Blood Submission (Deathless Night Series Book 5) Page 12

  “What happened, Laney?” he asked again. Reaching across the space between them with his mind, he probed her memories. Intent on her grief, she didn’t block him, and he listened to her thoughts even as she spoke them.

  “I was rocking him, and he finally stopped crying! He fell asleep.” A smile ghosted about her lips. “His little face was buried in my shirt, and I remember thinking that if he would just sleep, just stay quiet for a few hours so I could rest, then it would be okay.” There was a dazed look in her eyes as she remembered. “And when I woke up, he was gone.”

  Dante frowned. “I don’t understand. Why do you think that was your fault?”

  She started at the sound of his voice, as if she’d forgotten he was there. Her eyes searched him out in the soft light. “Because I sent his soul away to where he’d be happy. He wasn’t happy with me. He just cried all the time.”

  “What do you mean you ‘sent his soul away’?” If he hadn’t been inside her mind at just that moment, he would have worried about her sanity. But there were no threads of madness, only overwhelming grief.

  “I can do that. I’m a monster.” That phantom smile was there again. “Just like you.”

  She was nothing like him. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve done it before, when I was younger. I watched my grandfather’s soul leave his body. I forced it out. He hadn’t been himself for months. He got mean, and started beating my grandma. I was only eleven, but I knew what was going on. And I loved my grandma. She used to always make me my favorite foods whenever I was at her house, and we’d watch the birds together in her feeders. She knew the names of every single one. So when grandpa went crazy, I protected her.” She wiped at her eyes. “I meant to do it that time.” This was said with no remorse. “I didn’t mean to do it to my son. I was just so tired.” She was quiet for a few minutes, then she sniffed and drew herself up. He could see her pulling herself together, and could only imagine how many other times she’d done it, like pulling a protective cape around her pain. “I’ve never told anyone that it was me. But I guess it doesn’t really matter if you know.”

  He could feel her complete misery, her desperation for him to understand. But he didn’t understand. Though he had no doubts that she believed what she was telling him, something wasn’t sitting right with her story.

  “What did the humans say exactly, about how the baby died?”

  She shrugged. “They said it was SIDS.” When he looked at her blankly, she added, “Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Sometimes babies just die in their sleep.”

  Dante didn’t keep up with all of the human illnesses and syndromes; there were just too many these days. Some real, and some created by the pharmaceutical industry to make a quick buck. Plus, he just didn’t fucking care. He didn’t normally associate with humans, other than to prey on them as they once did him. “And you don’t believe them?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Why not? There are a lot of human illnesses. It could have been anything.”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “No. It was me.”

  Dante didn’t know what else to say to her. He wasn’t good at this sort of thing. Running his hand over his head and feeling the bristle of new hair, he had the passing thought that he needed to take a blade to it again.

  His body’s lust was lessened by her grief. Another unusual occurrence. And he could feel her exhaustion, both physically and mentally. “I’m tired,” he told her. “And I’m still healing. I need to rest.” He paused. “You do, too.” Lying down, he pulled her down beside him, arranging the blanket over the both of them. He still had his pants on, but didn’t bother to remove them.

  She stiffened in his arms. “I want to get dressed.”

  He almost smiled, glad that the fight hadn’t gone out of her entirely. “No. I want to feel you against me.” Turmoil continued to rumble around inside of her, but eventually she sighed and relaxed against him. He looked down at her face, noticing for the first time the fine lines on her forehead. “How old are you, little mouse?”

  He didn’t think she was going to answer him at first, but then she said, “Thirty-eight.”

  “And when did your child die?”

  “Six years ago.”

  No time at all. “Where is the father?” He tensed, waiting for her answer, and wondered why it mattered to him.

  “He’s gone,” was all she said.

  “Tell me again what you think you did.”

  “Why? It doesn’t matter now.” Her tone was resigned.

