Beneath the Skin (38 page)

Plucking Von's hand free, Dante said, "I owe you, for true. And if I wanna apologize, then I'm gonna fucking apologize. So--
je regrette."

"Like a goddamned mule."

"Mules apologize?"

Von slapped Dante's shoulder, then sat up. "Yeah, especially when they're not supposed to."

"Do you feel okay?" Dante asked. "I mean, do you feel ... different?"

Von went still. Dante heard his heart pick up speed. "Did you do something to me, besides give me blood?" he asked, voice low.

"Ain't sure," Dante said. "But I think so."

Von nodded, then exhaled. "Ah, hell, little brother." He looked at Dante. "I'll let you know if anything odd pops up."

"I'll fix whatever I've changed," Dante promised.

"Well, if you've improved anything, I won't be complaining."

"It's you guys' turn to drive," Annie cut in. "I'm exhausted." But she remained outside, her face shadowed, her body language tense.

Given the grass and branches, understandable. Dante wondered if he should risk unmaking it, decided not to in case it went wrong.

He straightened and caught the car keys she tossed. Tucked them into his pocket. "
D'accord
. Where are we?"

"Colorado, but we're getting close to the Kansas state line."

"That's good," Von said, smoothing his hair back from his face. "We should be home sometime late tomorrow afternoon." He touched fingers to his temple.

"You okay?"

"Just a little dizzy. Don't worry. I'm gonna hit the men's room. Wash up." Scooting to the door, Von hopped outside.

Annie climbed in. "This is fucking unreal," she muttered. "Dude,
grass
? Couldn't it be the kind we could smoke, at least?"

"Hey, it ain't prickly grass, so that's something."

Dante crawled over Von's sleeping bag to his own. Kneeling beside Heather, he checked her sleeping face for blood. He exhaled in relief when he didn't see any. Tendrils of sweat-damp red hair clung to her face. He brushed them aside, then bent and kissed her parted lips.

I got a little lost inside your head.

All heart and steel, his woman. Even though he'd yanked her into his nightmare, she'd fought beside him.

"Merci beaucoup, cherie,"
he whispered.

Heather's pink Emily the Strange T-shirt was soaked through and, spotting the empty Dasani bottle on the SUV's floor, he guessed water and sweat both played into the mix.

Then he saw the black zippered bag. "Another seizure?" he asked.

"Yeah, but Von had the seizure, not you."

An image strobed behind Dante's eyes:
The shovel smacks into the Papa/Von flickering face, slamming his head to the side, and toppling him into the sawgrass.

"Merde."

Dante sat back on his heels, a hard knot burning in the center of his chest. Pain throbbed at his temples. He looked at Annie. She sat cross-legged on Von's sleeping bag, shadows smudged beneath her eyes, the line of her jaw tight. Moonlight glazed the piercings at her eyebrow and lower lip silver.

"Did I hurt Heather?" he asked. "I mean, a seizure or headache or nosebleed?"

Annie shook her head. "No. Not that I know of," she amended.

Dante nodded, throat tight. He returned his attention to Heather. Trailed his fingers along the curve of her cheek, down the line of her throat, and across her collarbone. Touched his fingertips to the collar of her damp shirt, then gently peeled the T-shirt off over her head.

"You got a dry shirt I can put on her?"

His gaze lingered on the curves of Heather's lavender bra-covered breasts. He imagined pushing the fabric aside, licking her nipple, then sucking the hardened bud into his mouth. His pulse quickened. He felt himself stir, stiffen. He wanted to trace his fingers along the soft skin over her taut, flat belly, the curves of her waist, down to the top of her jeans.

But he forced his hands to remain on his thighs. He wanted to be looking into her twilight blue eyes the next time he touched her, the next time he undressed her.

"You're gonna hurt Heather if you stay with her, y'know," Annie said softly. "You're gonna end up hurting everyone around you because you can't help it."

You're gonna hurt everyone around you.

Even if you don't mean to, huh, Dante-angel?

Watch over her,
ma mere. S'il te plait,
keep her safe. Even from me.

Oui,
princess. Even if I don't mean to.

