Beneath the Skin (44 page)

A smile tugged at Dante's lips. "You ain't got any fucking idea what I crave."

"Perhaps not," Mauvais murmured. He sliced a long, sharp fingernail into Dante's skin just above his bondage collar. Blood trickled hot down Dante's throat.

Mauvais took a deep whiff, his eyes closing in pleasure. "Time for me and mine to flood our veins with your strength,
mon joli
."

"I've got a better idea. Why don't y'all blow me instead?"

Chuckling, Mauvais opened his eyes. "Hold him tight."

DUCKING BEHIND A LINE of crates waiting to be loaded, Heather crouched beside Von, her gaze on the red riverboat at the wharf's end. Waves slapped against the pilings, while distant laughter, honking horns, and the high-pitched shriek of a saxophone echoed from the street behind her.

"We might need more ammo," the nomad muttered, his attention focused on the lantern-lit riverboat and the silhouetted figures strolling the deck.

No, make that
patrolling.
Posture too alert, steps too purposeful to be anything but security. The place was an exclusive casino, according to Von, but the security seemed excessive.

"Is it always like this?" Heather asked.

Von shrugged. "Ain't sure, doll. Don't have many reasons to visit the place, but I have a feeling they added a few bodies to the payroll for our benefit."

"That's what I thought," Heather said. She pulled the Browning from her trench pocket and checked the magazine--full--then chambered a round.

A
ka-chunk
from beside her told her that Von had done the same. He looked at her with moonlight-glinting eyes. "You ready, doll?"

"Ready." She stood.

Von wrapped an arm around her waist, his leather jacket creaking against her trench. She caught a whiff of motor oil and frost. "Guns blazing, darlin'. Shoot anyone who tries to stop you."

"I take it we're not going to try for stealth?"

"We'll try, yeah. But even the best-laid half-assed plans, yada yada ..."

"Gotcha."

Swiveling around, the nomad hurtled over the crates, landing them both without a sound on the other side. He
moved
down the dock to the gangplank, the night streaking past in a cool, Mississippi-scented blur. Heather tightened her fingers around the Browning's grip.

Vaulting from the gangplank onto the riverboat, Von brought them to a stop on the deck away from the lanterns and near the steps leading belowdecks.

Heather's heart jumped into her throat when a pair of security guards stopped and turned, hands diving inside jackets.

She swung up the Browning and squeezed the trigger.

MAUVAIS LICKED AT THE blood trickling from Dante's throat, then, with a low moan, his lips fastened to the wound. Dante tried to jerk away from the Creole's hungry mouth, but pain ripped through his shoulder with every movement he made. His vision grayed.

"Keep him still," Justine snapped.

"Why don'tcha come over here and keep me still yourself,
chienne
?"

"If he says another word, hurt him."

"Here's a couple of my favs--Fuck. You."

A fist knuckled into Dante's aching ribs, but he held Justine's gaze and forced a smile to his lips. "Fuck you twice."

Fingers seized Dante's hair and yanked his head back. He tried to calm his racing pulse, not wanting to make anything easier for fucking Mauvais and his merry little crew, but his furious heart refused to listen.

Mauvais drank deep, his hands resting on Dante's hips, fingers kneading the leather beneath them like a contented cat. From above, Dante heard the muffled
pop-pop-pop-pop
of multiple gunshots.

Mauvais lifted his head. "Sounds like we have guests."

"
Oui.
A vampire male and mortal female," Justine said, a tight smile on her lips.

Her smile and Mauvais's calm sent chills down Dante's spine. They'd been
expecting,
maybe even
planning,
for someone to come for him.

he sent.

More gunshots
pop-pop-pop
ped outside.

"Friends of yours, I presume," Mauvais said. "That is, providing you're able to make and keep friends." He rose gracefully to his feet. Pulling an embroidered cream handkerchief from his breast pocket, he dabbed at his lips.

Several sets of hands released Dante as a couple of the nightkind holding him trotted out of the library to join the fight above. Felt like two remained holding him.

Send the pain below and fucking move.

White light flickered behind Dante's eyes. Pain hacked at his skull like a dull-edged axe. Seizing the pain, he used it, burned with it and, briefly, transcended it.

