Untouched (29 page)

Kerry pulled her long wet hair off her face and tied it back quickly with the ease of experience. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. The pelting raindrops stung her lips, and the clean water bathed her tongue. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel Dante’s gaze on her. His energy pulsed over her and mixed with the cool water as it ran down her body, creating an intensely erotic sensation.

Dante sidled up behind her and placed one hand on either side of Kerry on the railing. Gently, he pressed his massive body up against hers and placed a butterfly kiss along the edge of her ear. She made a soft sound of contentment and leaned into him.

“I just can’t resist touching you,” he murmured into her ear.

“Who’s stopping you?” She sighed.

He covered her hands with his, and she relished the way the slick skin of his arms slid tantalizingly along hers. That delicious sensation of honeyed warmth coursed through her veins. Her skin tingled as the enchanting phenomenon curled through her body from head to toe. He nibbled on her earlobe, and she angled her head, giving him ample access to her sensitized neck. He trailed wispy kisses along her skin and lapped at droplets of rain as that devilishly talented tongue flicked at her pulse, which beat wildly under the surface. She moaned faintly and licked the rainwater from her lips. Kerry attempted to reach up and touch him, but Dante captured her hands in his and placed them on the slippery railing.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he whispered gruffly. “This is about you. I just want you to feel me touching you.”

They stayed there in that position for the duration of the boat ride. That entire time he simply cradled her in the shelter of his body, periodically placing kisses along her cheek or trailing his fingertips up the inside of her forearm. His knee would brush tantalizingly against the back of her thigh as his fingertips memorized the curve of elbow. He licked the rainwater from the curve of her ear, along her jaw, and down the length of her neck. Delicate kisses, a lightning fast tongue, and talented fingers explored every inch of exposed flesh.

It wasn’t sex, but it was the most erotic and intimate experience of her life.

The rain broke, and the
Natchez
made its lazy turn back to the dock. Dante placed a firm kiss on Kerry’s cheek and wrapped his arms around her in a massive bear hug.

“Time to go back,” he whispered.

Kerry said nothing. What could she say? They did have to go back and face everything. She held onto his forearms, pulling him tighter to her as she finally opened her eyes and squinted against the sunlight that had broken through the gray clouds. The ride and their afternoon escape were about to come to a screeching halt.

***

Dante rapped on the bathroom door softly. “Come on, princess. Hurry up, or we’re going to be late.”

“I’ll be out in a minute, Tarzan.”

Dante chuckled and shook his head at her nickname for him. Ironically, what had started as an insult had turned into a pet name. It dawned on him that he’d never had a nickname before. Before finding Kerry, the idea of someone calling him anything other than Dante or Mr. Coltari was less than appealing. He had a feeling she’d be getting away with just about anything she wanted. It was simple really. He wanted to make her happy, because that made him happy. It really was as simple as that.

His cell phone chirped loudly in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and looked quizzically at the unfamiliar number. It was a local wireless caller. That’s odd. Jacqueline or Boris maybe?

“Hello?” Dante walked over to the window and looked out at the setting sun.

“Mr. Coltari?” The man’s voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes, this is Dante Coltari. Who is this?”

“This is Brent, sir, from the hotel. Remember how you asked me to tell you if anyone asked about Ms. Smithson?”

Cold dread crept up Dante’s belly, and every fiber of his body tensed. “Yes,” he said in a barely audible tone and threw a glance over his shoulder to the closed bathroom door.

“Well, there were these two girls. Kind of young, you know. They couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen. I’m pretty sure they didn’t mean any harm, but they were snooping around here and asking all kinds of questions about Ms. Smithson,” he babbled relentlessly.

Dante couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and the boy’s rambling was giving him a headache. He went on and on about the girls, what they wore, the time they came by, and so forth. After just the first sentence, Dante suspected that these girls were likely just overzealous fans. They couldn’t have been Amoveo Purists, for they were far too young, and it was very unlikely they were Caedo. He thought for a moment it might’ve been that assistant of Layla’s, Melissa, but Layla had made it painfully clear that they’d be working in the studio until late in the evening. Dante tried repeatedly to interject, but each time the eager young clerk cut him off.

The boy kept talking, and Dante looked at his watch. Kerry had been in there for a ridiculously long time. Brent continued to babble away, and Dante went over to the closed bathroom door. Just before he knocked, Brent finally took a breath, and Dante didn’t squander the opening.

“Okay, kid. Thanks for your help. I’ll check it out. Bye.” He shut the phone off and stuffed it into the pocket of his dark slacks.

“Kerry?” He knocked, but was greeted only with silence. He called her name again and rapped harder, but still nothing. Dante grabbed the door handle and found it locked. Fear crawled up his spine. “Kerry! Answer me now, or I’m breaking down the damn door,” he shouted and banged harder.

Met only with silence, he threw his weight into the door and broke it open. Dark energy flooded out of the bathroom. A tsunami of evil slammed into him and stole the breath from his lungs. Gasping for air, gripping the doorjamb for support, he looked frantically around the empty bathroom. Kerry was nowhere to be found. Questions raced through his mind, and then everything stopped. A bright red envelope lay on the white marble countertop.

Dante’s eyes shifted, and a low growl ripped from his throat. His body shook with rage, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Seething with rage, he snatched up the envelope and ripped it open. He’d barely pulled the note out before the words on the page shrieked at him.

Go to Breezemont

And watch the freaks die.

Your bitch is first!

—The punisher—

Dante crushed the note in his fist and pounded the counter repeatedly. The marble cracked, and the mirror rippled as his energy waves thundered through the room. He looked at his own reflection in the mirror and stilled. His amber eyes glowed brighter than ever, and veins stuck out in his neck. He looked as insane as he felt. Focus. He needed to focus. Freaking out and trashing the suite was not going to get his mate back. He had to find her. Nothing would matter, none of it, if he lost her.

