Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) (10 page)

Dante opened his hands, palms up. “I’m no man, Barnaby. Sure, I can have anything I want—anyone I want. But here recently, it’s like a cosmic joke. Don’t get me wrong. I love the power, the control, the ability to be faster and stronger than any human.” He rubbed his neck. “It doesn’t matter that it’s bad guys who are dying. I can’t abide the creature I’ve become—an enslaved murderer.”

“I understand completely, my boy. Your observations about your life are interesting, as is the minion’s appearance. Makes me wonder if you’re nearing the end of your contract.”

“How’s that possible?”

“No idea, but the pattern holds with Peter and with me. First, you acknowledge your disillusionment. Then, find someone to give you a reason to be human. Then, get tangled up with a minion who will do anything to keep you from succeeding.”

“But you succeeded.”

“There’s always the chance that they’ll let you succeed but destroy your reason to live. Remember Allie?”

How could Dante forget the sight of Allie bleeding in Peter’s arms? She had nearly died, and still bore the scars of the minion’s attack from that day. Dante swallowed and nodded.

“You like your lady, Hannah?”

He rubbed his hand against his pants leg. “Well, sure, I guess. I only met her three days ago. I don’t really know her.”

“I imagine she might mean much more to you, on the whole.”

“If you say so. I don’t know. Maybe I just need to get laid.”

Barnaby smiled. “You can do that anytime. With any woman.”

He didn’t meet the old man’s eyes. “Good point.”

“I’d wager if Jerahmeel or the minion realizes that she can inspire you to break the contract, they’ll try to prevent that from happening.”

“Jerahmeel did say that if I stayed away from Hannah, I still have the chance to attain the Meaningful Kill.”

“He’s nervous. Fascinating.”

“So if I walk away from the situation now, I might be free of the contract. But Hannah will suffer.” He raked his hands through his hair. “If I try to help Hannah, I’ll never be free of the contract. But she might be safe.”

Barnaby sipped on the tea and leaned his head back on the cushions. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you thinking of the consequences to others, my boy.” He set the cup down with a clink. “I believe Jerahmeel is trying to manipulate you to stay away from Hannah. There are other ways to get out of the contract, however.”

“Really? I’m not sure where to start with breaking the contract.”

“When it’s time, you’ll figure it out.”

“How can you be sure?”

The corners of Barnaby’s lined mouth curled downward. “It doesn’t matter, my boy.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

“Never mind.” He honked into a handkerchief. “Your friend, she may be a target because of her abilities or because of your desire to break the contract. I can’t say which for certain. Be very careful, my friend. Something is mightily amiss about this situation. She’s in grave danger.”

Urgency gripped Dante. He needed to watch over Hannah, protect her. As in, right now.

“Um, Barnaby?”

“It appears you have made a decision. You’d like to leave immediately, I imagine. Find this Hannah and make sure she’s still safe?” He smiled broadly, pale blue eyes twinkling, his skin creasing again into numerous wrinkles.

“Yes, old man, I would like to leave.” Dante’s mind whirled. Contract. Minion. Hannah? How was he going to remove her safely from this situation without her getting hurt?

“You have my number; please call if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Thank you.”

He bent down to give the old man an awkward shoulder hug but had to be careful not to injure the man’s frail bones. Ruth silently escorted him to the front door. His knife pulsed again in proximity to another Indebted.

He grinned. “Thank you for the hospitality, my
compadre
.”

The color in her cheeks betrayed her. At least he could change that poker face.

Hannah had sorting and shelving duty today, which suited her fine, despite the residual aches and pains. Not only did she enjoy arranging books on the stacks, but she often would read passages as she worked. The words transported her to another world, if only for a few minutes.

But today, it wasn’t the treat of quiet time with the books that tempted her. Rather, in the depths of the store, she would be less likely to see Dante. That is, if he came back. Maybe Scott was right, and Dante truly angled to have some fun and then toss her away. But why would he go to all the trouble? She tried to look at the situation objectively but couldn’t visualize the malicious intent her brother saw. In fact, part of her wanted to see Dante again, if only to be close to him, to smile at his obvious passes.

