named Brandon.”

  Chapter 11

  “Who was that?” An icy wave of dread flowed through Dante’s veins.

  Peter nodded. “Some lady named Ruth.”

  “Ja, Nurse Ratched.” At Peter’s unspoken question, he added, “She’s Barnaby’s attendant. Also like us.”

  “Interesting. But I don’t have time to care right now. She believes the minion is heading this way.” A muscle worked in Peter’s jaw as he glanced again toward the closed bedroom door. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  “When did he leave Barnaby’s?”

  “Right before Ruth called. Even speeding, it’ll take him over two hours to make it here.” Peter jumped up. “Ok. Time to go on a vacation for a week or so. May I recommend you do the same?”

  “Jåvlar. I’m getting tired of this insanity.”

  “No argument here, my friend.”

  “Where should we go, Petey?”

  “Let me give you a suggestion.” He pulled out a map and flattened it on the coffee table. Tracing a route south and then west, he tapped the map. “You’ll have cell phone coverage there.”

  “Then what?”

  “No idea. Call Barnaby and ask him. I’ll talk with him if I can. But there’s not much else I can do, Dante. I’m only mortal now, and I’ve got to get my wife to safety.”

  Shame flooded Dante. What evil had he aimed at his friends by coming here?

  “Bro, I’m truly sorry to bring all this down on you.”

  “Comes with the territory. Frankly, I wondered when things would catch up to us.”

  “Absolutely. Where are you going?”

  “Well, seems I finally have to take that shopping trip to Spokane. Baby supplies.” He smirked. “The things I do for you, Dante.”

  “Likewise.”

  The previous minion had tried to kill Allie. Dante still relished the memory of crunching the minion’s spinal column beneath his foot just before he dealt the deathblow. Now an even more disgusting minion was coming, with no compunction about going through a pregnant woman and her mortal husband to reach his goal. Damn.

  Peter paused. “Fair enough. You did take care of that last minion so I could help Allie. Let’s call us even, then?”

  “Deal.”

  Peter ran back into the bedroom. Allie’s alarmed voice traveled through the house as dressers and drawers banged closed.

  Dante needed to get Hannah the hell out of here. Kristus, bad shit kept following him these days.

  • • •

  Warm, relaxed, and clean, Hannah snuggled into the comfortable duvet. Her body rocked, and she tried to roll over to escape the annoying movement.

  “Hannah?”

  The deep voice soothed her, as welcoming as the covers on this bed. “Wake up, ålskling. We have to leave.”

  Hannah tried to pull the covers up, but they didn’t budge. With a sigh, she opened one eye. Dante knelt next to the bed, tensed like he was about to bolt. Alarmed, she sat straight up, fully awake. Panic gripped her until she took a deep breath and blew it out.

  “What?”

  “We’ve got to go.”

  “Why?”

  Dante studied the duvet cover. “Brandon’s headed this way. We can’t be here when he arrives.”

  Heart pounding, Hannah froze under a wave of nausea. “I don’t understand. Why would that loser come here?”

  “He’s a bad guy, worse than you think. And he wants to hurt us. I’ll keep you safe, but we need to leave now.”

  “Okay, okay,” she whispered, stifling the questions he obviously didn’t want to answer.

  She hadn’t seen fear on Dante’s face before, even when he’d stood up to the guys on the street yesterday. So what did it take for a man like him to be this afraid?

  She slipped on her sandals and hitched up the borrowed jeans. Cramming on her glasses, she dashed after Dante into the kitchen.

  Allie and Peter shoved supplies and food into two overnight bags. Ivy danced around, tail wagging. At least someone was having fun.

  Allie called over her shoulder, puffing as she bent to pack a bag. “Pull the covers off the guest bed. You’ll need it for the park in John Day.”

  “No, Brandon might figure out that we intentionally left. He can’t know for sure that you two were here. Best to confuse him as long as possible,” Peter said. “Stop by the Walmart in Caldwell, Idaho, and pick up the bedding you’ll need there.”

  Hannah’s cheeks warmed. Bedding? With Dante? Never mind. She’d worry about that later; they needed to get out of here first.

  “Dante? I need to speak with you.” Allie motioned him into the living room.

  Hannah tried not to eavesdrop, but their murmurs filtered back into the kitchen, punctuated by one e
mphatic “No!” from Dante.

  When they returned, Dante didn’t look directly at Hannah. His brows drew together in anger, but in his eyes, there was only sadness. When he cupped her elbow with extreme care, the alarm bells sounded in her mind. This was a different kind of touch, almost like pity, and she didn’t like it.

  “Good luck, you two,” Peter said, hefting both bags and a satchel of food onto his shoulders. “Honey, did you call work?”

  “Sure did. I’ve got tomorrow’s shift covered, so we’re good for a few days.”

  Hannah cleared her throat. “Um, thank you, for breakfast and a place to stay. I’m sorry about you, us, having to leave. And that jerk coming here—”

  Allie hugged her. “It’s nothing we can’t handle. Besides, you’re in good hands.” She punched Dante on his meaty arm as they all exited the house.

  The smile didn’t reach Allie’s eyes.

  • • •

  What was wrong with Dante?

  He hadn’t said a word for the past two hours while he continued to stare straight ahead. His grip on the steering wheel shifted between strangle and throttle, and the muscle in his jaw jumped every few minutes as he kept glancing in the rearview mirror.

  After announcing loudly to the gas station attendant that he was traveling to Boise, Dante proceeded to not travel to Boise. About twenty miles outside of the city, he veered off the interstate and doubled back on frontage roads and county roads until they drove through the mountains south and west of La Grande.

  When he took a curve too quickly, he grumbled, “Sorry.”

  She attempted conversation, but his curt, albeit polite, responses involved one syllable or a grunt. The few times he smiled, the curve of his mouth was cruel and grim against the tension in his neck.

  The one time he initiated a conversation, he only asked her to shut off her cell phone and not turn it on again. In silence, she dropped the phone into her blood-stained purse.

  What the heck happened? Yesterday, she was holding down a job and rebuilding her life in Portland. Last night, the attack by Brandon, assisted by her drug-using brother, destroyed everything she’d worked so hard to build. And now she was on the run with Dante. True, he might be a gentle giant with her, but she’d seen his brutal temper. She didn’t know anything about him.