With a quick inward twist, Dante yanked his right arm free of the kneeling nightkind asshole holding it. Then, teeth gritted, he reached over his left shoulder and snagged the rim of Payne's ear. A hard jerk and the bastard's face slammed into Dante's shoulder, dislocating it with an audible
pop
.

"Fuck!" Pain poured molten through Dante's shoulder, collarbone, and chest. The room whirled.

Blood from Payne's nose or mouth or where-fucking-ever splashed hot across Dante's cheek. He heard a thud as Payne toppled to the floor behind him.

"Ouch. Well, hell," Von said. "Dante wasn't the one in danger, after all. My mistake."

"And
you
call
me
stubborn," Dante muttered. He rose to his feet, muscles coiled, burning up inside.

Justine's gaze slid past Dante, surprise rippling across her face. "Guy--a
llygad
."

"You okay, Baptiste?"

Dante smelled lilac and evening rain, then felt Heather's fingers brush against his cheek. "Better now,
catin
. You?"

Heather's mingled emotions, the butter-soft warmth of relief and rose-thorned anger, flowed into Dante through their bond. "I would've been better if you'd followed me over that wall. But we'll discuss that later."

"D'accord."

"An honor to have you with us,
llygad,
" Mauvais said, extending his arm across his waist in a half-bow. "But this isn't an official ... meeting." He pursed his lips as he straightened, his gaze reflective.

Dante knew just what he was thinking:
What the hell is a
llygad
doing storming a riverboat, gun in hand? Choosing a side and taking action--it ain't done.
He smiled.
Until Von, that is. A new breed.

Von stepped up on Dante's left side. "You're wrong about that, Guy," he said. "The moment your people nabbed Dante it
became
official. I'm here as friend and
llygad
both. And I'll never just stand aside where he's concerned unless he asks me to--so you might keep that in mind."

A deep frown creased the skin between Mauvais's pale brows. "What you're saying goes against all precepts of
llygaid
law."

Von shrugged. "What can I say? Times are changing."

Mauvais's gaze shifted to Dante. "Indeed they are." He sat in one of the leather chairs and casually crossed his legs. "Since I have no desire to have my entire crew and staff slaughtered--at least, not tonight--please feel free to leave, Dante."

<
This is too easy,>
Von sent. <
They're up to something.>

<
I know, but I ain't sure what.>

Justine moved to stand behind the Creole's chair, her black gown clinging to every curve. Her body language and expression were wary despite the glimmer of excitement Dante caught in her eyes.

A danger alarm prickled along his senses, intensifying the chill he'd felt earlier. Something was off, wrong. Maybe not a trap, after all, maybe something else altogether.

"You wanted my attention?" Dante said. "You've got it. This ain't finished."

"And it won't be until you've paid for your crimes in full," Justine said.

A smile tilted Dante's lips. Extending both middle fingers, he stepped backward several paces before turning around. He met Heather's deepest-cornflower-blue gaze.

"You thinking there'll be an ambush?" she asked in a near whisper.

"Ain't sure. But maybe, yeah."

Heather nodded. She loaded a fresh magazine into her gun, then chambered a round. "Okay. How about your shoulder? I know you can't use it and--"

"We'll take care of it outside," Von said. "Once we're in the clear."

"D'accord."
Dante looped his good arm around Heather's trenchcoated waist. They
moved
out of the library, across the crowded salon, up to the main deck, and off the riverboat without a single challenge. Dante's inner alarms flashed warnings.

A deafening whistle blasted the air, the sound echoing through the night like a monster's bellow. Pale steam geysered above the river boat. The
Winter Rose
edged away from the dock.

"Let's do this, little brother."

Dante leaned against several stacked crates on the wharf and gingerly lowered his arm to his side. His shoulder throbbed.

"Ready?" Von asked.

Bracing himself against the crates, Dante drew in a deep breath. He nodded and tensed as Von grasped his left arm. Before he had time to blink, the nomad slammed his hand into his shoulder, popping it back into place.

Dante banged his head back against the crates as pain washed over him like a tsunami; washed over, then ebbed away. Sliding down the crates, he sat down hard. "Shit," he breathed.