Huh. She’d avoided men for the past four years. Since when did she want to be around a man?

Since Dante had been a perfect gentleman on the walk home. Since he had teased her but not pressured her. Since he had treated her like a normal woman. For the first time since well before she left Philly, she had a glimmer of what it would be like to feel safe. What woman wouldn’t want more?

The news of Ray dying had gutted her. Still, she should have tried to thank Dante for the information. Poor guy—his smiling expression had frozen and then fell when her reaction wasn’t what he expected. He seemed to really care how she felt, and she couldn’t remember the last time someone gave a flip about her. Scott did, of course, but he had to—he was her brother.

Perhaps she had fallen for a handsome guy and missed the real jerk inside, although that was unlikely. She was normally a good judge of character. Well, except with Ray. She hadn’t predicted the depth of his sickness, so maybe she’d missed the mark with Dante as well.

Ray. Dead. Wow. If Dante spoke the truth, then she and Scott might be free of the unending fear of retribution that had hung over their heads for years. Unless Dante had lied to her about Ray.

No, that answer didn’t feel accurate. But how could she find out for certain?

Not today—too many people around—but maybe tomorrow, she could get on the bookstore computer when she opened the store and glean some information about Ray’s death. She could always call the number to her old house, too.

Or not. What if Dante was wrong about Ray being dead? No way would she risk hearing Ray’s thin, disgusting voice, even if it was a thousand miles away.

She pulled wisps of hair out from under the arms of her glasses and readjusted the frames. Now that Dante had been chased off, she might never know the details about Ray’s death.

“Here’s another batch for you, Hannah.”

Her manager rolled over another cart.

Hannah ran her hands over the spines of the books. “No problem. I’ll take care of it.”

Ignoring the soreness in her joints, she pushed the cart to the back of the store into the literature section. She tugged at a library ladder, the squeak on the rails shrill in the quiet store. Careful not to step on her brown patterned skirt, she lifted the hem to climb up the ladder. Always cautious with her numb foot, Hannah centered it on the rung. The pressure sensation on the sole of her foot registered faintly, even through the sandal, but there was zero sensation on the top of the foot. It made her foot feel odd, like it was round or incomplete.

When she leaned out to push the ladder over a few inches, it bumped against something solid, stopping her abruptly. A book fell as she clung to the ladder.

Dante. His sky-blue eyes shone brightly. She forgot to breathe.

As he reached down to pick up the book, the fabric of his tailored navy slacks stretched over his thick, muscled thighs. Her mouth went dry. She gripped the rails.

When he stood up, Hannah found herself a few inches above his chiseled features. His sensual lips curled into a sardonic smile.

“Here you go.
Tristan and Iseult
. One of my favorites.”

“You’ve read this?”

Although they had discussed books yesterday, she didn’t envision him with this particular classic.

“Don’t act so surprised.” He laughed. “Of course. True love. Eternal love. Tragic love.” He gave her a rakish grin. Her heart flipped over. “My favorite line is ‘Apart the lovers could neither live nor die for it was life and death together.’ They don’t write stories like this nowadays.”

She blinked hard, took the book from him, and placed it in the stacks, all the while aware of his intense perusal. Why had he come back? After she’d sent him away and after Scott had been so rude to him.

He maintained a casual stance, not approaching her but not retreating. The swagger from yesterday had dropped a notch today, but he still radiated masculine assurance with his feet set shoulder-width apart. And why not? The tailored shirt fit his broad shoulders perfectly.

He didn’t seem like a bad person. If he were someone she was supposed to avoid, she struggled to find a reason why.

“So can I help you?” he asked.

Although he stood loose-limbed and spoke in a nonchalant manner, she didn’t buy the act for a second, especially compared with his Don Juan demeanor from the last few days. What did he want?

“Isn’t that my line? I’m the one working here.” Unbidden, a smile pushed the corners of her mouth upward.
A smile? What in the world?

He passed another book to her. “I do enjoy being helpful.”

The double-entendre was subtle, but she heard it. A shiver went up her spine.

“Well, good,” she said.

She stood on tiptoes to shelve the book.

“What happened to your ankle?”

Panic short-circuited her brain.

