Forbidden Passion

by Rita Herron

  Dante shoved Marlena’s head down with his hand. “Stay down,” he shouted.

  She ducked and covered her head with her hands just as the window on her side cracked and one of the bats started to attack. Dante flung out his hands, and the bat burst into flames. More converged, attacking the car, pecking at the metal and glass, their violent screeches echoing over the roar of the wind.

  He spun up his drive, swinging the car left and right to try to shake off the bats, then careened to a stop in front of his house.

  Her heart was pounding as he turned to her. “I’m going to fend them off. Run to the house, unlock it, and go inside.”

  She gripped his hands, terrified. There were dozens of them—they could rip him to shreds. “No, Dante, they’ll kill you.”

  The screeching grew louder, more ominous as the vampires attacked, and he cupped her face in his hands. “I’ll be fine. Just do as I said. You have to protect the baby.”

  She gulped back a sob, horrified at the thought of Dante dying to protect her. But the creatures were vicious, the car rocking with the force of their assault, and the front windshield shattered. He threw his coat over her head.

  “Run!” he shouted, and flung open her door.

  She jumped out and raced toward the house. He vaulted from the driver’s side and ran behind her, flinging fireball after fireball at the creatures as he rushed her to safety. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door and a bat dove toward her, but Dante appeared, caught the bird with his hand, and snapped-its neck.

  She stumbled inside, trembling and crying, her body reeling with shock.

  A second later, Dante rushed inside and slammed the door shut, then leaned against it, chest heaving. Outside, the wind roared, the bats flailed and screamed, and reality crashed down on her just as her house had earlier.

  Her pulse racing, she turned to him, her body quivering with fear. “You. . . what are you?”

  His expression turned tortured, but be gripped her arms and hurled her toward the den, then insisted she sit down. A reddish tint gleamed in his eyes, sending another pang of fear through her.

  “Dante, what happened?” she asked. “You said those were demons, but you fought them off.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She frowned, but nodded, and he dropped to his knees and placed a hand over her stomach. “What about the baby?”

  “We’re fine,” she whispered. “Now tell me what the hell is going on. That fire.. . it came from your hands?”

  He hissed a labored breath, then paced across the room. Outside, the noises railed, the earth shook, and another storm broke loose.

  Dante lit a fire in the fireplace, then stood with his back to her and stared into the flames for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

  Her chest hurt from the ache inside. He had lied to her. “Dante, please talk to me.”

  Finally he cleared his throat. When he turned to her, the glow had dimmed, replaced by a darkness filled with hostility and pain.

  “Yes, those were demons,” he said. “And they’re after me because I have a gift,” he said. “I’m a firestarter. I can throw fire with my hands.”

  A flash of her past resurfaced, and she remembered fireballs being thrown the day her mother had died.

  She’d thought the demon had thrown them, but Dante had actually done it—because he was protecting her. Just as he had today.

  “So you lied. . . you have powers,” she said, testing him.

  He nodded. “Yes, I’m part demon, just as Vincent and Quinton are,” he admitted in a haunted voice. “But we’re all working on the side of the law.”

  She had to swallow hard to make her throat work. “If you’re part demon, then our child will be, too?”

  He closed his eyes as if to gain control. When he opened them, his tortured gaze locked with hers. “Yes.”

  Nausea flooded her throat, and she had to lean over to catch her breath. “Will he be. . .like those creatures who attacked us?”

  Dante shook his head, but worry tightened his features. “No. Those were vampires in bat form.”

  Her pulse raced. “You mean vampires really exist?”

  “I’m afraid so. And those were after blood.”

  She clenched her hands, shook her head in denial. “What about our child? What will he be?”

  “I don’t know.” Dante cleared his throat. “He or she will look human, will have your human blood, the blood of my mother, who was an Angel of Light, good. But he will have my blood as well.” He hesitated. “He may have a gift, a power of some kind?’

  Her chest squeezed at the gruff fear in his voice. But he was part demon, had lied to her.

  Nausea and exhaustion weighed her down, and she stood. “This is too much. I. . . need to lie down.”

  He studied her for a long moment, then nodded, the cold acceptance in his eyes disturbing her even more. Sam Larson’s warning reverberated in her head, adding to her fear. And then the images of the monsters who’d taken her family’s lives.

  Needing time, and distance, she rushed away from him, desperate to be alone and process everything that had happened.

  She didn’t know what she was going to do. How she would raise a child who wasn’t completely human.

  And she would never trust Dante again.

  He hung Pru from the tree, the moon silhouetting her naked body.

  She had had to die. She was a sinner, her dark side emerging. It would only have been a matter of time before the evil urges possessed her just as they had him.

  He bit into her neck, felt the warm, sticky lifeblood wash down ‘his throat, then watched the blood drip down

  her body. He had to purge her of the bad blood just as he had the others.

  Smiling, he touched a branch of the tree, a tree that had been shrouded by other, larger ones keeping it dry. He doused the limb with lighter fluid, then lit it with a match. The limb took a moment to ignite, but finally it caught and sparks of fire shot onto the branch and caught. The limb crackled and popped, and flames slowly began to creep up the limbs and light up the sky.