Von crouched in front of him. "You okay?"

"Fuck you."

Von grinned. "Yup. You're okay."

Sudden images and sensations poured through Dante's mind: walls of roaring flames, skin-charring heat, and choking black smoke; panicked images sent by Simone, Trey, and Silver.

Fire scorches her lungs. Blackens her skin. Devours her with relentless teeth.

"Simone," Dante whispered. Not a trap, no. Mauvais had
detained
him, insuring that he was kept away from home long enough for ...

How does it feel,
marmot?

Heather dropped to her knees, her eyes dilated and brimming with all the dark emotions crashing into her through their bond. "What is it? What's happening?"

"The house," Von said. "They're burning the fucking house!"

Simone's anguished screams ripped through Dante's mind, his hammering heart. He bolted to his feet, then stumbled as pain exploded behind his eyes like a fiery Molotov cocktail. Then stopped.

Simone's link wisped away.

Dante saw his own shock mirrored on Von's face. "She's gone."

36
THE TASTE OF HIS TEARS

NEW ORLEANS
March 27

FLAMES ENGULFED THE HOUSE. A few of the old oaks in the yard burned as well, the searing heat from the house igniting their branches. Yellow and orange lights from fire trucks, police cars, and an ambulance strobed across the night. Firemen in turnouts striped with reflective tape worked powerful hoses on the intense blaze.

Heather slid open the van's door and jumped out before Von had brought the vehicle to a complete stop. Thick acrid smoke and the odors of burning wood and melting vinyl layered the air. Rumbling generators and engines vibrated the pavement beneath her Skechers.

Water misted the air like rain.

Several clusters of people stood across the street, watching. A couple of people sat hunched on the curb--Trey and Silver.

Another hard knot twisted up Heather's guts as she looked for Annie. Spotting her sitting on the ambulance's bumper, Eerie clutched to her chest, Heather exhaled.

"C'est bon, cherie,"
Dante said, as he joined her, his husky voice echoing her relief. "Annie's okay. Eerie-
minou
too."

Heather felt just an edge of his raw grief. She had a feeling he'd secured his shields; both to protect her and to give himself some privacy. She clasped his hand.

"I'm so sorry," she said, meaning it and wishing she could say more.

Dante squeezed her hand, then released it. "I know," he said softly.
"Merci."
He strode down the street to where Trey and Silver sat on the curb, shoulders hunched, heads lowered. Silver jumped to his feet when he saw Dante, his soot-smeared face devastated. Dante grabbed him up in a tight hug.

Von stared at the burning house, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Firelight and shadows flickered across his face and the lenses of his shades. His hands clenched into fists.

"I didn't tell her good-bye. No need, y'know? I was coming back and ..." His words trailed off and he drew in a long, shaky breath. "Go see Annie, doll. I'm okay--well, ain't okay, but I can be left alone."

Heather hugged the tall nomad. "I'll talk to the cops for you," she said.

"Just tell them that Lucien is the owner, and that he's in Russia somewhere on business and he'll contact them as soon as he returns. If they ask about Simone, Trey's her only kin. Don't let them talk to Dante. He's too wound up and will probably say or do something to get arrested."

"Understood," Heather said. She released Von and hurried to the ambulance.

Eerie fixed his lambent gaze on Heather, his eyes glowing golden beneath the streetlights, and mewed. Annie looked up. Soot streaked her too-pale face.

"Simone never made it out," she said, her voice raspy with smoke. "Trey and Silver tried to go back in for her, but the flames ..." She shook her head. "It was so fucking bad."

Heather sat beside her sister on the ambulance's bumper. "Here, let me have Eerie so the medic can take care of your other arm." Scooping her kitty from Annie's embrace, she cuddled him on her lap. "How is she?" she asked the medic.

"A few first- and second-degree burns on her hands and arms," he replied. "Some smoke inhalation. Shock. But she's doing okay. You should take her to a hospital when we're done here."

"Will do," Heather said, another warm rush of relief pouring through her. She checked Eerie over. A bit of singed fur, watering eyes, and tender paws, but he seemed okay. She stroked his little head, eyes stinging. "How many lives have you used up now, kitty-boy?" she whispered.