Frantic, Hannah leaned over to smooth the skirt over her sandals and stepped down one rung but didn’t detect the step with her numb foot. She lost her grip on the ladder and flew backward, only to land in very solid arms. Instinctively, she grabbed Dante’s shirt, wrinkling the expensive gray fabric.

“My apologies.” His voice rumbled through their connected chests, sending unfamiliar swirls down to her toes. “I’m not always the most tactful.”

His words tickled her hair. He smelled like mocha latte and cologne today.

Inches away, he pinned her with his clear, blue gaze. His strong arms surrounded her as he held her securely. Amazing heat radiated from his body. She’d heard of people running warm, but this couldn’t be normal.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m, uh, very glad to see you again.”

That deep voice did strange things to her equilibrium, or maybe it was because she rested firmly in the arms of a giant.

“Me too.” She swallowed. “Dante, I’m sorry about my brother and his stupid—”

“Don’t worry about it; those guys don’t bother me. I only wanted to make sure you were okay.”

What the hell? Since when did a hot guy want to see to her welfare? Apparently, since now.

Her heart rate sped up, and her voice came out light and breathy. “They’re just hotheads. I’m fine.”

She bit her lower lip, and Dante’s gaze fixated there. His eyes darkened.
What in the world?

“Your eyes. They’re changing.”

“It’s nothing. Um, they just do that sometimes.”

He shifted her in his arms as he watched her. Maybe her glasses looked funny? Hannah froze, locked in Dante’s arms.

His inscrutable stare unsettled her.

“Perfect,” he whispered. His voice rolled through her bones.

He lowered his head another few inches until his breath fanned her face. Pressed up to him, Hannah enjoyed the chiseled planes of his chest and belly, the tight muscles that clenched as he widened his stance. Trapping her in his arms. She couldn’t escape—

Oh, God. No. That night. Images of the basement and Ray flooded her mind.

She pushed, ineffectively, against Dante’s corded arms. Desperate to get away, she twisted her head away from his mouth. What Ray did ... she’d been trapped. She couldn’t move. She had to escape. Ray. Dante. She was going to be sick.

Struggling against the arm that snaked behind her back, she shoved against his chest.

“Dante, please.” Her voice cracked.

Dark spots danced on the edges of her vision. When he lowered her to her feet, Dante’s arousal jutted solid and insistent against her stomach. Her stomach lurched, and she swallowed bitter acid. The inability to get away squeezed her ribs until she couldn’t breathe. Tears pricked then the damp warmth trailed down her cheeks.

Like a man waking up from a dream, Dante blinked his nearly black eyes a few times.

He released his grip but rested his hands on her upper arms.

“Please let go.” She backed up against the end of a stack, gasping, as stars in her vision heralded impending unconsciousness. She fought to slow her thudding heart, to slow her shallow breaths. That night in the basement. Oh, no, not again. The vice around her chest tightened again. Damn Ray to hell.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. You’re just so ...” He dropped his big arms.

“It’s me. I’m not, I can’t—”

She wanted Dante, wanted his arms around her. But when he held her, all she could think about was being in that basement prison with Ray. Dark. Her chest burned when she tried to inhale.

“Can you sit down?”

Dante guided her to sit on the hardwood floor and eased her head forward between her knees. “I’ve heard this helps. Take a few deep breaths.”

When his warm hand rested on her shoulder, she clutched it, like a damned lifeline. She took a breath and tried to loosen all her muscles. The barrier in her mind dropped.

Transfer started.

Transfer? What the heck?

But there it was, the connection between their skins, her cells’ primal desire to blend, to enter, to trade substance for substance. This time the transfer worked differently. It didn’t hurt, didn’t try to consume injuries or illnesses. It flowed both ways, less painful, more curious. Searching.

Too easily, her skin accepted contact with Dante. Her body found nothing to heal, but her essence flowed through the contact nevertheless. And then it happened: Her soul, her physical and emotional pain, flowed from her into Dante. Aches and pains that had lingered from yesterday’s healings faded, like rubbing away a smudge on the cheek, a light sense of a soft wave lapping away at her pain. Nothing dramatic, but only physical relief remained in her connection to him. And it was good.