  He didn’t know why it mattered. All he knew was that he felt this incredible longing to make the sadness go away, and to protect her from anything else that would make her unhappy. Every cell in his body was exceedingly aware of the woman beside him, tuned in to the slightest nuance in her mood. “Just tell me, little mouse. I want to hear the words from you. And don’t bother to lie. I will know if you do.”

  She sighed and tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he gathered her in closer to his chest, unconsciously lending her his strength. Giving up, she began to speak, her words muffled against his chest.

  “Apparently, I was born with the power. My father told me that my mom was a…she was a witch.” She hurried on, as if used to being questioned or ridiculed when she said that. Dante, however, took her at her word. He knew about witches. “I figured it out as a child, and when I confronted him, he didn’t deny it. He thought I had gotten lucky, that the magic had skipped a generation. We found out with Grandpa that it hadn’t.”

  “Where was your mother?”

  “She was killed when I was a toddler. Some kind of accident. My father moved us to Vegas and raised me by himself. He worked in one of the clubs on the Strip. As did I, up until recently. I was a hostess.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “No. He came down with pneumonia and died in the hospital last year. It’s just me now.”

  “What did your father say about what happened with your Grandfather?”

  “He told me I needed to learn to control my power.”

  “And did you?”

  “I thought so. Until a few years ago.”

  He played with her hair, running the soft strands through the fingers of one hand while holding her close with the other as he digested all she had just told him. Something about what she’d said happened with her son wasn’t jiving for him. As she drifted off to sleep in his arms, he ran over it all again, determined to figure out what it was.

  While he mulled over her story, Dante had his own demons banging on the door. But he’d slammed that slab of steel in their faces hundreds of years ago, and he wanted to keep them in there. So he spent the time before sunrise worrying about her. It sufficed well enough to keep his own memories at bay.

  Chapter 16

  Dante came immediately awake, but out of habit, he kept his breathing exactly the same and gave no indication that he was aware that something unusual was going on. And a second later, he was glad his natural self-preservation had kicked in when a slight weight carefully straddled his hips and settled over him. Instinctively, he knew it was Laney. He kept up the illusion of sleep, curious as to what she was up to.

  A multitude of emotions washed over him from the woman sitting on his stomach. Then suddenly, she shifted her weight in a manner he was all too familiar with. His eyes popped open just in time as he caught a flash of cold steel arcing through the air toward his chest. Moving fast as a striking snake, his hand shot out and wrapped around her small wrist, the bones delicate in his grip. In her hand was a long straight knife she must have found in his feeding room. And the tip of that blade had just nicked the skin of his chest. Right above his heart. He’d stopped it just before she was able to bury it all the way through his ribcage.

  With a bellow of rage, he threw the female off him and shot off the bed. A drop of blood trickled down his bare chest, but he ignored it, all of his attention on the woman scrambling to her feet in front of him. She had got
ten somewhat dressed before attempting to snuff out his life, and now stood in front of him in her button-down shirt and underwear, the large knife still gripped in her small hand. She was magnificent in her rage. And even in his own anger, Dante found his eyes travelling down her bare limbs to her small toes and all the way back up to her messy, just-fucked hair. His manhood hardened, demanding to give her a reason to look so disheveled. The fact that she still had the knife only excited him more.

  So she wanted to kill him, did she? His heart suddenly felt as though she had succeeded in slicing it open.

  He stepped off the mattress and stalked over to her. As he advanced, she backed up until she ran into the brick wall behind her. Covering her hand with his, he brought the blade of the knife to his throat, pressing it into his skin until he felt blood welling up and flowing over. She watched it trickle down his skin, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. “If you want to kill me, little mouse”—he pressed the knife harder into his neck, even as she tried to pull it away—“you’ll need to cut off my head.” He could feel the blade hitting his windpipe. “Shall I help you?”

  She struggled to pull the blade away. “No! Stop! Dante, stop!”

  “Why?” he hissed at her. “You obviously want me dead. You just tried to sink this knife into my fucking heart while I was sleeping!”