"You don't need to waste that, by the way," Annie said, waving her hand at his crotch. "I'm awake. Unlike my sister."

Dante pushed his hair back from his face. "You got a dry shirt or not?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist." Annie swiveled around and grabbed her gym bag. She dug around in it, then pulled a shirt free. She tossed the bag back into its corner. She crawled across the grass and handed Dante the shirt.

"I know how you feel," she said.

"No, you don't."

"I've always been a fucking freak, different. I hurt everyone around me--especially the people I love."

"Do you wanna hurt them? Or does it just happen?"

"Both, sometimes." Annie's natural scent--vanilla and cloves--intensified, became smoky, but Dante caught something different underneath it, something he couldn't name. "Sometimes it's the only way to feel alive." She slid a hand up his thigh, hunger and heat shimmering in her blue eyes.

Annie's knowing touch reignited the smoldering embers of Dante's hunger for Heather. He locked his hand around Annie's wrist, stopping her hand just short of his crotch. "Ain't gonna let you hurt Heather."

"What she doesn't know
won't
hurt her."

"Yeah, it will."

Annie leaned into Dante, brushed her lips against his. "I know you wanna do this. You know it too." She reached for him with her free hand.

Dante
moved.
Only a couple of feet, but it was enough. Annie's hand swished through empty air. Dante dressed Heather in the Mad Edgar T-shirt and smoothed it over her belly. Fire flared. He drew in a deep breath and tamped the flames back down.

Want you,
cherie.
Always will.

"Interesting that you found that tee in your bag again, yeah,
p'tite
?" he said.

"I bet you'd fuck me if I wasn't Heather's sister," Annie said, shoving her blue/black/purple hair off her forehead.

"
Peut-etre que oui, peut-etre que non.
But since you are, it ain't happening."

"What
is
it with you? You piss me off and scare the shit outta me and get me hot all at the same frickin' time. Never met anyone like you." Annie knee-walked back to Von's sleeping bag and plopped down on it. "You know you don't belong here, right?"

"Yeah?" Dante asked, voice tight. "Where
do
I belong?"

"Someplace where you won't hurt everyone around you," Annie said, stripping off her pants and lobbing them into a corner. Purple panties peeked out from beneath the hem of her T-shirt. Panties she made sure he got a good look at before she rolled into the sleeping bag. "You say you don't want to hurt Heather, but that's hard for me to believe."

"Why?"

" 'Cuz it's just a matter of time. You're going to hurt her and hurt her bad."

"Fuck you. That's between me and her."

"Just saying. Bet if you were with others like yourself, others who might understand all your blue-fire-mojo shit, they'd be able to teach you how to
not
hurt the people you care about, y'know, like Von?"

"Tais-toi,"
Dante said, knotting his hands into fists. "Not another fucking word."

"Aw ... he has buttons after all."

Afraid that if he didn't leave right now, he'd do something he would regret for a long time, Dante leaned over and kissed Heather's soft lips. "Sweet dreams,
catin
," he whispered.

Dante climbed out of the SUV and closed the door. He leaned against it for a moment, waiting for his racing pulse to slow, for his hard-on to die down. Fire burned through his veins, torched his thoughts.

Pissed off at himself, most of all. He'd let Annie get under his skin.

Worse? The truth behind some of the shit she'd thrown at him.

Dante drew in a long, slow breath of air laced with the electric scent of impending rain, then pushed away from the car. He locked the SUV with a tap of the smart key, then strode across the parking lot to join Von in the men's room.

Watch over her,
ma mere. S'il te plait,
keep her safe. Even from me.

VON LOOKED UP FROM the sink, water dripping from his face, when Dante pushed through the scratched-up metal door. "Hey," he said.

"Hey back. And whatta special smell in here. Eau de doo-doo." Dante walked over to a dripping sink, turned on the cold faucet and splashed water on his face.

"That doo-doo that you do?" Von drawled.

An appreciative smile ghosted across Dante's lips, but Von read the tension in his body, saw it knotted in the muscles along his shoulders and neck.

He ain't gonna forgive himself for what happened.

