Dante’s Salvation

by Anna Leigh Keaton

  The music was so loud it hurt his sensitive ears. The smell of hot, sweaty bodies nearly gagged him. Find a woman, and get it over with. He scanned the room of writhing men and women. He still couldn’t believe what people called dancing these days. Give him a waltz anytime over this...clothed orgy.

  A nice restaurant with low lighting, soft music, and a voluptuous redhead in his arms as they moved to the graceful strains of a full orchestra. Ahh. Moonlight Sonata, his favorite. He yearned for years long gone, when women were soft and subtle, and men didn’t have a feminine side.

  Digger swaggered up next to him. “Do me a favor tonight, mate. Give me a few hours before ya come home. Jesse gets off in an hour, and then we’re both goin’ to get off.” He winked, his mannerisms suggestive and obvious.

  Dante forced himself not to make a face of disgust. Feeding to Digger was playtime. During the week, Digger worked as a pastry chef at an all-night bakery. Friday and Saturday nights, though, he found a man, brought him back to the apartment, and had noisy sex all night. He fed well, and he fed often. Digger enjoyed it.

  A small part of him wished he could enjoy it. Sex and feeding had gone hand-in-hand with vampire life since the first one was turned two millennia ago. He hadn’t minded it so much when he was human and his vampire lover fed from him. It had been erotic. The sensation of having an orgasm while Kayla sank her razor-sharp fangs into his neck or inner thigh...

  Digger elbowed him in the side. “Yer daydreamin’ again, Dant.”

  With a sigh, he headed toward the bar. He’d need something strong for when he was done. As he made his way through the throng of dancers, he searched for a woman who looked clean.

  “Tequila,” he shouted to the bartender, then turned and scanned the single women sitting at the bar. Three stools down, a platinum blonde turned toward him and gave a come-hither smile.

  He swallowed hard. She was the one. She looked hygienic. Just a little makeup, nothing overdone. Taking the drink from the bartender and handing over a bill, he moved down the bar.

  She smelled sanitary. That was a plus. She hadn’t been sweating all night as most of the women on the dance floor had. Turning on her stool, she looked up at him and smiled. “I’m Debbie.” Her voice was high and a little annoying. Hopefully she didn’t want to talk.

  “Let us dance,” he said, turning on his vampire charm. The faster he got her under the spell and this done, the better for him.

  Digger grabbed the drink from his hand. “Slow song in two.”

  Dante nodded his thanks. Digger always had his back. For a six-hundred-year-old vamp, he was a really great guy.

  “What’s your name?” Debbie asked.

  “Dante.” He put his body through the grinding motions of the song until, as Digger had promised, the music slowed.

  Debbie went easily into his arms and purred like a cat as she rubbed her scrawny, bony body against his. The woman was in heat, and he doubted it had anything to do with his half-hearted attempt to mesmerize her. He needed to bring her under the spell, though, if he was going to get his fangs into her without her realizing it.

  He tilted her head up with the edge of his finger so she met his eyes, and then he let it go. The magic. The pheromones. The gift every vampire was given upon being turned. Human blood was essential to their existence, and he’d honed his skill over the past centuries. He could mesmerize and get the blood he needed in a matter of minutes. It was all he needed, and his host would never remember a thing.

  Her eyelids drooped halfway, and a sleepy smile spread over her lips.

  He grabbed her left arm from his shoulder and lowered it. Gripping her wrist, he raised it to his mouth, but he got a whiff of something on her that was not so pleasant. His stomach turned in an uneasy roll. He reached into his pocket with the other hand, never breaking eye contact, and withdrew an alcohol swab. He ripped the small package open with his teeth, swiped it over her wrist, then brought her arm to his mouth. The tang of the antiseptic was preferable to unwashed flesh.

  Come on, come on. His teeth ached, but they weren’t extending. Like arousal without a hard-on. Impotent.

