Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) (21 page)

She crossed her arms and stared him down.

He reached toward her, his rock-solid hand uncharacteristically shaking. When he smoothed her hair off her forehead, his lost, intent expression nearly undid her. She struggled to reconcile the earnest shame with the black-eyed killer from a few moments ago.

If this was the regular Dante, how long would he hold the cold-blooded murderer at bay?

Should she trust this man? Probably not, if she was completely honest with herself.

She had two choices: certain death from Brandon or a little less certain death if Dante lost control. At least Dante appeared sincere when he tried not to inflict bodily harm. But how long could he fight that hard-wired need to kill?

It kept getting better and better, her life. Karma raised its ugly head once again.

What could she do? Not a hell of a lot right now. Whether she trusted this guy or not, he wasn’t going to let her leave. Not alone. Not right now.

His mission to keep her away from Brandon overrode his base need to kill. Barely. Well then, she would simply have to work with the situation she’d been given, crazy as it appeared.

What about Scott? What had Brandon done to him? Maybe he’d left her brother alone in his desire to get to Hannah. She still wanted to try to help Scott.

But there was nothing she could do to help him, other than stay alive. Maybe an opportunity to get him out of Brandon’s influence would emerge later. For right now, her only recourse was to wait.

She exhaled and tried to relax the muscles in her shoulders. Time to try to manage the parts of the situation she could.

“Um, could we walk some more, please?”

He blinked, like a sleepwalking man waking up. “What?”

“A walk. Let’s go for another walk. Do something normal.”

“But I just—”

“I know. But I need to feel normal. I can’t deal with what just happened.”

He rocked back on his heels with a stunned expression. His outstretched hand enveloped hers as he led her up the grassy bank.

“Hold on a moment. Stay here,” he said.

Dante stepped back onto the dock and bent down to pick up the knife.

Hannah froze.

Its green glow was still visible, lurid, hungry. Her neck itched, but she refused to move an inch.

As if in slow motion, he tugged up his jeans leg and sheathed the blade with an emphatic snick. When he stood up again, he had the expression of a man who could move mountains by force of will.

He stopped right in front of Hannah. His lips pressed into a grim line.

“Perhaps we can continue the conversation we were having before I became ... distracted?”

Unbidden, the corner of her mouth twitched upward. Even in this surreal situation, she could take a hint.

Okay, I can do this. He’s not trying to kill me. Right now
.

Consciously relaxing her neck and shoulders, she tried to calm down. Maybe if she stayed casual, he’d play along. She lobbed him a normal topic.

“All right, then. Where were we before the interruption?”

He cleared his throat, but focused over her head. “I was about to tell you how Brandon fits into our situation.”

“Scott’s friend,” she said.

He grimaced and restarted the story as they returned to the gravel path along the river. “He’s a minion.”

“Like the kind who tried to kill Allie?” The blood froze in her veins. “He’s what’s after me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s bad.”

“Yes, that’s bad.”

“But you can beat him, right? You killed one before.”

The sun warmed her back as their footsteps crunched leaves and gravel. Dante kept to the slow pace next to her.

“The minion I killed had been weakened from an earlier fight. Even so, he was challenging to destroy.”

Dante discussed murder so casually. Hannah rubbed her arms, chilled despite the bright day.

“And there’s no Peter to help you anymore.”

He nodded. “Peter would be killed immediately if he tried to intervene.”

“Allie?”

“The minion would go after her, too.”

“Even with the baby?”

“Yes.”

“So your friend got out of his contract, which pissed off this Jerahmeel guy. Then you killed his minion, which pissed him off even more. Then you went on an unsanctioned mission from Ray. So Jerahmeel’s now extra mad at you. And anyone you hang out with is likely to die, because he holds a grudge. That’s it in a nutshell, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh.”

“And what about Scott? Is the minion going to kill him, too?” Panic welled up. As weird as Scott had been acting, he was still her brother.

“I don’t think so. It appears the minion is manipulating Scott to get him to push us apart, mostly so I’ll leave you alone and stay committed to my job. But keeping you away from me might not be enough. As a matter of fact, it might be desirable for Jerahmeel to have you dead. Or worse, alive, if he sees you as leverage to keep me working.”