  Despite the snow falling, the flames grew bolder, licking at her bare feet, the heat beginning to char skin. Soon it would be ablaze, melting off bone and turning that sinful flesh to ashes.

  Two more to go and his list would be finished.

  Two more, and then the demon baby.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Dante stared into the darkness as the hours ticked by while Marlena slept. He’d lost her tonight.

  Lost her with his lies and secrets—and the fact that he was a demon.

  It shouldn’t bother him, but dammit, it did. He hated the pain and fear he’d put in her eyes. Hated what he was.

  What his kind could do to her.

  His cell phone jangled, and he saw it was Hobbs, so he punched the connect button.

  “Sheriff, it’s Hobbs. We have another body.”

  Dammit. “Was she torched like the others?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Hobbs cleared his throat. “And I think we have an ID. Prudence Puckett.”

  His jaw tightened. Holy hell, he’d seen her at the Dungeon and then at BioodCore. He’d even suspected her of torching the lab.

  But now she was dead.

  Shit.

  “Where are you?”

  Hobbs gave him the location, and Dante scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Call a CSI unit. I’ll be right there.”

  “They’re on their way.”

  Dante disconnected, knowing he had to get his head back in the case. But Marlena stumbled from his bedroom, throwing him off with her tousled hair and sleepy eyes~.

  But she didn’t make a move to come near him, kept herself planted by ‘the door. “I heard your phone. What’s going on?”

  “It looks like Daumer wasn’t the killer after all.”

  Marlena paled. “There’s been another murder?”

  Dante nodded. “Hobbs IDed the body as Prudence Puckett.”
>
  Shock strained her features. “My God, she was just at the clinic.”

  “I know,” he said. “I saw her running from the fire, chased her down, and questioned her.”

  Her eyes turned wary. “You thought Prudence might have set the fire?”

  He gave a noncommittal shrug. “She was acting suspicious.”

  “She was one of my patients, too.” Marlena sank onto the sofa. “Somehow. . . this all seems connected to me.”

  “It’s not you,” he said gruffly. “It’s about me.”

  Her eyes widened, remnants of fatigue and the shock of the night blurring her eyes.

  She hated him now.

  Part of him knew that was best. Best that he let her go.

  But demons might come after his child to get to him. And his child was going to need him and so was she, even if Marlena didn’t think she did.

  Her cell phone buzzed, and she checked the number, then answered. “Yes, Dr. Raysen.”

  Dante went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, then returned and reached for his jacket. He needed to get going.

  Marlena ended the call, then turned to him.

  “We need to go by the lab. Dr. Raysen went in to clean his office and found a flash drive belonging to Dr. Sneed. He sounds upset and thinks it’s important.”

  “Are you up to going?” Dante asked.

  She stiffened her spine and retrieved her coat. “Of course.”

  Dante clenched his jaw at Marlena’s stubborn determination. Damnîit, she needed to be in bed resting, not chasing down clues.

  But he didn’t have time to argue.

  “Tell me about his flash drive and why Raysen is upset,” Dante said.

  “There’s a list of subjects from one of his experiments, and all of the murder victims’ names are on it.”

  This might be the break they needed. “Then we definitely need to take a look at it and talk to Dr. Sneed. Is he at the lab now?”

  “No. Edmund said he tried to contact Dr. Sneed but couldn’t reach him.”

  “Let’s go look at that flash drive.” Dante gestured to the door, and they hurried outside. The snow had thickened, the wind swirling the white flakes in a blinding haze. He started the engine, turned on the wipers and defroster, and chugged toward BloodCore.

  Dr. Raysen met them when they arrived, his glasses askew, his fingers twitching at his chin. “Here’s the flash drive,” he said, then led them toward his office. Debris and smoky ashes still littered the building, but his office was in its north side, and barring some water damage, had suffered very little.

  “Here, look at my computer.” Dr. Raysen slid his chair aside and gestured for Marlena to sit down beside him. She claimed the chair, and Dante studied the screen over her shoulder.

  Marlena clicked on icon after icon, both of them skimming for details. Spreadsheets of the results of various blood tests filled one of Sneed’s files, another listed data from other sources that might affect his research, a third information from Germany on similar studies with lab rats that pointed to definite genetic predispositions to violence and mental disease leading to aberrant behavior. One study specifically involved the study of serial killers.

  “This is what you want us to see?” Dante growled in frustration.

  “Just look,” Raysen said.

  Marlena noticed a file coded with numbers and clicked on it, then exhaled in relief when the data they’d been looking for appeared on the screen.

  Six names:

  Jordie McEnroe.

  Brenda Mulligan.

  Ruthie Mae Stanton.

  Gerald Daumer.

  Prudence Puckett.

  Judge Beau Brannigan.

  “Judge Brannigan?” Dante said in surprise.

  “I thought it was odd, too’ Edmund said. “What does it mean?”

  “It looks as if Sneed altered these subjects’ genetic makeup, some through blood transfusions and others through injections.” Marlena narrowed her eyes, skimming his notes. “And here, it looks as if he kept notes of changes in their behavior.”