  “I just want to get away from you; I don’t want to kill you,” she cried.

  Dante could feel the truth in her words and her mind, but it was too late for regrets. He laughed without humor. “Little mouse, you can’t get away from me. I would find you. It doesn’t matter where you run, or where you hide. You are MINE now.” Something clicked inside of him as he said those words, but caught up in the emotions of her attempt on his life, he paid it no mind.

  He needed to teach a lesson to this one. It was time to take her to the feeding room. Whether or not she ever left it would be up to her.

  Pushing the knife away from his throat, he twisted her wrist until she dropped it with a cry of pain. It landed on the dirt floor with a dull thud. He lifted her off her feet with an arm around her waist, holding her on his hip, her arms and legs dangling as she tried to twist out of his grip. Her betrayal seared through him, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he became. But he wasn’t sure who he was more angry with: Laney, for trying to stab him, or himself, for allowing her to crack the shield of ice around what little was left of his humanity.

  When he got to the tunnel, he put her in, head first. “Go,” he ordered. She tried to crawl backwards, to get out, but he was right behind her, blocking her way. “Crawl!” he barked.

  She sat up, trying to turn around to face him in the small space. “Dante, please! Please don’t make me go in there. I’m sorry!” Realizing his mistake, Dante backed out and she quickly followed him.

  He should have gone in first, so he could pull her behind him by the ankles, if need be.

  But as soon as she was out of the tunnel, Laney turned and threw herself into his arms. He caught her automatically, landing on his ass and burying his face in her hair. Her entire body was shaking in fear, and he felt another crack in his shield.

  “I wasn’t trying to kill you,” she sobbed. “I wasn’t! I just wanted to get away!”

  He held her a moment longer, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the way she fit so perfectly in his arms, then firmly removed her from his lap and set her aside. He stared at her for long moments, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

  “I have to go.” Rising to his feet he found his shirt and boots and put them on. The tender feelings roiling through him were unfamiliar and unwanted. He’d stop at his apartment upstairs to shower and check on the animals before going to Luukas’s. He steadfastly ignored the woman behind him. He had to. Something was wrong with him. Something that had to do with her. He had scared her, and for the first time in a very long time, it wasn’t sitting right with him. Without a backward glance, he left, striding down the passageway to the cave-in. She didn’t follow or call out after him.

  A relentless pain that had nothing to do with the nick on his chest lashed at his insides that she didn’t.

  Finding himself upstairs in his bathroom with the shower running, Dante didn’t even remember how he’d gotten there. He stripped off his clothes and stepped under the scalding spray, wishing it could burn away the fucking memories knocking on the door of the vault inside his head. Memories that he’d managed to shut out for a long, long time.

  Papa! Papa! Watch me!

  With a growl, Dante shook his head and turned to let the water burn the skin off his back.

  Papa, why is Momma not coming back? Where is she?

  He turned around again, sticking his face right into the spray.

  Papa! Papa, help me! A child’s scream of pain and terror tore through his mind.

  Rearing back with a roar of pain, he smashed his forehead into the tiles. Blood ran down the wall, turning pink as it mixed with the water at his feet. Blinking it out of his eyes, Dante reached down and picked up the soap. The sting of his injury was a welcome distraction, and with the unrelenting strength of will he was known for, he managed to shove those memories back to the deepest hell of his mind and soul where they belonged. With a breath of relief, he picked up the razor and got rid of the stubble on his head. He had hair, but for some reason, having a huge bald guy with tattoos and fangs coming after them scared the shit out of people more than a guy with hair. Maybe it reminded humans more of the old Dracula movies. In any case, it also gave them one less thing to grab onto as they tried to fight him off.