  A vision of the sensuous redhead on the sidewalk flashed in his mind, and his fangs extended. He sank them into the blonde’s flesh. She moaned in pleasure and leaned against him. He wrapped his free arm around her back to steady her, making sure to never lose eye contact with her. On the dark, strobe-lit dance floor, his actions would seem a seduction rather than what it was.

  Hot blood spurted into his mouth. He fought his gag reflex as the metallic taste flooded his senses. One, two, three... Just two more swallows and he’d be fine for another two weeks. His throat tried to close on him. Four. One more. His stomach heaved. Fuck! Five. He jerked his head back and pressed his thumb over her beating pulse to seal the wound. It would only take a moment or two for the punctures to heal to small red marks she probably wouldn’t even notice in the morning.

  “Here.” Digger was at his side, holding up his glass of tequila and a handkerchief.

  Dante handed off the woman to his friend and took the drink. He sloshed the alcohol in his mouth to get rid of the taste of the blood then wiped his lips with the cloth. He shuddered in disgust. Digger led the mesmerized woman to a table in the far corner, and Dante followed.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” he told Digger after his friend had settled the woman into the corner of the booth.

  Digger nodded. “I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

  “Thanks.” He set his glass on the table and made his getaway, practically pushing his way through the throng of gyrating bodies to get outside. He burst through the door, leaped over the velvet rope past Jesse, and headed down the street. Sucking in gulps of the clean, warm, damp air, his pulse slowed, and his roiling stomach settled.

  He had to find a better way to feed. Or be successful in killing himself next time.

  Hell. He didn’t really want to die. He just needed to find something that made him want to live. Really live. He turned the corner down Virginia Street, heading for the wharf, driven by the need for the bay’s salty clean air to clear his head. Lights reflected off the calm water, the sight beautiful and serene.

  Then a scent hit him, and he stopped. The redhead. Beef, peppers, onions and lilacs. He raised his head and breathed deep. It was her. He’d never smelled anything so enticing before tonight. Slowly he followed the scent, tracking her. On 2nd Avenue, he stopped in front of a dimly lit coffee house. There weren’t many people in there, so she was easy to spot through the window. Alone with a latte mug, cinnamon roll, and the foil-covered plate on the table in front of her, she sat with her head bowed, her chin propped on her hand, and shoulders slumped. She’d let her hair down, and ringlets of auburn trailed to the center of her back.

  She looked...sad. Lonely.

  He laid a hand over his heart. A woman as beautiful as her should not be alone on a Friday night. She should never be sad. Surely anyone as stunning as she must have a lover.

  He moved the few paces to the front door and slowly drew it open. Ahh. Coffee and pastries. This was a smell he could stomach. One that satisfied his still-human soul.

  Chapter Two

  Wendy stared at her untouched cinnamon roll and silently cursed Candice.

  They’d been friends since grade school, though sometimes she wondered why. This wasn’t the first time Candice had ditched her when she found a man, but it was the first birthday she’d spent alone. She should have stayed in and ordered that pizza.

  The foil-covered paper plate sat on the table, mocking her. Beef fajitas. She hadn’t had the stomach to even taste them. With no one to share them with, she’d felt stupid sitting there through over an hour of how-to instructions while couples around her laughed and joked and in general had a great time.

  As they finished up, Candice leaned over and asked in her oh-so-polite way if she’d mind too terribly walking home alone. Her date, the stud at least five years younger than Candice, wanted to go get a d
rink afterward. Chances were, Candice was the one getting laid tonight, and Wendy had struck out all the way around.

  Bitch.

  She covered her face with her hands and sighed. It wasn’t Candice’s fault if she was the fun one. The beautiful one. Men gravitated toward her as if she were a testosterone magnet. She knew how to smile and flirt like a pro—had been doing it for as long as Wendy could remember. Even in junior high, Candice had been surrounded by boys.

  Then again, Candice had been married and divorced twice in the last ten years. At least Wendy had been smart enough to dump the jerks she wound up with before she made that particular mistake.

  Though, having a man to curl up and watch a movie with once in a while might be nice.