Von finished washing up, then walked over to the bank of almost ineffectual air blowers. Tapping one on, he crouched beneath it so it could blast air at his face and hands. He lifted his arms and angled his freshly scrubbed pits at the blower too.

The roaring
whoosh
of the machine made his ears and head ache.

<
How do you stand the fucking noise?
>

Dante's sending lanced through Von's mind, crisp and clear, and sparked a chill down his spine. Normally a sending would filter in through his shields; now it was like nothing separated their minds, and that wasn't good.

"We'll meet in a few years when you're grown up. But right now, I think somehow you've pulled me inside a dream you're having--no, make that a fucking nightmare. Or is this a memory, little brother?"

"Man, this feels fucking real to me so I ain't got an answer for that." He turns back around and stares into the deep, still shadows pooled beneath the trees. "There a difference between nightmares and memories?"

That Dante even needed to ask a question like that ...

The muscles tightened in Von's chest. What he wouldn't give to have some quality alone-time with the Bad Seed bastards who'd made Dante's life sheer hell from the moment he'd drawn his very first breath.

Nightmares. Memories.

Von needed to protect himself from the shifting realities inside Dante's mind--the lines blurring between dream, memory, and fluctuating time so he could help guide Dante, as both friend and
llygad,
along the dark and thorned path fate had unrolled beneath his feet.

Otherwise, Dante would probably kill him at some point--accidentally, of course. And that was the last thing either of them needed.

He's had all he can take for right now. Boy needs a break.
Deserves
a break.

"Von? You not answering me for a reason?"

Von swiveled around on his boot heels. Dante stood as far away as he could from the blowers, his hands pressed over his ears. His dark gaze searched Von's face. A muscle jumped at whatever he thought he saw in Von's eyes.

The blower clicked off. And some of the tension eased from Dante's face, but only some. Dante lowered his hands to his sides, his fingers curling in toward his palms.

"Let's go outside and talk, little brother," Von said, rising to his feet.

"D'accord."

Outside, rain pattered onto the pavement, stirring the odor of wet blacktop into the pungent mix of diesel fuel and coffee. Von followed Dante to a picnic table on the other side of the parking lot, a good distance from the people coming and going from the restrooms and the coffee stand.

Dante straddled the picnic table bench and sat down. Beads of rain glistened in his hair and on his leather pants, jeweling the shoulders of his Saints of Ruin T-shirt.

On his bare white feet.

"Where your boots?" Von asked, straddling the bench so he could face Dante.

"Inside the car." Dante paused, trailing a hand through his hair, then said, "I fucked up. When I sent to you, I mean."

"You didn't fuck up."

"But it felt different, yeah? Like I'd just strolled into your bedroom without even pausing to knock, then realized there was no door."

"That's pretty much what it felt like, man. But all it means is that I need to strengthen and tighten my shields." Von tapped a finger against his temple. "Not a big deal."

"Yeah, it is. I pulled you into my dream, Von. Crashed your Sleep and your shields. No matter what you say, I'm responsible for hurting you. I think you should shut your link to me."

"I ain't gonna close off to you, little brother."

"Annie told me that ..." Dante paused again, a muscle playing along his jaw. "That you had a seizure during Sleep."

Von stared at him, pulse racing. Holy hell. A seizure. A real shovel would've fucking hurt, but wouldn't have damaged him. A realization chilled him: deadlier than reality, Dante's dreams.

He still didn't know how he'd landed in Dante's head in the first place, but suspected a part of Dante had realized he needed help and had instinctively reached for Von, pulled him inside.

To haul a struggling and bound boy out of a shallow grave.

"As long as you don't bash me with another shovel, I should be fine," Von said.

Dante cupped Von's face between his hot hands, the rain-chilled rings on his fingers and thumbs cold against Von's skin. "You ain't safe, not from me, and I ain't gonna lose you too,
mon ami.
Shut the link."

"Nope."

Dante held Von's gaze for a moment, his kohl-smudged dark eyes resolved. His hands slid away from Von's face. He stood. "Then I will."

<
You do, and I'm gonna kick your fucking ass
.>

But Von's thought bounced back unheard, the screened mental window between them closed and shuttered on Dante's side.