  “The subjects exhibited more violent tendencies after the treatment,” Dante said.

  “That and other psychological problems.” Marlena scrolled down the page. “Jordie was becoming paranoid. Brenda manic-depressive and suicidal. Ruthie Mae became addicted to sex and craved domination. Gerald thought he was possessed by the devil and admitted to hearing voices telling him to kill. And Prudence hated beautiful women and the men who ditched her for them. She talked of making them suffer the way she had to suffer. And Judge Brannigan, addicted to S&M.”

  “If he’s sadistic, Brannigan could be the killer,” Edmund suggested. “Or maybe Sneed killed his subjects.”

  “But why would he kill his own subjects?” Dante asked.

  “Perhaps he didn’t get the results he intended,” Edmund said.

  Marlena sighed. “If his experiment was illegal, he might have been afraid that if the truth got out, his reputation would be ruined.”

  He was creating bloodborn demons, Dante thought. “So his subject list became his hit list?”

  Marlena clutched the edge of the desk. “Oh, my God. Look.” She pointed to a separate file and opened it. Silence stretched between them as they read the notations.

  “Look at the date,” Marlena said. “Sneed first tried the experiment on himself, then the others.”

  “And look at this date. Three months ago, he noted changes in himself. Symptoms he was experiencing mimicked the others.” Marlena skimmed further. “He had fantasies about committing murder, about craving the feel of someone dying at his hands. And he was obsessed with blood.”

  “Then he realized his subjects were starting to exhibit the same tendencies and that they would only escalate so he decided to kill them himself,” Dante concluded.

  But why would Sneed keep these notes on file where’ someone could find them?

  “Jesus. The man thinks he’s some kind of savior,” Dr. Raysen said in a grave voice.

  “He’s no savior,” Dante muttered with a snarl. “He’s a monster.”

  Zion stood over his minions, listening to their reports. The elements had wreaked havoc the night before. And more was on its way. As soon as he had Dante by his side, the true anarchy could begin.

  The tidal wave, the tsunami, the deaths...

  Then the demons could rule the world.

  Yet Marlena Bender had survived the tornado.

  All because of his son.

  He gestured toward the Seer. Time was running out. The anarchy must begin, with or without his sons. And if they chose not to follow him, they would have to be destroyed. “You planted the images of Vincent and Quinton for Dante to see?”

  “Yes.” The Seer smiled, her teeth gleaming against the darkness. “Two shapeshifters appeared outside the Bender woman’s house. It should plant doubt in Dante’s mind.”

  Good. And he had appeared in front of the woman twice now. First at his son’s house when he caused the Bender whore to crash. The second, at the hospital when she’d been brought in after the fire and he’d momentarily morphed into the doctor’s body.

  She would remember his eyes when he finally orchestrated his plab and she saw him again. She would realize that she carried Satan’s ‘child.

  And that his son’s people had taken her family’s lives.

  Laughter boomed from his chest, echoing through the cave of black rock. Then she would turn on his son and break the bond that could save his soul.

  And Dante would realize that trying to fight his demon side was useless.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Dante hated leaving Marlena for a moment, but she would, be safer with Raysen than with him. He met the security guard on the first floor by the front door. “Be sure to call me if Sneed shows up. I need to question him concerning the recent murders in town.” He paused. “And be careful. He could be dangerous.”

  The security guard frowned but agreed, then Dante hurried to
his car, climbed in, and headed toward town. While he drove, he phoned Hobbs and explained his suspicions. “I’m on my way to the judge’s house. Make sure forensics doesn’t miss anything at the crime scene.”

  “Look, get off my back. I’ve done everything you’ve asked so far,” Hobbs said.

  “Just keep doing your job,” Dante snapped, then abruptly ended the call.

  The blizzard forced him to slow down as he steered through town to the courthouse, the wind screeching. He tugged his jacket around him as he raced up the steps to the building, then went straight to the receptionist’s desk to ask about Brannigan.

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but he’s not in today. He called this morning and asked for his schedule to be cleared.”

  “I need his home address.”

  She gave him a wary look. “I can call him for you.”

  “No,” he said, not wanting to tip off the judge. “I’ll do that on my way.”

  A bald-faced lie, but he didn’t want to share his suspicions with her. And if Brannigan wasn’t a killer, he might be the Torcher’s next victim.

  Every second counted.

  “All right.” She scribbled the judge’s address and phone number on a sticky note and handed it to him.

  Evening was setting in, the storm intensifying and making visibility -difficult, the wind-chill factor nearing zero as he approached the estate on the outskirts of town.

  The stately Tudor house was set on a five-acre estate on the outskirts of Mysteria. Dante cut the lights and parked beneath a cluster of trees in the drive, pulling his gun and bracing himself as he inched up the drive to the front stoop.

  He quickly conducted a visual sweep of the property. The place was isolated, miles from another house. A private lair where Brannigan could kill without notice, where no one could hear a woman’s screams or pleas for mercy.

  He hesitated, debating his approach. He didn’t have a warrant, so he decided to just ring the doorbell. One, two, three minutes passed but no one answered.

  Warrant or not—hell, these were exigent circumstances. He’ had to go in anyway.