  No. Stop it. She sucked in a breath and sat up straight. She didn’t need a man. Not at all. She was successful in her career, she loved her little apartment from which she could see the bay, and if she got a little lonely once in a while, that was by her own choice. How many times did she have to get burned to remind herself that her relationships never went anywhere?

  John had been a jackass. He’d moved in with her after they dated a mere three weeks, then quit his job and let her take care of him for a year. Ha. What a laugh. He’d been looking for a mother—someone to do his laundry and cook his meals—not a girlfriend. Besides, the sex had been horrible.

  That’s what she really needed. Maybe Candice had a point. She needed to get laid. Some good old fashioned fucking, with a real live man and a hot, hard cock. Her battery powered toys could only do so much.

  Damn, she missed the feel of a man’s body wrapped around her, thrusting into her. And this time, damn it, she’d find a guy who knew how to use the stuff between his legs.

  Next Friday she’d go out. Maybe to that club up on 4th. The Starlight. She heard it was a good place to meet single men—at least that was what Candice had told her.

  She reached for her latte and sipped the tepid liquid. The problem there was that a nightclub was more Candice’s speed than hers. Dinner and a Date was more her style, but she saw how well that had worked out, hadn’t she? She frowned at her coffee. So where the hell did a woman like her go to meet men? A class at the community college? Pottery lessons? What about one of those classes at Home Depot? Surely there were single men there. And her apartment did need some updating. Maybe she could learn how to lay hardwood flooring while she met a guy.

  A small smile slipped out, and she ducked her head to hide it should anyone be looking her way and think her a wacko. Maybe if she met a guy in a class on laying hardwood flooring, she could invite him over to help her with hers.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Her head snapped up at the low, cultured voice with just a hint of foreign accent. The man standing next to her was...the same man with the amazing black eyes, black hair, and incredibly sexy goatee she’d run into outside Dinner and a Date. She got another whiff of his expensive cologne, and her eyelids drooped in appreciation. Now this was a man she’d love to get into her bed. He dressed in an expensive, tailored, double-breasted suit. He was tall, lean, gorgeous, and carried himself with an air of sophistication that made her melt.

  Yeah. Keep dreaming, Wend.

  She waved her hand toward the chair. “It’s free. Help yourself.” She expected him to take the other chair to another table, but instead he pulled it out and sat down. Her lips parted in surprise, and her coffee sloshed onto the table and the back of her hand as she set her mug down with a thud.

  The man reached for the napkin dispenser, withdrew a couple, and dabbed at her hand. “Slippery, aren’t they?” He finished wiping up the spilled latte then neatly folded the napkins into quarters before setting them at the edge of the table.

  She licked her lips, but her brain seemed to have disconnected itself from her tongue. What the hell was wrong with this guy? He was young—couldn’t be over thirty—dashing, debonair, and had just sat down at her table? Was this a joke? Was she on Candid Camera? Trick the middle-aged frump? Was she being Punked?

  She glanced around the almost empty coffee shop. A couple of college students took up two tables, happily clicking away at their laptop keys. Another table held an older couple who talked in subdued tones. Only one guy worked the counter, and a waitress stood off to the side with a bored expression on her face.

  “Can I...um...help you with something?” she finally asked after ungluing her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

  The hunk’s smile was just as sexy as the rest of him, and he held out his hand. He had beautifully straight, white teeth. “Dante Rainaldi. I was passing by on my way down to the wharf and saw you in here. Since we met earlier and hadn’t been properly introduced, I thought it only fitting.”

  Yeahhh...

  She placed her hand in his. Warmth and—oh, dear Lord—lust shot through her. She squeezed her thighs together and bit her bottom lip. He’s so out of your league! Don’t even think about it. She cleared her throat. “Wendy Schumacher. And I’m sorry about earlier.”

  He kept the smile on his lips as he tilted his head slightly. “You seemed to be in a hurry. I was surprised to find you here.”

  The waitress saved her from having to answer the unspoken question as to why she’d been in such a hurry.