“How?”

“Your nifty healing trick. It’s a liability.”

As she stumbled on her numb foot, he cupped her elbow to steady her.

“Why?”

“For two reasons. First, you can potentially undo any kill, thus depriving Jerahmeel of his tasty soul. Second, it’s possible that he might force you to heal a criminal over and over so he can keep feeding off of one person. It wouldn’t satisfy Jerahmeel completely, but might sustain him nevertheless.”

Her legs wobbled. “That sounds awful.”

“You’d be worse than a slave.”

“Oh, God.”

He grabbed her arms, stopping her in the path. His grip was the only thing keeping her upright. A ringing in her ears accompanied blackness on the edge of her vision.

He gave her a light shake, anchoring her back in reality.

“I’m not going to let those scenarios happen,” he said.

“Peter and Allie and their baby may die because of me. And Scott, too.” As fear and anger took over, her knees trembled.

“No, that will not happen.”

“Do you have a plan?” Because Hannah sure as heck didn’t see a way out of this mess without someone dying, and it might just be her.

“Not yet. Peter and Barnaby are discussing options. There’s also another undead working with Barnaby. She might be helpful.”

“She?”

“Ruth. Apparently she had been a Civil War nurse. She could probably kill people with her glare.”

“Well, that’s helpful.” Hannah backed away from him and continued walking along the path. “So what about your super speed and strength and ability to heal yourself?”

“All part of the contract with Jerahmeel. It’s inconvenient for us to get old and die of disease or injury.”

“So when Brandon saw me heal you, that was bad?”

“He already knew you could heal.”

“How?”

“Scott told him.”

“What?” She stopped again, sick at her stomach. “No way. He wouldn’t tell.”

“He would if he was drunk.”

Oh, geez, Dante was right. Scott’s loose lips could’ve wagged any night when he and Brandon hung out. Her brother had marked her and some very good people for death. Or worse.

What would be worse than death? Not having Dante around. Being forced to heal criminals for the Devil’s consumption. Pain every single time she touched someone with an injury or illness. Without an end in sight.

She wouldn’t do it, then. She’d just die.

But this Jerahmeel guy would make her do it, wouldn’t he? Anyone she knew remained at risk. Anyone she cared for became leverage over her will.

As for Brandon tracking her? She’d never be able to run far enough or keep everyone safe.

Just a matter of time.

All the air, all her energy, deserted her.

She sat down on the gravel, hard. The edges of the rocks jabbed into her palms as she leaned forward.

“Hannah?” Dante knelt next to her, his warm hand on her back.

“Everyone’ll be hurt because of me.”

“No. We’ll find a way out of this situation.”

“There are no options. You said so yourself. Even though Peter and Barnaby are out of their contracts, they’re still vulnerable. So are Allie and Scott. Just because this Jerahmeel guy can’t touch them doesn’t mean one of his cronies can’t attack them. People are going to get hurt. You’re going to get hurt.”

“You needn’t worry about me. I’ve managed for 300 years; I’ll be fine.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d be alive for hundreds more years. Longer than she fathomed. Longer than she would live, that’s for sure. A shiver crawled up her spine.

When he rubbed her shoulder, she startled. Then, unbidden quivers of desire flowed up her spine. She shook her head to clear it of the growing interest in his touch.

“This situation is not good,” she said.

His caress flooded her entire body with warmth. She briefly closed her eyes until he cleared his throat.

“No, it’s not great. But then again, it’s all relative. I’ve lived through far worse. You, too. When it all boils down to it, we’re both survivors.”

He pulled her to her feet, the river murmuring next to them. The contact with his hand flowed like a warm wave through her chest. For a split second, she saw him as a constant companion, a loving partner, someone to grow old with. As a breeze moved the hair above his eerie blue eyes, he blinked, and the image shattered into a thousand pieces.

She tried to swallow, but the movement stuck halfway down.

What a stupid dream. She wasn’t normal. Dante wasn’t normal. Hundreds of years after she was long dead, he’d still be roaming this Earth. Time to deal with reality.

She tilted her head upward to meet his gaze, framed by an upraised eyebrow and tilted corners to his sensual mouth.