  His new friend whined outside the door, and Dante shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. As he’d expected, Shea must have brought him and the cat over from Luukas’s place after he’d left the night before. He should take them outside. Opening the bathroom door, he ruffled the dog’s fur and glanced at the clock next to the bed he never slept in, noting he had a good hour before he was expected to show up. He dressed quickly in heavy black cargo pants and a black T-shirt that fit him like a second skin. His combat boots completed the look.

  “All right, let’s go,” he told the animals. The cat meowed in agreement. Tail straight up in the air, he rushed over to the door with the dog on his heels. Dante took them to the elevator and outside. There was a little park with some actual grass not far from his building, and he headed that way.

  Forty-five minutes later, he made sure they had all that they needed and headed to Luukas’s penthouse apartment, leaving a light lit and the built-in TV on for them. The fresh air had done him good. He had a clear head by the time he walked into Luukas’s place.

  Immediately, he was assaulted with various scents of human blood, all slightly different and yet very familiar to him. Before he could investigate further, he was met at the end of the foyer by Luukas and the other Hunters.

  “Dante,” Luukas greeted him. “We were just wondering about you. What happened to your head?”

  Dante rubbed the large scab on his forehead. He’d nearly forgotten about it. By the tenderness there, he could tell the wound wasn’t quite healed yet. “Nothing. I ran into the door.”

  One side of Luukas’s mouth quirked up in amusement, but he didn’t comment further. “We’d like to introduce you to everyone properly.”

  Dante gave him a nod. “I apologize for last night. I was…thirsty.”

  “I assume you’ve taken care of that?”

  “Yeah.”

  Luukas nodded. “Good. Remember, the females that are here are very important to us, and if you think you can control yourself, I’ll introduce you and we’ll talk about everything that has happened in the short time you’ve been gone. If you can’t control yourself, you will need to find different accommodations immediately.”

  Dante looked over the group of males. Four pairs of deadly serious eyes stared back at him. They weren’t fucking around. “Where is Shea?”

  “She’ll be along,” Christian said. “Told me she needed to
do something real quick.”

  Dante turned his attention to him. There was something different about the male. There was something different about all of them. “Do what?”

  Christian shrugged. “I don’t know, man.”

  “Are you ready?” Luukas asked.

  Dante gave a nod. Although the humans smelled pretty damn good, enough to tickle his throat, he’d fed from Laney. He no longer had the crazy thirst from earlier.

  The group of males turned as one and walked in front of him like a human shield. More than once, he was checked out over a muscular shoulder to make sure he was keeping it under control.

  Dante cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “Keira, come here,” Luukas said. The wall of brawn split to reveal the dark-haired woman from before. The resemblance to his Laney was still there, but he could see quite a few differences now that he wasn’t blinded by blood lust. “This is Keira,” Luukas introduced her. “Keira is a Moss witch, as are the rest of the females here. A glitch in a curse that I will explain later.”

  A Moss witch? No shit? “I apologize for trying to feed from you earlier,” Dante told her, dead serious. “I was very thirsty, and you smell very fucking good.”

  Luukas bared his fangs at him with a hiss of warning. But she put her hand on his arm. “Calm down,” she told her mate. “He’s messing with you.”

  Dante gave a little tilt of his head. Yes and no.

  The female, Keira, smiled at him. “It’s good to meet you, Dante. And no apology is necessary. You are what you are. Besides, what Luukas tends to forget is that I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself, especially against powerful vampires. And I can tell that you are very old, and very powerful.”

  He gave her a small nod of acknowledgement. Inhaling a deep breath, he could scent Luukas’s blood in her, and her blood in him, now that he was feeling halfway sane.

  The others that were there came forward. He met Emma, Keira’s bright-haired sister and Nik’s mate, capable of immobilizing a vampire or other creatures where they stood, and the one that had kept him from attacking her sister the night before. Grace, Aiden’s mate, had healing powers that may come in handy. Last, he met Ryan, the seductive redheaded female that had finally tamed Christian. When he asked what her magic was, she just smiled. “Keeping everybody in the loop,” was her answer. Dante wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but he honestly didn’t really care.