  Dante ordered a mocha then turned back to her as the waitress left, seemingly unmoved by the woman’s obvious eyelash batting and flirting techniques. “So,” he said, his voice low and so sexy tingles raced down her spine. “What’s a pretty lady such as yourself doing all alone on a Friday night?”

  He could have done much better than that lame line. Then again, with the slight European accent, even trite come-ons sounded awful sexy.

  She grinned, because if she didn’t she’d probably make a fool of herself by bursting into tears. “Celebrating my birthday.” Shit, it still sounded pathetic.

  His smile faded, and his brow drew together. “Alone?”

  She broke eye contact and looked down at her cinnamon roll. She didn’t want this stranger to know how badly she hurt inside. Candice had really crossed the never-do line tonight. Ditching her on her birthday...that was just plain mean. Especially when Candice could get any guy any night of the week. She didn’t have to choose this night.

  A warm, gentle finger touched her chin, and she jerked in surprise to meet the stranger’s gaze.

  “I am sorry, Wendy. Forgive me if I’ve made you uncomfortable. That was not my intent.”

  He looked so earnest. As if he really...cared.

  She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. She would not read anything into his kindness. Maybe he’d been ditched, too. Hadn’t he been with a short, stocky fellow when she ran into him?

  “My friend dragged me to this stupid...” She wasn’t going to lay her problems on this poor guy’s doorstep. She licked her lips and tried again. “She thought it would be fun to try out that Dinner and a Date place. Only she got the date, and I didn’t.” She shrugged, hoping it came off as nonchalance. “I just decided to stop in here before going home. How about you? Why are you all alone tonight?”

  Good. Get him talking about himself. Guys loved that.

  “Your friend left you alone on your birthday because of a man?”

  She almost rolled her eyes but caught herself. “Yeah. That’s just the way Candice is. I’ve learned to roll with it.”

  Dante’s eyebrows drew closer together, and his lips turned down in a disapproving frown.

  “It’s okay, really. I’m used to her being a little flaky.”

  The waitress returned and set the coffee in front of him. He nodded his thanks, picked it up, and sipped. With a sigh, he seemed to relax, which made her realize how tense he’d been.

  “I do adore a good cup of coffee,” he said with a small tilt to his sexy lips.

  “Seattle’s the place for it.” She was horrible at small talk and didn’t know what to say next. The mundane usually worked. “Where are you from? Originally, I mean.”

 
His smile returned. “I am originally from a small village on the Italian coast near Naples.” He waived his hand in dismissal. “But that seems several lifetimes ago. I am a U.S. citizen and claim Seattle as my home now. You?”

  Why did he keep turning it around to her? She’d rather sit and listen to him speak. “Born and raised right here in Seattle.”

  He sipped his drink and settled more fully into his chair, watching her over the rim of his mug, which made her want to fiddle with something. His gaze was so intense, as if he were looking into her soul. But she couldn’t seem to bring herself to look away, either.

  “You have beautiful hair,” he said in that wonderfully rich voice. “You are much more suited to wearing it down than piled on top of your head.”

  She chuckled. “Tell that to Candice. She’s the one who did that...thing with it.” Shaking her head, she turned her cinnamon roll plate with her fingertips. “I’m much more casual than this normally.”

  He arched one perfect eyebrow. “And what do you call casual?”

  She shrugged. How did she tell a man who wore a suit that cost more than her mortgage payment that she normally wore whatever was most comfortable? She loved her sweatshirts and loose, comfortable jeans. This guy was so far out of her league they might as well not be on the same planet.

  Which again begged the question, what the hell was he doing sitting here with her?

  “My friend told me about that place you went tonight. Did you enjoy it?”

  She scrunched her nose and shook her head. “If I were to take a real cooking class, it wouldn’t be with some woman who only knew how to stir fry vegetables.”

  He chuckled. Goose bumps raised on her arms.

  “Did you meet anyone...interesting?”

  Her humor fled. He was the most interesting person she’d met in ages. With a shake of her head, she lifted her latte. “No. I didn’t.”

  She sipped, but the drink was now cold, and it took supreme effort not to wince. She took another swallow.