“So, what do you recommend we do now?”

He squeezed her hand, which still rested in his big paw. “You know what I like when the going gets tough?”

His wry grin lit up even the dark shadows of her mind, and she found herself smiling in spite of everything.

“No, what?”

“Lunch! Let’s eat.”

He held out his arm to support her as they walked back to the cabin.

• • •

Although he acted calm, Dante was panicking inside. He had tried to distract her from the near disaster earlier today. If one could understate nearly killing an innocent as a mere disaster.

Since when had he been unable to escape a predicament? Since never.

Until now. At the rate things were going, they were screwed.

How were they going to escape this mess without someone dying?

They weren’t.

Allie’s death visions always came true, and she’d seen one of Hannah when the two women had briefly shaken hands.

Kristus
.

Hell, he’d almost fulfilled Allie’s prediction himself, trying to gut Hannah with his damn knife. What a pathetic protector. What a
dåre
, idiot.
Jåvlar
, the knife still throbbed, reminding him he remained overdue for a kill.

Peter and Barnaby were working on options, but when Dante slipped into the backroom to turn on his cell phone, there were no messages. He threw the phone back in his bag. For right now, he and Hannah were on their own. He paused at the doorway of the bedroom and watched her cleaning the plates from lunch. The sweet, domestic image pinched inside his chest until it hurt to breathe.

He didn’t care how much he had to fight his killer instinct. He had to keep her safe. Or destroy himself trying.

The urge to kill had started to consume his thoughts. What if he could sneak away and kill a human, slake the killing instinct? But not in this area. To be safe, he’d have to go hundreds of miles away, and he refused to leave her unprotected for that long.

If he killed anyone in this town, the minute he sank his blade into a human, that cursed unhuman radar would alert Jerahmeel of his location. Brandon would soon follow.

Oddly, Dante hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of the minion yet. Not detecting the minion was either neutral or very bad. It wasn’t good. Brandon wouldn’t stop until he got hold of Hannah. Either the minion still searched for them, or he’d stopped looking and was formulating a new plan. Neither option boded well.

Damn, another wave of hunger fired up again. It wasn’t completely knife lust this time, though. He had no right giving into any base instincts where she was concerned. The seesawing killing desire versus male desire wrecked his ability to think.

His fingers involuntarily stretched toward the knife. He wanted to sink the damned blade into a human more than he’d wanted any prior kill. Dante shook his head, trying to concentrate. No one ever fought the pull of the knife for long. But he had to try harder, be stronger. For Hannah. For everything she’d already been through. For what she might yet have to endure.

The thought of her in the basement, beaten and raped by Raymond, sharpened his focus, temporarily replacing the urge to kill. Well, kill anyone new, at least. He’d prefer to gut Raymond again and again, but even that act could never exact adequate justice.

Fury and protectiveness boiled in his gut until raw emotion cleared his mind of the knife lust.

Cleared his mind of everything.

Except Hannah.

With sudden clarity, he watched her small hands move through the water and grasp a towel to dry the plates. Such a simple task she performed. But he needed those hands on his damp skin, moving over his body. Raw desire drilled a spine-wrecking shudder through him, and the wood of the bedroom doorframe creaked beneath the pressure of his fingers. How much longer could he fight this other battle?

Long enough.

Right?

Damn her delicate fingers, flitting over the countertop.

His jeans strained against his inappropriate interest. He had no right to respond in this way. Not with Hannah.

Not after he’d lost control and tried to bury the goddamned knife in her earlier today. A monster who would do such a thing—he had no right to ask her for anything.

But he could only stay in this cabin, so close—enjoying her sweet smile, her scent of flowers and fresh air, listening to her low voice—for so long without breaking.

He had suppressed the killing urge. Maybe he could suppress his other urges.

When she raked back her strawberry blonde hair, she exposed her creamy neck. His groin tightened as if a vice had been placed on his balls. How had she made it so difficult for him to maintain control? Perhaps his mind was addled. Maybe every one of her actions, no matter how innocent, turned him on because he’d become a giant, horny mess. How did she weave such a spell? He had no idea, but she’d done it ever since he had first seen her. At least her allure was consistent. Or his active libido was consistent.