Dante pushed himself away from the counter and stalked into the living room of the suite. Where was she? Someone took her. Someone—one of his own people—had materialized in there and taken her right under his fucking nose. His mind raced, frantic, searching for an answer. He had to find her, connect with her. He closed his eyes and focused on connecting with Kerry, his anger fueled by helpless frustration. Each time he tried to connect with her, he was met with nothingness. A black, empty void was all that he found. That had only happened once before.

His eyes flew open. Steven. The same thing had happened today when he’d tried to connect with Steven.

He took the note out of his pocket and smoothed it on the dining table. He had to calm down and figure this out. She needed him. Dante focused on his breathing and did his best to keep the beast within him at bay. Hands splayed on either side of the wrinkled paper, he read it again, and the magnitude of the situation dawned on him.

watch the freaks die

Freaks. The Punisher had others—Samantha and Malcolm? Praying he was wrong, Dante closed his eyes and desperately tried to connect with Malcolm and Samantha. However, in both cases, he found the same sinister void. He struggled to rationalize and reconcile what was happening. Maybe they were next door and just didn’t want to be interrupted. He had to check.

He whispered the ancient language, “
Verto
,” and within seconds he stood in Malcolm and Samantha’s hotel suite. The same dark energy signature that had swamped him in the bathroom lingered here as well. It wasn’t as strong, but it still slithered through the room. Dante’s stomach rolled, and he grit his teeth against the sinister tentacle of energy.

“Malcolm? Samantha?” He called their names and quickly checked every room in the suite, but as he feared, they weren’t there. All of their things were there, and the room was relatively undisturbed, but his two friends were nowhere to be found. Maybe they weren’t back from Westerly yet?

Whoever took Kerry had been in here too. He had to find them and warn them. Just before he left, something on the floor caught his eye. Feathers. He crouched down and picked up two brown feathers with a golden hue. Dante’s heart sank. He knew they were Malcolm’s. There was no question in his mind any longer. Whoever took Kerry had taken Samantha and Malcolm too.

***

Her captor had appeared behind her out of thin air, like something out of a childhood nightmare, or the embodiment of the grim reaper. She knew, even in that brief instant, that this black-clad intruder was the person who wrote the notes—The Punisher. Her masked captor placed one hand on her arm and twisted it harshly behind her back. The other gloved hand clamped firmly over her mouth before she could cry out to Dante for help. Bright electric shocks shot through her blood, and the image of a snarling tiger burst into her mind. It was an Amoveo from the Tiger Clan.

It had happened in a split second.

One moment she’s in the bathroom getting ready for their meeting with Jacqueline, and the next she’s standing in a rundown bedroom littered with cages and lit candles. She knew it was the old house in the bayou. Joseph’s house.

When they materialized in the dilapidated bedroom, her heart sank at the sight before her. Her kidnapper had collected a twisted menagerie. She struggled in vain against the iron-clad grip of her captor. The Punisher giggled lightly in her ear and yanked harder on her arm, sending red-hot streaks of pain up her arm. She bit back a cry of pain, and her eyes frantically scanned the scene around her.

A wolf and eagle stirred restlessly. She knew that the wolf was Samantha, and she could only assume that the eagle was Malcolm. They were both in their clan animals. Samantha stood in her wolf form, trapped in a massive steel cage in front of a crumbling fireplace. Her glowing blue eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and anger, a leather muzzle clamped tightly over her face. She locked eyes with Kerry and let out a low growl. Kerry tried to touch her mind to Sam’s, but was met with an odd void.

Her confused and frightened gaze flicked to the enormous eagle tethered to a tall perch. It was Malcolm. It had to be. His head was covered by a blinding hood, and his leg tethered by a chain to the perch. Kerry tried to connect with him as well, but again, was met with absolutely nothing. Bile rose in her throat, and fear gripped her heart. What the hell was going on?

When they’d appeared in the room, he’d spread his massive wings out and screeched in anger. However, the chain on his leg kept him firmly on the wooden perch. One cage remained covered, and although the black drape over it fluttered, the occupant remained hidden. Two other cages stood empty, and she shuddered at the sight of them. She had the sinking suspicion they were meant for her and Dante.

Her mind raced. Of course, she could touch her mind to his. Dante. She had to find him—tell him where she was. She reached out to him with her mind and screamed as loud as she could.
Dante.
But it was as if she hit a mental block—an invisible brick wall.

Movement to the right caught her eye, and a vaguely familiar face stood in front of him. It was the sweet kid from the hotel. However, at the moment he didn’t seem so freakin’ sweet. What was his name? Brent? What in the hell was this kid doing here? He stood there frightened as ever with those big, dopey, puppy dog eyes, sweaty brown hair stuck to his pale forehead. He shifted his weight nervously back and forth and had something in his hand. Brent’s gaze flicked between Kerry and her kidnapper, and he licked his quivering lips.

“Do it,” the Punisher barked loudly in his ear.

Brent held out his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Before she could ask questions or demand answers, Brent blew a cloud of black powder into her face. It stung her eyes and burned her nostrils. Kerry coughed and sputtered at the unexpected assault, and her kidnapper released her abruptly. Without warning, her back arched, and her limbs flew out in front of her. Kerry’s entire body shivered, and every single cell tingled. The lightning fast sensation bordered on pain as it zipped from the ends of her hair to the tips of her toenails.

She’d meant to cry out in confusion, but much to her surprise, a massive roar came out instead. Suddenly, everything seemed further away, and she thought for a moment she’d fallen down. Her body felt heavy and clumsy. She went to hold up her hand, and instead, found massive black paws. Paws?